If I wasn't already a vegetarian...

**Don't read if you've got a weak stomach. Lots of bodily fluids are present in this blog.**

I've decided that me and Dinty Moore beef stew (the nasty microwaveable kind) aren't friends.

I decided this after seeing it erupt out of a patient's mouth and both nostrils like Mt. Saint Helens. I didn't know the human body could produce such copious amounts of vomit. The smell was putrid and when combined with the other unpleasant odors of death, almost unbearable. I was pretty close to tossing my own cookies, right on her ample chest.

When her family called 911, she was in respiratory distress. When we got to the scene a few minutes later, she was blue and not breathing. While attempting to intubate her and secure an airway she vomited a little. When her heart finally stopped beating, the volcano erupted. She also lost control of her bladder and bowels.

Why do people always die in the smallest room in the house? This patient was found face down in the kitchen and between me and my partner, the fire department, my Captain, the patient, and our equipment, there was barely enough room to think. I distinctly remember the sight and sound of the vomit hitting the sides of the refrigerator as it first bubbled, then streamed out her nose.

I drilled a needle into her lower leg so that we could attempt to administer medications in order to try to restart her heart. She was a large woman and the needle barely made it through her flesh and into her bone marrow. We pushed 3 rounds of drugs and delivered her to the code team at the ED no worse off.

They managed to get a heartbeat back and were talking about admitting her when we left.
I felt dirty. It took an hour to clean our unit. The Dinty Moore made a reappearance during transport and wound up inside 2 of the cabinets. It also ended up on my pants, my pullover, in my hair, and on my boots. Nothing is more cleansing than throwing the nasty funky uniform in a bio hazard bag and taking a hot shower. Doesn't matter that it was 30 degrees outside and my hair would have frozen to my head if we had to go out again.

All that mattered is that I washed Dinty Moore down the drain.

I hope he never returns. I'm not sure I could take it again.