Hitching A Ride
I was a medic in Salt Lake for a few years. One rainy day, my partner and I got dispatched to a fairly upscale neighborhood on a call of “chest pain.” Chest pain means flashing lights and sirens. We quickly arrive in front of a pretty nice house and find a woman standing at the curb with two suitcases packed. It’s already a red flag. I shut down the siren but kept the lights going for safety.
We ask if she called 91-1-1 and she confirms. She steps into the ambulance, sits on the bench, and asks us to get going. I tell her we need to do a full work-up before we leave, so we can provide care en route and take her to the right facility. She says she doesn’t really have chest pain, she just has a procedure scheduled at the hospital, and she wants me to turn off the flashing lights so her neighbors don’t notice and ask her questions.
Obviously, this is EMS mistreatment, and I tell her so. Suddenly her chest pain is back! So I say I need to get vitals and start an ECG. She protests again, mentioning the start time for her appointment in less than 30 minutes, and so I ask her point-blank: Do you need medical attention or do we need the authorities? I proceeded to do a full workup, in front of her house, taking my sweet time, asking enough questions to make her eyes roll, and leaving the strobe lights on the whole time so the neighbors would certainly see.
And she was late to her appointment because we admitted her to the hospital through the ER instead of the front doors.