October 31
As I got out of Squatter the woman collapsed on the sidewalk. Her son and daughter caught her. We were at an I-20 rest stop just east of Longview, TX and the elderly woman had been crossing the pavement to the restroom. The son and daughter, both of middle age, carried her back to their car and propped her up in the back seat. They looked alarmed and flustered. An oxygen tube ran to the old woman’s nose. Her skin was pale and her chin drooped near her chest. I ran to the car.
“What’s wrong?” I asked the daughter.
“She has emphysema,” she said. “She just passed out.”
I called 911 on my cell phone and told the dispatcher where we were. I said we needed an ambulance as soon as possible, and to make sure the ambulance carried oxygen. I turned back to the son and daughter.
“I’ve got some medical training,” I told them. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
The woman was 80 years old and needed constant supplementary oxygen. She was traveling with a portable tank and had turned the rate of oxygen feed down because the tank was low. The son had turned it back up and she was recovering. She could talk now. But the tank was very low. The son was considering driving on to his sister’s house in Louisiana where they had another tank. The ambulance is on its way, I told him, and it will have oxygen.
I went through the mental checklists Sue had taught me in Colorado. Circulatory system – no major bleeding, had pulse. Nervous system – awake and aware, no mechanism for spinal injury. Respiratory system – the woman had an airway and was breathing. That she could talk told me she was in mild respiratory distress at worst. Not bad as long as the oxygen held out.
From the son and daughter I took the woman’s sample history because I knew the EMTs would want the information when the ambulance arrived. Symptoms, Allergies, Medications, Past history, Last food and fluids, Events leading up to incident. I wrote it all in my notebook. A couple noteworthy findings – this was among the worst emphysema incidents the son and daughter had seen. Their mother was on several medications, some for her lung condition and some for blood pressure. And she had drunk no fluids since “coffee or tea” at nine in the morning. It was now two in the afternoon. Potential for volume shock, I thought. I took her radial pulse and wrote “pulse: 98” in my notebook. That’s I bit high, I thought, consistent with inadequate oxygenation of tissue. But maybe she’s just anxious about all the commotion. “Potential ASR,” I wrote – Acute Stress Reaction.
When the ambulance arrived I tore the sheet out of my notebook and gave it to an EMT. She smiled. “Look,” she called to her colleague, “this gentleman has taken a sample history and written it down for us.” She beamed. “Thank you,” she said. “I just feel good that we’ve got people out on the road who know what they’re doing,” she said. “Are you an EMT back in Georgia?” They put the elderly woman on a stretcher and gave her oxygen. “No, I’m a WFR,” I said. The son and daughter thanked me profusely. I had not showered in a couple days and was unshaven so I felt a little uncomfortable with all the attention, but the pair didn’t seem concerned. “I think we’ll just take him back to Texas with us,” the daughter said. I felt glowy inside as I drove on to Louisiana.
I think the sample history was helpful, but I think what comforted the son and daughter most was just having someone on scene with a practical agenda, someone who could ask questions and draw conclusions. Someone who draws calmness from a bank of pertinent knowledge. I am proud to have been that person. The desire to help other people is nearly ubiquitous, but often people have no formula by which to assist. The presence of someone with a clear agenda, I think, assures everyone. I’m lucky I could take a course. I’m sure everyone on the road would like to have access to such knowledge. The world is certainly not fair – the opportunities I’ve had for learning are nearly unmatched.
In an hour or so Chap and I will leave this Baton Rouge motel and drive north on US 61. We’ll take a left onto Louisiana 66 and follow it through cypress swamps and oaks draped with Spanish moss until the road deadends at the gates of the Louisiana State Penetentiary – Angola Prison.
Today is Halloween, and at my buddy Ben’s recommendation (see August photos from Alaska) I will go to Angola Prison Rodeo. In this rodeo wardens put criminals, most of whom are sentenced to life, on untamed animals and invite sellout crowds to witness the spectacle. According to Ben’s report many of the prisoners can’t even ride. According to Ben there are as many as six prisoners on bucking horses at one time. According to Ben these prisoners just don’t give a damn. To me this sounds reminiscent of Roman gladiatorial exhibitions. Who cares if the government of Louisiana is filthily corrupt? As long as they strap prisoners to 3,000-pound bulls for fun I don’t care.
I am very excited.
“What’s wrong?” I asked the daughter.
“She has emphysema,” she said. “She just passed out.”
I called 911 on my cell phone and told the dispatcher where we were. I said we needed an ambulance as soon as possible, and to make sure the ambulance carried oxygen. I turned back to the son and daughter.
“I’ve got some medical training,” I told them. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
The woman was 80 years old and needed constant supplementary oxygen. She was traveling with a portable tank and had turned the rate of oxygen feed down because the tank was low. The son had turned it back up and she was recovering. She could talk now. But the tank was very low. The son was considering driving on to his sister’s house in Louisiana where they had another tank. The ambulance is on its way, I told him, and it will have oxygen.
I went through the mental checklists Sue had taught me in Colorado. Circulatory system – no major bleeding, had pulse. Nervous system – awake and aware, no mechanism for spinal injury. Respiratory system – the woman had an airway and was breathing. That she could talk told me she was in mild respiratory distress at worst. Not bad as long as the oxygen held out.
From the son and daughter I took the woman’s sample history because I knew the EMTs would want the information when the ambulance arrived. Symptoms, Allergies, Medications, Past history, Last food and fluids, Events leading up to incident. I wrote it all in my notebook. A couple noteworthy findings – this was among the worst emphysema incidents the son and daughter had seen. Their mother was on several medications, some for her lung condition and some for blood pressure. And she had drunk no fluids since “coffee or tea” at nine in the morning. It was now two in the afternoon. Potential for volume shock, I thought. I took her radial pulse and wrote “pulse: 98” in my notebook. That’s I bit high, I thought, consistent with inadequate oxygenation of tissue. But maybe she’s just anxious about all the commotion. “Potential ASR,” I wrote – Acute Stress Reaction.
When the ambulance arrived I tore the sheet out of my notebook and gave it to an EMT. She smiled. “Look,” she called to her colleague, “this gentleman has taken a sample history and written it down for us.” She beamed. “Thank you,” she said. “I just feel good that we’ve got people out on the road who know what they’re doing,” she said. “Are you an EMT back in Georgia?” They put the elderly woman on a stretcher and gave her oxygen. “No, I’m a WFR,” I said. The son and daughter thanked me profusely. I had not showered in a couple days and was unshaven so I felt a little uncomfortable with all the attention, but the pair didn’t seem concerned. “I think we’ll just take him back to Texas with us,” the daughter said. I felt glowy inside as I drove on to Louisiana.
I think the sample history was helpful, but I think what comforted the son and daughter most was just having someone on scene with a practical agenda, someone who could ask questions and draw conclusions. Someone who draws calmness from a bank of pertinent knowledge. I am proud to have been that person. The desire to help other people is nearly ubiquitous, but often people have no formula by which to assist. The presence of someone with a clear agenda, I think, assures everyone. I’m lucky I could take a course. I’m sure everyone on the road would like to have access to such knowledge. The world is certainly not fair – the opportunities I’ve had for learning are nearly unmatched.
In an hour or so Chap and I will leave this Baton Rouge motel and drive north on US 61. We’ll take a left onto Louisiana 66 and follow it through cypress swamps and oaks draped with Spanish moss until the road deadends at the gates of the Louisiana State Penetentiary – Angola Prison.
Today is Halloween, and at my buddy Ben’s recommendation (see August photos from Alaska) I will go to Angola Prison Rodeo. In this rodeo wardens put criminals, most of whom are sentenced to life, on untamed animals and invite sellout crowds to witness the spectacle. According to Ben’s report many of the prisoners can’t even ride. According to Ben there are as many as six prisoners on bucking horses at one time. According to Ben these prisoners just don’t give a damn. To me this sounds reminiscent of Roman gladiatorial exhibitions. Who cares if the government of Louisiana is filthily corrupt? As long as they strap prisoners to 3,000-pound bulls for fun I don’t care.
I am very excited.
posted by Jeb Butler at 2:50 PM
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