C is for Christmas

Twas The Night Before Christmas

(Medic version…with deepest apologies to Clement Clark Moore)

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the station,
Not a Medic was stirring, it caused great elation.

The pagers were tucked in their chargers full power,
For not a call had gone out, for nearly an hour.
In holiday slumber, the crews were all basking,
And the only thing heard, was the sound of gas passing.

When suddenly to our collective disdain,
The once quiet pager sang out its refrain
We climbed in our gear, we ran to the truck,
They told us “one shot!”, and we said OH… (gosh darn?)

With red lights a blaring and sirens a screaming,
We rushed to the scene to find the place teeming
With dozens of nosy neighbors galore
And a man with a hole in his chest on the floor.

His brother was violent, his mother was nuts
(his girlfriend was guilty and already in cuffs)
The poor man was thrashing, saying. “I’m gonna die!”
When I tried to lend aid, he slung blood in my eye.

In route I tried to call to the docs
(while choking back puke from the smell of his socks)
The radio crackled, the reception was choppy,
And all that I heard was, “18 we can’t copy”

Doing my job, I went for a stick
(all the while thinking I just might be sick)
I spotted a vein, a big one I see,
The truck hit a bump, and I missed the IV.

The second one flowed,
I said, “Finally, a truce!”
And at that very moment…
His bowels let loose.

We finally arrived at the emergency room,
And BELIEVE me it was not one moment too soon
Bedraggled and covered in blood stem to stern,
I gave my report to a brand new intern.

With wide-eyed ambition,
This new doc did listen,
Then asked if the man
Had a private physician.

I threw up my hands right there in x-ray,
I wrote my report and I left in dismay.
As we left, the rig slid on ice (yes unsalted)
Just as dispatch piped in, “18-one assaulted”.

I shouted in glee as I stepped on the gas,
Merry Christmas to all!...let’s go kick some ass.