Doomscrolling I come across an article about Dangerous Foods No one over 60 should eat. Included on the list:
Processed Meats
Fried Foods.
Soda
Like was someone watching what I just ordered, a footlong dog, small fries and a Coke.
Moments later, we get dispatched for a cardiac arrest. Dispatch for cardiac arrest doesn’t always turn out to be cardiac arrest. Sometimes the person is sleeping, sometimes they have been dead for days. Sometimes I have to get down on my knees and do CPR, and insert an Airway in the patient’s mouth, insert an IV either by putting a needle into a vein or by drilling a needle into bone to access the space in a patient’s who don’t have good veins, and once you have access push the drug epinephrine in an attempt to get the patient’s heart started again.
Unfortunately, this time it does turn out to be a cardiac arrest, and instead of being in a bed, it is on the kitchen floor. The space in the kitchen is cramped so we quickly drag him out into the living room so we have space and I get down on my arthritic knees to work. Good thing I have padded knee braces, which absorb some of the blow. The patient, who I estimate to be close to three hundred pounds, collapsed while preparing lunch for his friend, who now urges him to come back and not give up. Too bad he did not know how to CPR himself as that would have increased his friends chances of survival. The man’s head is blue when we arrive. The blue is caused by lack of oxygen. His initial rhythm is asystole, flat line. The police officers help us make space by moving the kitchen table against the wall, and we go to work, processed meats, french fries and coca-colas in our bellies be damned. After getting an airway, intraosseous access, and a round of drugs in, the patient’s rhythm changes, but still no pulse. It is electronic capture, not mechanical. We work the patient for 40 minutes but to no avail. Each time we get a rhythm back the drugs wear off and he goes back to a flatline. Finally, we call the hospital, report on the case and get permission from the emergency doctor to cease resuscitation. If we couldn’t get him back, the transport to the hospital would have been futile. I feel bad, the man is twenty years younger than me. His friend is inconsolable. His buddy was there one moment, and now gone.
We cover the patient with a sheet. On our way out through the kitchen, I see a pot on the stove with two hot dogs in it. On the table is a package of New England style buns, a bottle of ketchup and an extra large bag of rippled potato chips, just like the kind I bought, after weighing the pros and cons. Fuck it, I thought that day in the store. I love these chips.