The Emergency Department was absolute bedlam. In the space of a few hours multiple trauma codes, medical resuscitations, and psychotic patients were brought through our doors. One patient literally bled pints of blood onto the floor before we got her to the ICU, almost exsanguinating in just a few minutes.

One of the drunks tried sprinting through the doors until security restrained him. He was surprisingly articulate in his verbal abuse for a guy with an alcohol level of 450.

People were being pushed around on gurneys and stashed into the hallway simply to make room once they had been stabilized. The level of chaos was audible in the noise of the department. Everyone was working with a purpose.

Walking by, I overheard a woman say to her boyfriend “Wow, this is like that show ER!”

I wheeled around and smiled a bit.

“Ma’am, this is ER.”

Reading this post from an old friend (hi Al!) reminded me of my favorite Mommy Line call ever.

Now, Mommy Line calls tend to vary from stupid to stupider.  Why?  I don’t know – but questions like “Can I drank while pragnint?”  or “I think my water just broke and I’m having contractions, but can I stay home and finish watching Cougar Town?” are a dime a dozen.

One night the good Dr. F was fielding calls, and the conversation transpired as follows:

So, I’m 40 weeks pregnant, and I keep getting this feeling like I have to poop.

Ok, well, sometimes that can be a sign of contractions.  Has your water broken?

No.  When I feel like I have to go poop, I go sit on the toilet, and I do.

Do… what?

Poop.

Ah. Let me get this straight, just so there’s no confusion.  You feel like sometimes you need to poop.  And when you feel that way, you do, in fact, poop.

That is correct.

… you should probably just poop.

“Code Sepsis, here now“.

Her blood pressure was tanking as a result of a systemic infection, a condition known as sepsis.  Sepsis can kill, and quickly; the most important thing to give is intravenous fluids fast, and plenty of them.  Traditional IV lines are too small – the equivalent of using a garden hose to put out a fire.

A central venous catheter is used instead, where a large bore tube is placed.  Unfortunately few veins in the body – only deep ones – are large enough to support this type of tubing, making central line insertion a potentially very dangerous procedure.  The risks of popping a lung, hitting an artery, or triggering a deadly heart rhythm must be carefully weighed against the benefits.

I remember my first central line – it did not go well.  In fact, it did not go at all.  I knew enough to know that I didn’t know anything, and got cold feet before I had the chance to seriously hurt the patient.  Let me be the first to tell you, sticking a huge needle in someone’s neck is really intimidating. And these needles are huge.  Think Nicolas Cage in The Rock (great F’in movie) and you’ve got a rough idea of the size we’re talking.  Looking back on it, it was a smart choice.   Plenty of time to learn.  No reason to go cowboy too early.

Back to the present.  When I teach medical students to do procedures, I walk them through every single step of the way, and then have them teach it back to me.  Not just in broad strokes, but the nitty gritty.  Why?  Because if you forget to put on your sterile gown – or you put it on in the wrong order – well, then, you’ve screwed the pooch just as much as if you missed the vein, haven’t you?

So, I started.  Anatomy examined.  Skin disinfected.  Gown on.  Sterile field.  Ultrasound guided.  Vein accessed.  Wire threaded.  Vein dilated.  Line placed.  Sewed in.  Finished.

Total time elapsed – 15 minutes.  Not great, but 45 minutes faster than the last one I did.  Next time I’ll be better.

She was 70, and her family noticed she wasn’t moving quite right.

By the time she got to the ED, her entire left side was paralyzed and her mental status was poor at best.  The massive, ongoing stroke was getting worse by the minute.  Her pupil was getting progressively more and more dilated.  Gurgling, choking sounds were emanating from her throat – a sure sign that if she hadn’t already swallowed a large volume of stomach juices and oral secretions into her lungs, she would soon.

First and foremost.  ABC: the axiom by which Emergency Medicine doctors live.  A is for Airway, the first and most important part of any emergent case.  She has officially failed to Protect The Airway, and it’s time for me to do it for her.

I’ve just finished my anesthesia rotation and for the rest of my career, I’m officially cleared to intubate when needed.  More importantly, I’ve done enough of these that I feel comfortable handling myself without guidance.

Equipment: check.  Always make sure your equipment works first.  It’ll save your ass when the clock is ticking and you suddenly realize your light doesn’t work.

Drugs: pushed through the IV.  Now she’s sedated and comfortable, and the paralytic quickly starts working.  I give her oxygen with an ambu bag because she can’t breathe for herself.  Completely paralyzed, her life is in my hands – a responsibility not to be taken lightly.

And so.  Scissor the teeth open.  Blade carefully inserted through the open mouth, tongue swept aside for easy visualization.  Vollecula pulled upwards and out.  Momentary pause –  I don’t see vocal cords.  Gentle pressure applied to the throat – ah, there they are – assistant’s hand placed just so to keep them in view.

“Tube please.”

Hands steady, I slide the endotracheal tube gently through the vocal cords.  I inflate the cuff to keep it in place, and hook her up to the ventilator.  Oxygen flows to her lungs.  Immediate crisis averted.  One of the nurses gives me a wink, “Doctor Z, you made that look easy!”

There is a particular satisfaction when you glimpse the beginnings of competency.  A month ago, I wouldn’t have known how to do this.  I’m far from an expert – but it will come.  I’ve got my whole life to practice.

Going back through my dictations today, I found this gem that I dictated at the height of exhaustion in the wee hours:

HISTORY OF PRESENT ILLNESS: This is a 30ish-year-old African American male who apparently was drinking heavily and fell asleep on the train tracks. He awoke when the train ran over his legs yet managed to call 9-1-1. Paramedics on scene report that he had a GCS of 15, was talking well and somehow moving all extremities, although they noted that his legs were not attached to his body.