Eight Tips on Ambulance Wrangling

One of these days, we’ll have to do a comprehensive post on care and feeding of the multi-wheeled chariot we call the “waaambulance.” For the time being, however, here are a few morsels that most people don’t figure out until they’ve been in the business for a few months at least. These apply mainly to any Type II (van) or Type III (van cab with box module) ambulance based on the Ford chassis, although they may have some application to other vehicles as well.

  1. If you turn the ignition key too far, it may get stuck slightly past the “on” position, in which case most of your vehicle electronics (FM radio, air conditioning, etc.) will not work. It’s not broken; just turn it backwards slightly.
  2. In a similar vein, you may occasionally find that after switching off the power, your key is trapped in the ignition. Give the gearshift a wriggle while turning and pulling at the key. Jiggle the steering wheel too.
  3. Lock yourself out? For shame. On many Type II (van) units, there’s an easy solution: unscrew your antenna (either the FM antenna or a stout two-way) and head to the back doors. The leftmost of the two lights above the license plate should be easily removable, and you can poke the antenna up into the gap and use it as a probe to “lift” the base of the locking post. Then open the sucker up and unlock the rest using the electronic switch (or just climb through to the cab). Of course, your service may also have installed an emergency unlock button somewhere hidden, but you should hopefully know about that…
  4. The knob that you pull to activate the headlights has another function. If you twist it while it’s in the “on” position, it will adjust the brightness of your dashboard console (including the LCD radio display and the lights behind the dials); give this a try if your radio seems inexplicably dim. And if you turn it all the way to the left (it will click), it’ll usually activate the overhead light.
  5. If you have a digital odometer, there should be a button beside it that cycles through your tripometers and resets them. If the ignition is off and you need to retrieve the odometer mileage for paperwork, you don’t need to turn the key; just press this button and the display will light.
  6. If you have a “momentary” switch that disables the backup alarm (rather than one that can be switched off permanently), you can hold it down while shifting into reverse (you may have to shift left-handed) in order to avoid any beeping; this is a nice courtesy to avoid deafening your partner if they’re back there spotting you. Otherwise you’ll usually let out at least one beep before you can hit the switch. Once you’ve shifted you can let it go.
  7. The newer gasoline vans have a third “cigarette lighter” charging port located inside the glove compartment.
  8. Diesel vehicles can safely be fueled while the engine is running. There’s no need to shut down and kill the AC and everything else. I would not, however, try starting the engine while fueling it.

Some Things to Say (part 2)

 

Chest pain. It’s our favorite thing to ask about and maybe our favorite thing to find. Never more does EMS get its chance to shine than when diagnosing the acute MI, and chest pain is how we start down that path. In many cases, everyone from the vomiting drunk to the elderly broken hip gets asked about their chest.

But next time you throw in, “Any chest pain?”, consider this. Not only do many heart attacks fail to present with chest pain at all, even among those that do, the specific symptoms may not amount to what your patient considers “pain.”

Pain means different things to different people. What I call pain, you might call discomfort, and my girlfriend might call a funny feeling. Tightness, palpitations, burning. Trying to list it all would leave you on scene for 20 minutes with a thesaurus, but if you don’t find the right words, then the answer you get might simply be “no.” And you’ll miss the big one.

The solution is in one magic phrase:

 

How does your chest feel?

I learned this gem from Captain Kent Scarna of Boston EMS, and it joins the ranks of the most useful assessment tricks out there. Because despite all the ambiguity in the chest, this one pretty much captures it all. If there’s frank pain, the patient will tell you all about it. But if there’s fluttering, itching, a feeling like they just ate a canary, this invokes that too. As a diagnostic screening, it is appropriately vague. There is a time and a place for direct questions, but when it comes to chest pain, starting off open-ended is the way to go.

How does your chest feel? Fine, it feels fine. Okay then. If you’re truly concerned you can follow up to confirm — “No pain or discomfort?” — but there’s no need to break out the Webster’s. It’s sensitive but specific; it casts a wide net, but it still unpacks fully. What else could we want?

More things to say in part 3

Hurry Up and Wait

So you chuck the ill patient onto the stretcher, throw some straps over him, bang him into the ambulance. Your partner, the stunt driver known only as “Maverick,” spins you out onto the throughway and mashes on the Faster pedal until it stops going down. The radio is playing “Go, Speed Racer!” as you slam through traffic, taking corners at 45, the straights at 70, and sounding more sirens than they have names for. (Maverick, bless his heart, has subscribed to the two-footed school of driving, where the gas stays floored and corners are managed by tapping the brake with the left foot.)

Mere seconds later, having covered twenty miles, fractured your spine twice, and pounded every piece of unsecured equipment to powder, your rig squeals into the ER on a cloud of blue smoke, drifting sideways into the ambulance bay like a riced-out Honda. Maverick leaps out, throws open the rear doors, and . . .

. . . then stands there scratching his ass for five minutes while you disconnect wires, find a place to perch the monitor, swap over the oxygen to a portable tank, and make sure everything’s clear to pull out the stretcher.

Really?

With critical patients — particularly those receiving ALS care — more time can be saved by setting up the patient for transfer prior to arrival than can be saved by driving dangerously. If you’re truly in a “load and go” situation, remember that the clock doesn’t stop just because you crossed the finish line at the parking lot. Whatever the patient needs (surgery, pharmacological care, invasive measures), presumably it wasn’t to wait outside the hospital while you fiddle with things. If seconds really matter, then you should be able to throw open the doors as soon as you stop moving and wheel the patient straight out and into the ED. “But I’m busy with patient care,” you say? Well, if there aren’t enough hands, then decide whether whatever you’re doing is more important than the time you’d save. But if it is, then stop acting like you’re in such a hurry.

The equivalent of this on your initial response would be pulling your boots on and getting out the chute faster, rather than trying to make up the time on the road. But that’s a topic for another day.

Check, Check, Check — Check it Out

Your day always starts the same way. You punch in and wander outside to find the ambulance that’s going to be your home, office, break room, and personal teleporter for the next 8 (or 48) hours. Then you crack it open and figure out if it’s capable of surviving that journey.

The checkout is an integral part of your shift, and it’s not rocket science. It’s simply a process of ensuring that the equipment you’re going to need is available and functional, that you know where it is, and that anything needed is restocked or repaired before… well, before you need the darned thing.

You can go through this in a wide variety of ways, and the best process for you will depend on vagaries like how your rigs are set up, what equipment you carry, and even what’s written on your physical checklist, if you have one. But here are some general tips for optimizing things.

Start with the most critical items. That means equipment that’s essential and lifesaving, such as the AED; it also means equipment whose absence can’t be substituted, worked around, or otherwise managed. For instance, 4x4s are important — direct pressure saves lives — but there’s a dozen other types of dressings you probably have floating around, so they’re not truly essential. What’s essential?

The ambulance. If you can’t transport people, you are out of service; you are worse than useless. The first thing I do is crank the engine and make sure it catches, check for warning lights, and eyeball the fuel. If required by your service, check fluids, kick tires, whatever’s needed.

Your signal and warning devices. This is a safety issue for you and your patients. While you’re up front checking the engine, flip the lights on and check that they’re all blinking. Then key the PA microphone, listening for the audible pop (or scratch it with a nail if it’s not easily audible). If the PA works, the siren generally works, since they often use the same speakers. (Actually flipping on the siren tends to be deafening and obnoxious to everyone in earshot, so I avoid it unless the PA itself is broken.)

Next up should probably be your AED. This not only brings the dead back to life, it’s the only way of doing so unless you’re going to jerry-rig something from the truck battery and jumper cables, or try the ol’ precordial thump and prayer. Different AEDs have different maintenance procedures; most perform their own internal checks once a day at least, and you can just look for the “all’s well” symbol on the display (usually a check mark). In other cases, you’ll need to key the thing on to make sure it’s working. Check that your pads are within date (the conductive gel inside eventually dries out — this is also why the packaging should remain sealed during storage), and if it’s a model that lets you preload the wires without opening the pads, make sure there’s a set plugged in.

Look through your drugs next, if you’ve got ’em. Epinephrine is absolutely lifesaving. Aspirin significantly improves outcomes. You can’t MacGyver any of it. Make sure you have whatever minimum stock you’re supposed to have, and that it’s all in date. (Most drugs don’t suddenly turn poisonous when they hit their expiration; more often they simply become less potent. However, this is a matter of professionalism as well as liability; don’t be the guy carrying drugs 6 months past expiry.)

BVMs. At least one is essential unless you plan on giving mouth-to-mouth. Multiple sizes, or at least multiple sizes of mask, are a boon, although with proper technique you should be able to make an adult size work in most cases. Check that you not only have the BVM, but that it’s got O2 tubing, a bag, and a mask attached to it, and give the mask a squeeze to make sure the collar is filled and not leaking.

Oxygen. Check your portable tank; is it charged? (A D tank with 500psi running a NRB will run dry in about 3 minutes. Is that enough in your book?) Hold it to your ear; is the regulator leaking? If so, loosen it, check the washer, put everything in place and tighten it back down. (Remember that plastic washers are technically single-use, although they often do okay for multiple uses. Metal and rubber washers last approximately forever.) If there’s a persistent leak, leave the tank closed. And whether it’s closed or open, make sure you know which it is. If it’s closed, ensure that there’s some way of re-opening the thing, whether a wrench or an attached twist-valve. Check for adequate cannulas, masks, and nebulizers, as appropriate. Check your onboard main O2 as well.

C-spine. Got boards? Got collars? Tape? Headblocks/headbeds/towel rolls? Got enough straps to immobilize as many patients as you have boards, in whatever fashion you prefer? (Although I typically use simple arrangements like box strapping, I try to have enough straps on hand for a full chest-and-groin Grady strapping in case we’re going to be cartwheeling someone through narrow halls or spiral staircases.)

Portable suction. Is everything attached where it should be? Is there tubing and a Yankauer tip, preconnected if your service allows that? Turn it on and occlude the input port with a finger; does it suck strongly? If not at all, check for unsealed ports. If it sucks weakly, and turns over sluggishly, check the battery.

BP cuff. Unless you’ve got automatic NIBP via a monitor, this is an irreplaceable assessment tool. At least one manual cuff is necessary, but preferably there should be a full range of sizes including infant, child, adult, and a large adult or thigh cuff. Does the needle read zero? (If not, adjust it as described here). If you don’t carry your own stethoscope, you’ll obviously need one of those as well.

Now, everything else in your bags. Enough gauze, dressings, roller bandages, and tape. Ice packs, splints, cravats. Trauma and burn dressings. And so on.

Now, the truck cabinets. Again, start with what’s essential — but also look for the less “essential” things you use all the time. Do the lights back here work? AC and heat? Onboard suction (same routine as for the portable)? Sheets and blankets? Maybe an extension strap on the stretcher? Gloves in your size as well as your partner’s? Paperwork? Band-aids? Put everything where you want it, whether that means the BP cuff is on the bench, emesis bags on the wall, or tissues on the stretcher. There are a million ways to organize items like OPAs and cannulas; it doesn’t matter how you do it, as long as you know where things are and how to get at them. What you don’t want is to need something, whether a BVM or a set of restraints, and have to go digging for it. What you really don’t want is to need something, go digging, and discover it’s missing.

Many less-used items may be off your radar until the day you need it. I never looked for a urinal until the first time a patient asked for it. Experience is making mistakes, as they say.

Remember that although you may not use 95% of this gear 95% of the time, you are responsible for 100% of it nevertheless, and if it’s needed and not available, your keister is on the line. And rightly so.

Some Things to Say

We’re not idiots. Everyone knows how to communicate. You just flap your jaws and blow.

In this business, though, we often find that it’s not enough to communicate; we have to do it efficiently. Likewise, it’s not enough to ask the right questions eventually. We need to do it promptly, because we’re not going to be here all day.

Heck, never mind efficiency. Sometimes there’s just a right thing to say, and everything else is wrong things. As Mark Twain put it, it’s the difference between the lightning-bug and the lightning.

So when you find a good bunch of words, you hold onto it, because like a master key, it’ll come in handy again. Here are two little phrases that everyone should have in their toolbox.

 

Has anything been bothering you lately?

I borrow this from Thom Dick, who suggested instead “Have you been upset about anything lately?” This is good, but to my ear leans more toward psychological troubles — very legitimate, but perhaps not what you’re after.

The patient has chest pain. Okay. Abdominal pain. Difficulty breathing. Clicky elbow. Can’t pee. So you assess their complaint from every angle, real and metaphoric, and you see what there is to see about it. But what’s the context? Is this the final stage of a grab-bag of other problems? Before it was abdominal pain, was there nausea and discomfort? Have the past few days produced a gradually increasing malaise? Is that onset truly sudden, or were there precursors?

Forget all that. Did your cat just get run over? Is your insurance refusing your reimbursements? Did your medication run out last week and you haven’t been able to afford to refill it? Are you living on ramen noodles and water?

Has anything else been bothering you? We can’t list every malady, but this question encompasses them all, and it can reveal entire storylines you wouldn’t have learned without an open-ended query. Patients have a habit of not mentioning anything that doesn’t seem directly related to their chief complaint, but those blips can make or break a clinical picture. I never call a history complete without asking it once.

 

How can I help?

Patients have a lot of complaints. Sometimes it’s the very reason they called you. Sometimes it’s just a complaint. They’re sick. Stuff hurts. Feels bad. Has problems.

They may share these complaints with you. And you may be able to help. Chest pain, you say? Why, I have just the morphine for that!

The trouble is, sometimes we’re not sure if we can help. Or it doesn’t seem like we can. Chest pain’s one thing. But what can you do when they complain of feeling “awful”? What about an uncomfortable stretcher — sure, let me just grab the plush memory foam? Heck, on my BLS truck, we don’t even have the morphine. We’re not magicians here.

But if you’re drawing a blank, try the wild card: ask!

Hey, sorry you’re having problems. How can I help? Often they have a solution. They’ve dealt with their problems for longer than you have. Next time, maybe you’ll have that answer on tap. But you don’t have to know all the answers; you just have to be able to ask. Funny thing, too; even when you really can’t do anything, they’re glad you cared enough to try. Sure is better than just sitting there trying to ignore their whining.

How can I help? Hey — isn’t that our whole business? They give us textbooks on how we can help. But sometimes helping’s easier than a CPAP or a trauma alert. Sometimes we can cheat, because the answer’s up for grabs. You just gotta ask.

More at Some Things to Say (part 2)