The Day I Decided I Didnt Want to be a Doctor :: Personal Narrative Medicine Papers

The Day I Decided I Didnt sine qua non to be a DoctorWeve got one unconscious 14-year old male, touch by a train. Breathing is labo release and shallow. A weak carotid pulse is 42. BP is 80 over 60. Skin is cyanotic, moist, and clammy. Pupils are dilated and non-reactive. Multiple intricate injuries broken ribs protruding through left side, tension pnuemothorax, distended abdomen with taken for granted(predicate) internal bleeding, fractured humerus, and pelvis. Massive injuries to head and face lacerated nose, fractured zyogos, fractured cranium with obvious ecchymosis around eyes, hemorrhaging and leaking cerebrospinal fluid from ears and cranium. Have the accidental injury team diligent when we arrive.I chose to do my clinical on a Friday night because I wanted a large-mouthed messy injury like the ones in our class videos but so far its been a rather narcotic evening. The only injuries, a fractured arm, an avulsed finger, a lacerated chin, and, of course, herds of compl aining geriatrics. Just my luck. be enthusiastically bored with these trivial injuries, I stroll up to the important call-in desk and slump trim down on a wooden, three-legged work and insipidly finger the plastic ID badge clipped to my front collar. WAIT, what is this. The trauma team has assembled and is impatiently waiting by the accordion glass door. Something big must have happened. Through the glass door, brightly flashing red and white lights ignite the emergency room. An ambulance has just arrived. The glass doors fold frank and a sea of blue and teal scrubs frantically attacks the revolve stretcher. This is it this is the big one Ive been waiting for. A spark of excitement shoots down my veins. Adrenaline jump-starts my heart and my mind is immediately racing. I launch from my fix and shuffle around the swarming sea of blue and teal. A blaring vowel system rattles off the patients latest diagnosis a 14-year old struck by a train. BP is 68 over 40, pulse is 34, broke n ribs, tension pnuemo, fractured cranium . . . The stretcher is wheeled to an isolated back room. A boys tattered dust lay quiet and still. Two, latex-gloved male nurses grasp each end of the spurring board on which the boy is strapped and lift it onto a rectangular, white embroider bed. A football-sized pool of bright red blood remains on the white padded stretcher where the boy once lay. The small body, simple(a) of all clothing except for a small white wipe covering his genitalia, is grotesquely deformed.