Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Healthcare By The Pound, The Hiemlich and Just a Touch of Irony

I've mentioned here before the practice of funding medical procedures by having bake sales, pasta dinners and, as was the case recently, a pulled pork BBQ. Now, I was not present for the events that transpired at the BBQ- but I was indeed an eye and ear witness to the events days later at our station.

One of our medics- let's call him Big Tom- decided to have his evening meal at the charity BBQ. Big Tom and his partner parked in the rear of the church hall where the benefit was being held, got out and stood in line. There were several people in front of them and several more folks seated at tables eating. Among the diners was a local VIP we'll call Fat Joe, no- we'll call him Big Fat Joe. Joe was, as I've been told, absolutely jammin' the pulled pork in his mouth. He was tearing at the giant sandwich while grunting and shaking his head back and forth, side to side, when- Big Fat Joe got this crazy wild eyed look on his face, jumped up and, yes, grabbed his throat with both hands. That most classic of signs- Big Fat Joe was choking, not the coughing, gagging thing the public sometimes calls choking, but the occluded airway thing that is indeed choking.

But help is seconds away- the Citys tallest and overall largest Medic is right there, quickly determines that we've got ourselves a choking condition and applies the remedy- the Heimlich... the Heimlich as only a 6'6" 375 pound inner city Paramedic can deliver it.

Well folks, I'm told that Big Fat Joe spit out a blob of pork and goo about the size of a baseball- and he was overcome with a desire to "do something for you guys. Ya' know what? I'm going bring you boys lunch next week"

And so he did. Big Fat Joe and two helpers showed up the following Wednesday with pizzas and boxes of doughnuts. But Joe came on a day when Big Tom, who will eat anything, was off.

Big Fat Joe came on the day the "health food Nazis" were on duty- and none of us would eat the stuff despite Big Fat Joes assurance that "there's nothin' wrong with that stuff, it won't kill ya"

Fortunately, our DC walked in- ah, let's call him, oh I don't know, Big Dick. Big Dick is about my height- 5'10"ish- but out- weighs me by a good 200 pounds. Big Dick saw the boxes and his face just lit up. He grabbed piece after piece, jamming them into his mouth, grunting and shaking his head back and forth, side to side.

So that was just a touch of irony, a little dab- now if his eyes had bugged out and, had he grabbed his throat with both hands... now that would have been some crazy cool irony there my friends.

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