It took me a week before I could make this entry. Let me begin by saying that, when I post in boisandfemmesinbed, it may not always be relavant to being femme or boi. But as I identify myself as androgynous, I feel like whether you are a boi or femme, u could just relate in some way to my life.
She was sitting and rocking on the cold November pavement. And I am the asshole rolling up in a nice warm vehicle, with a belly full of fast food, and quick whipsnaps of audacity to catagorize her as an S.O.R. upon arriving. ( In EMS, S.O.R. is a release for someone who doesnt want u to treat ot transport them to the hospital or who doe3snt need it.) It was a motel where crackheads and drunks congregate to continue to release themselves form the pain and responsibilities of life through self abuse. And as it turns out, once again, God wanted me to learn a valueable lesson about humanity. Even among the drunks and crackheads.
She rambled incoherently, and I turned to the officer taking the report. "Tell me what's going on?" He kept scribbling what the story was in his notepad of tragedy, seemingly uninterested, or maybe just seasoned and jaded against it. "She was having consensual sex, she started bleeding, the other subject fled the scene." He kept scribbling. Useless.
I turned the focus back on the patient. The "other subject".
The homeless person
The less fortunate
It was then I noticed for the first time she had dried(?) blood that had ran down both er trunk like legs. She had on a denim jumper, a polo shirt, and no jacket. It was probably 40 degrees. Her hair was matted, her face was tan with the dirt and chonic anxiety of the street life. She told HER story. Much more colorful than that of what came from the officer. Go figure.
She came from across the bridge in a neighboring city, where she had been on the streets, in the cold, for days. Her appearance gave way to the fact she had been on the street for years. She hadn't eaten in two days. And as she waddled down the way, exhausted and hungry, lo and behold, a good samaritan rode past, and came back to offer her a meal and shelter for the night across the river. Desperation sat her in his car and they rode into the night to the motel.
He didn't beat her. He didn't force hiself into her. He didn't even say, "put out or get out". But she was old, and tired, and female. Yes, she thought to herself, I've been in this place before. He made a move and she obliged, in fear he would return her to the street. "I was was just so cold and hungry" she said to me...
He began. And it hurt. And she asked him more than once to stop. And the only thing that made him stop was the sight of blood. He left. He left her there. He left her there to die.
What a fucking samaritan. What kind of sorry ass animal sees a 50 year old homeless downtrodden exhausted mental person in the street, and decides, Hey! Now there's an easy piece of ass!"???????
We picked her up, and asked her if she could walk to the stretcher. And she said she could. And my stupid ass let her. Of all the poeple that were in better shape than her that I moved onto a stretcher, she was the one I asked to walk. WHY? It still haunts me. And why would that haunt me?
Because when she stood to her feet, to walk 8 feet away, a blood clot the size of a 7 month gestated fetus fel to the ground out of her. We walked her over and I asked my partner if I should get that to put in a bio bag. There was no chance to do that, because the minute she got to the stretcher, she said she couldn't breathe and turned. Ash White. Grapsuing the handle and gasping for air. I dropped the stretcher and got her on, and watched the life leave her windburnt lips. I know I turned the same shad of pale because my partner told me to calm down.
In the truck I hooked her up to the oxygen in the nick of time. I treated her with the deepest compassion one could administer in a non personal situation. But I really can't think of many things more personal than being responsible for someone's life. I had to lift her gown and check for more trauma, of which there didn't appear to be. I asked her what had probably been asked by the cop, "Were you prostituting?" And she stuck to her original story. And I told her I believed her...and we all do what we have to do to get through this world. Because I DID believe her. Because we all do. Because it didn't matter if she was a pro or not, because I don't know this woman's story and I think every day if I hadn't found God, peace in Him, myself, and if NO ONE had ever given me a chance, where the hell would I be...maybe no one ever gave her a chance.
And womyn get the short end of the stick. So you will always fight twice as hard if you get a chance, for half the reward.
My partner decided to tech her, and I drove. Four whole miles to County hospital. And 2 miles in, we had to hit lights and sirens because she was fading away. I prayed the rest of the way for God to spare her and give her a break. I pray transporting a lot of my patients, although I wonder if I am the only EMT who does that.
When we took her in the ER, my partner gave a report, she was consicous, and the staff seeemed perturbed by her very existence. I waded in and out of the white light circus, listening for signs of inhumane treatment of her, knowing opening my mouth in her defense would cost me my job. Bad time of year to be out of work with a family....bad time of year to be down on your luck, a victim of attack, and not have anyone in your corner either...
I went outside to puke. The vomit never came further than my esophagus, and I reeled from the surrealism of the whole situation. She could have been anyone. Me, you, your mother, daughter, sister...and everyone but me and my partner treated her like shit. Now I had to wonder if the hospital was going to not let her hemmorhage to death, keep her overnight for 3 squares and a warm bed and bath, or stick a shelter number in her pocket and send her on her way. Please God, let it be "B".
One of my partners back at the station told me I probably treated that woman better in the 40 minutes I had her than she ever treated herself. As I sit here and choke back the tears, that doesn't make me feel any better. I still wonder about the clot on the ground that was left behind. She was too old for a miscarriage. I still wonder did they catch the asshole that took advantage of her, or if they even ever looked for him. I wonder about her and if she made it, or got help. I wonder if God put me here to be an EMT, was I meant to be the one to get her as a patient? I think I can rest easy on that and say yes. But then I question if God put me here, then am I doing the right thing saving people He is trying to call home?