For all of the types of calls we have, we have medics who are better at some than others. I hate eyes but will help you deliver your baby any chance I get. I have to try so hard to be interested in cardiology. I am good at it, but it's not what I spend my leisure time thinking about as some of my coworkers do. I can comfort and treat kids without them being scared. Diabetics, fear not! We have medics with that too! Some of my coworkers are fluent in Spanish and can go about their job without a struggle. My range of treating in Spanish includes understanding that you have had muchas cervezas, and poking at various parts of your body while asking "dolor?" -Dear Mr Schietinger, I am diligently studying my Spanish because I am, as I write each year in my self-evaluation, constantly striving to be better and to provide the best care possible (please imagine an angelic smile on my face). I also use my translator app a whole bunch.
Over the years, I feel that "psych" calls, or calls for an "emotionally distraught person, or EDP"- (which I think sounds more polite because it is not putting a label on someone, it is just acknowledging that they are not having a great day) have become one of my strong points. Yes, yes. I am aware that I set myself up for years of jokes about me being crazy. Go ahead, I'll just avoid facebook for a bit. All kidding aside, I like EDP calls. After going through a lot of terrible things and my own bouts of depression, I know what I needed then, and I know that no one wants to hear that their suicide attempt was selfish, that their problems aren't as bad as someone else's, or that they are wasting our time because "other people are actually dying". Anyone who has ever said that to one of my patients is instantly removed from my scene.
I have found that a surprising amount of EDP calls have caused my old world to surface and become very helpful. Sometimes the situations are very sad, other times it is hard to keep a straight face, because you just can't make these things up. I have an example of each.
One night a few months ago we responded for a woman who had attempted (and was still attempting) to jump over a bridge. When I arrived she was screaming at the top of her lungs and trying to escape the grasp of a stranger who had seen her trying to jump, pulled her off the ledge, and was trying his hardest to keep her from climbing over again. Sometimes when we respond to suicide attempts they are more on the "cry for help" side of things. This was not. This woman wanted out and she was very angry at this man for stopping her. The police wrote an order for her to be transported to a hospital. In the ambulance, she was inconsolable. I was driving, but I could hear her telling my partner about how her church had driven her to this, and no one could ever find out that she had attempted suicide, because her husband would be removed from his position in the church if they knew that she was doing something worthy of her losing her salvation. The police in this city are great, but they were not really into chatting about her church. She was screaming because no one believed her that a church could drive her to this by controlling her entire life. Someone at the ER told her that "those things happen in other countries, not here." Oh? Really? Step aside, she is mine now. I told her that I overheard her talking about her church and asked if by any chance she was Baptist. She stopped crying and asked how I guessed that. I told her that I had heard her say that her husband was a deacon, and a few other things that when added together didn't fit other denominations.
She told me that her husband didn't make enough money to support their family, so she got a job. Her church did not believe that she should work outside the home, and because she was not trusting God and her husband to provide for them, she was sinning, and her husband was beating her for it. She told me he was also raping her, but the women in the church in whom she confided did not see it that way, since it is the wife's job to satisfy the husband. She said that she can't divorce her husband because he will no longer be able to be a deacon in the church if she causes him to commit adultery by ending a marriage. She had left her home a few days before and started living in her car. She said that her husband found her, and took the plates off her car so she would get pulled over and not be able to drive to and from work. She said that she had tried to go to the police about the abuse before, but her pastor found out and rebuked her for not following the scripture and obeying her husband, If she just obeyed her husband, she would not be beaten. This woman had had it. She felt trapped and that death would be better than continuing in that nightmare. She knew that she could divorce her husband, but was afraid that if she did he would keep her children from her, and she didn't want to live without her kids. I told her where I had come from and that although my past was nowhere near as terrible, I knew what she was talking about. I knew the thought process behind what the church had been telling her, and I didn't think she was crazy, I genuinely knew what she meant. I told her that I knew many people who had gotten away from that life and who went on to live very happy lives. She was so happy that finally someone wasn't telling her that her story was crap. I wish I had been able to spend more time with her. As we were leaving she hugged me (I am normally very against hugging my patients for reasons such as germs, infestations, harassment charges, and personal safety, but sometimes you just have to read the room) and thanked me and cried on my shoulder. She said that not until we talked was she glad that she was pulled off that ledge.
Another time we were called for a "party out of control". We deal with a wide variety of drugs here, and this night was no exception. I arrived to find a man fighting the police and screaming things none of us could understand. I asked the police what I missed and they told me that he has just been screaming things in what sounds like Muslim (I am aware that Muslim is not a language but sometimes in the heat of the moment it is bad to point these things out when you know what they meant) and he has been eating dirt. I was the only female out of maybe ten of us there, and the man saw me as we were moving him into the ambulance. He was speaking in a very raspy, sinister voice and started yelling at me. "And YOU! You small, vile, wretched woman! I didn't come down to earth 20,000 years ago to be beaten and die on the cross so that you could take a man's place and do a forsaken, vile job like this!" I said "Hey! You sound just like my old pastor!" The man then screamed "I HATE PASTORS!", changed to a sweet, normal voice and said "I'm so sorry. I want you to know that you're beautiful." Okay. So now we know that he thinks he is Jesus and has clearly had some church PTSD. One officer mentioned to the man that he was not in fact Jesus, because Jesus would be able to get out of His handcuffs, but as you can guess, that didn't go over well and we were back to the raspy, sinister voice yelling not to tempt the Lord your God.
There is a comedy track that circles on my Pandora station where the comedian is talking about doing an improv show and he is frustrated at the other actor because "You are not YES, AND-ing right now!". That is what was happening on my call. Sometimes people tell me that they had lunch with George Washington today. Sometimes they tell me that the scar on their arm is from an alien abduction. So what? Who am I to tell them they are liars or to refuse to hold their hand because I am not really their granddaughter? My job is to get them to the hospital safely. I don't torture people, such as leaning into their belief that they are covered in snakes and are terrified, but sometimes you just have to "Yes, And..." a bit.
I asked the man if he knew what year it was because Jesus didn't come to earth 20,000 years ago. Note that I didn't tell him he was not Jesus, I was only asking the date. He was fine with this because I wasn't arguing with him. He gave me some long explanation and told me not to act like I understand quantum energy. I told him I have never, nor would I ever do such a thing, and we were back to him telling me about how he was crucified for me and I told him I appreciated that sacrifice. Again, I didn't tell him that he didn't get crucified, I just "Yes, And-ed" carefully. I'm not very large. Verbal de-escalation is really all I have going for me.
My partner, who as many of the men here do, believes in keeping chivalry alive and rode in the back with the patient and the officer while I drove. I could hear the man almost chanting "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" mixed with some speaking in tongues. The officer said "See, I told you he was saying something in Arabic!" I pointed out that no, he was not. All the kids in ATI had a Hebrew-Greek study Bible, and I was no exception. He was asking why his God had forsaken him, and was likening his handcuffing and transport to that of Jesus being beaten before being put on the cross. (Mark 15: 34) At the ER the man saw me again and agreed to talk to me a bit because I understood a little bit of what he was talking about. When asked for his name he said "Elohim", and when the police were behind him he told them "That's ok, I know what you're doing because I am El Roi." This made me laugh because the dude actually knew his stuff, and had a sense of humor. El Roi means "God who sees". He gave several other names such as El Shaddai, and Adoni, which caused someone to state that the man kept changing who he thought he was. I mentioned that his story was actually pretty consistent, he was naming all names of God. During this process he was yelling at us all for being unrighteous, and I told him that was what Jehovah-Tsidkenu was for, and he actually laughed. For my friends of my past, I know you will get that joke instantly. For those from my new world, that means "The Lord our Righteousness". I didn't spend a Summer helping my mother paint giant banners for Vacation Bible School for nothing!
The man was still very difficult to handle and to keep from hurting himself and us, but my background made things a tad easier. Earlier I compared this instance to the scene in Legally Blonde where Elle solves the murder case by knowing that you can't wash freshly permed hair. Dreamy Eyes thinks that is a poor example and that I don't need to mention it in this post, but
The man would randomly start shouting in tongues and at one point screamed "I NEED A TRANSLATOR!" I asked why he needed a translator since he spoke English very well and he said "It's for MYSELF! I would like to know what I've been saying all this time!" In the spirit of "Yes, And-ing" I looked through my translator app with him, but told him there was nothing for tongues. He suggested I try Japanese and no longer liked me. Well, that and he was still mad that I had taken a job from a man and didn't have a handcuff key.
I suppose that no matter what path any of us have been down to get where we are, we need to take what we can from what we have experienced, and embrace it instead of hiding who we are.
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