Coincidences: Oktoberfest

In the mid eighties, my friend and colleague, JoBeth and I decided it was high time to see the world.

Saving up enough cash to last us a few months on the road, we obtained a leave of absence from work and before you could say "Beer Hall", we were dancing like chickens at Oktoberfest in Munich, Germany. The tradition spans 200 years and this year, Oktoberfest will celebrate its bicentennial. For more info...see Wikipedia's  Oktoberfest

The Oktoberfest grounds consist of several huge tents sponsored by different beer companies. Drinking at the 'Spaten' tent vs. the 'Heineken' or the 'Hofbrau' tent doesn't really matter. It's the energy of the tent, the band and word of mouth that draws you in. Tents are huge and brightly-lit with rows upon rows of wooden picnic tables, a dance floor and a band. Add about one-thousand beer drinking people being served by busty waitresses with impressive forearm strength and manual dexterity ...

And you've got the makings of a great party!

Armed with our "English-German Phrasebook " JoBeth and I would strike up a conversation with anyone that would listen.Our attempts at speaking German were welcomed and frequently laughed at. Loudly. After a few king-sized Heineken we thought ourselves to be quite adept in speaking German.

Somehow, knowing that we would never see our drinking buddies again made making complete fools out of ourselves acceptable.

Between chicken dances and beer guzzling, I began a little small talk with a fellow English-speaker...

Me: "So, where are you from? 

Him: "Halifax, Nova Scotia Canada." 

Me: "Getouttahere! I was born in Halifax!" "What year were you born?" 

Him: He told me his birth year. 

Me: It was the same as mine. "OK, when's your birthday?" 

Him It was the same as mine. 

Me: All squinty-eyed..."What hospital?" 

Him: "The Halifax Infirmary".

Me: "All right, let me see your I.D."

We had been nursery-mates.

Gang Night

I was working the 7pm to 7am shift at Baylor’s ER and it was rumored to be “Gang Night” in Dallas. Why Dallas gangs felt the need to show their mettle on a hot & humid night in August was beyond me but….

Was “gang night” for real? We weren’t sure, but the idea of one particular night where opposing gangs from all over Dallas demonstrated their fearlessness and courage by cutting up and shooting one another caught my attention.

So, amidst the usual chaos and cacophony of the ER on a typical Saturday night, we were all on the ‘alert’ for mass casualties to hit the door at any minute.

Around two in the morning, I saw two, tall healthy-looking African American men dressed in hooded, bulky winter jackets enter the ER through our ambulance entrance. Based on their unseasonable dress, I just knew they had to be armed. They looked like they meant business.

Not one for confrontation, I surprised myself when out of nowhere ‘I got up all in their bidness’... “What do you want?” I sternly asked the biggest guy. “My son’s been shot.” He responded. I looked at the other guy who did not appear to be in any distress when he promptly unzipped his jacket and I saw the baby.

The child was about 9 months old. Snatching him, I ran next door into Trauma one. He was barely alive, with a single bullet wound that had entered his right chest and exited out his back.

The ‘story’ was that these two guys were babysitting when they decided to go out for a drive.

The baby was in the back seat of the car when “some mother-f!#*er started shootin’ at us.”

The baby survived. Hopefully his first GSW would be his last but - I kind of doubt it.

ER 101

In 1983, a doctor that I had worked with suggested I transfer to the Emergency Room at Baylor. I had planned a lengthy tour of Europe and would be gone for a couple of months, so transferring sounded like a good idea. I secured my transfer to the E.R. before leaving for my trip.

When I reported to the E.R. for my first day of duty, I was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (so to speak) and didn't get why the E.R. staff weren't exactly thrilled when introduced to me by the nurse educator. I certainly didn't miss the subtle eye roll and yawn when they were told about my (non-ER) nursing experience and I was blown away by the blatant rudeness of a more experienced E.R. nurse when she snapped "get me a real nurse" after I had entered the room where a patient wasn't doing so well.

In the eighties, nursing academics began discussing how ‘nurses eat their young’, a phrase used to describe an epidemic of how many times 'seasoned' nurses would not be kind or helpful to new or young nurses but rather, teach through intimidation, fear and bullying. Believe me, those nurses were most definitely in the ER and gave me a new understanding into the naming of 'nurse sharks'. That being said, without any ER experience, the truth of the matter was that I knew I had to ‘prove’ myself and that I needed them more than they needed me. Fortunately, the practice of 'nurses eating their young' has gone by the wayside. Nurses are generally more supportive and helpful to the newbies.

I accepted the challenge of Emergency Nursing and did my best to present myself as a self confident, skilled and knowledgable nurse and made every effort to befriend even the most bloodthirsty of nurse sharks. Humor helped alot and I learned that when you swim with sharks you'd best not let them see you as bait.

The following are just a few of the new terms and phrases that I had to learn ...

ER Vocabulary

• ABC – Airway, Breathing, Circulation


• Biotel – a central communications center that is staffed with nurses, doctors and paramedics who communicate and advise with various ambulance services. They are also responsible for designating the hospital that receives the patient based upon predetermined criteria.


• Bat Phone – a red telephone in the ER that is a direct line to/from Biotel


• Blunt Trauma – hit with a baseball bat or crunched in a car wreck


• Code - normally a respiratory and/or cardiac arrest but there were many 'codes' used in the hospital. If someone "called a code" it could mean starting or ending CPR


• C-Collar – Cervical Immobilization Collar – neck brace


• DFD – Dallas Fire Department (and ambulance)
  Code 1 – lights only Code 4 – lights and sirens
  Priority 1 – easy Priority 4 – see train wreck


• ETOH – Blood Alcohol or just alcohol as in “ETOH abuser”


• FB – Foreign Body


• GCS – Glasgow Coma Scale


• Gomerade – 1 liter of Normal Saline with Multivitamin, Folic Acid and Vit B12 added – used for ETOH abusers (gomers) - Now the term is "Banana Bag" - much more politically correct.


• GSW – Gun shot wound


• LP – lumbar puncture (spinal tap)


• LOC – Level of Consciousness


• LOL/LOM – Little old lady/man


• MVA – Motor vehicle accident


• MVC – Motor vehicle collision/crash … around 1995 MVA was changed to MVC. According to the Board of Trauma Surgeons “There are no accidents. Every crash is preventable.”


• MCA/MCC – Motor Cycle Accident/Crash


• POPTA – passed out prior to arrival


• Pit – the ER


• PTA - Prior to arrival


• Penetrating Trauma – stab wound, projectile wound, gun shot wound, puncture wound etc.


• Ruptured triple A – see train wreck (ruptured abdominal aortic aneurysm)


• Ruptured ectopic – see train wreck (ruptured pregnancy gestating in a fallopian tube)


• SW – Stab Wound


• Thumper - A mechanism used to deliver chest compressions to a patient in cardiac arrest


• Train wreck – any really bad trauma or pt in really bad condition.


• Tox Screen – Blood or urine specimen to determine presence of opiates, amphetamines, cannabis etc.  

Knife & Gun Club - Part 1

"The Knife and Gun Club" - Part 1

Circa 1990, I was an ER Nurse at a hospital situated in a (less than) desirable neighborhood of Dallas, Texas across the street from an apartment complex referred to “The Projects” - a government assisted  apartment complex for the very poor where many occupants were armed to the teeth. See ER 101

Consequently, walk-in or dump-off trauma was commonplace. The ER Team was expert in managing 'penetrating' trauma as Gun Shot Wound's (GSW) and Stab Wounds (SW) were fairly routine.

The majority of our patients originated from The Projects but an additional source of blood and guts was from 'The It'll Do' nightclub located about three blocks away from the ER and notorious for late night stabbings.

The “Knife and Gun Club” would kick off on Thursday nights (payday) around ‘closing time’ (2 am) and continue until Sunday evening. Most of the victims were drunk or stoned, poor and under-educated.  I was told a long time ago that the ‘club’ name began by way of the differentiating members. The weapon of choice and modality of maiming and/or killing were determining factors on whether or not you were a member of the ‘knife club’ or the ‘gun club’. Divided by nationality, American citizens could legally purchase a gun to shoot one another. Undocumented aliens, were unable to legally purchase guns, so knives were the preferred mechanism of assault. Who knows?

It took me years to learn how to create strong boundaries between the patient and myself without losing my sense of compassion for them. After all, many of our ER clients were not the nicest of people.

The secret was to view their reality separately from mine and treat them as I would want my own brother or sister to be treated. It was the healthiest way for me to deal with some of the most horrific people and witness some of the most disfiguring trauma. But it took some time to get there as they don’t teach you this stuff in nursing school.

It was just after midnight on a Friday and “The Knife and Gun Club” was running full tilt. The ‘Bat Phone’ rang and we were told to prepare for an unconscious, hypotensive male with multiple GSW’s to chest and abdomen.

Within minutes, the patient arrived by DFD. An African American male, wearing a African print “doo-rag” and jeans, he was bloody and appeared lifeless. I could tell just by the look of him that he was a gangster.

Next:Knife & Gun Club - Part 2 

Coming to America 4

Moving On...Snuff, chewing tobacco, rifle practice, horseshoes, squirrel killings, pick up trucks, “Wild turkey”, razorbacks and rednecks. A little over a year had passed since I arrived in Fort Smith. I had bought and learned to drive a car, ignorantly chewed ‘a plug’ of Redman” chewing tobacco (and promptly vomited), was getting pretty good at tossing Horseshoes and shot a rifle at some tin cans . It was about all I could take. I was not cut out for this. Several of my nursing class graduates had returned to Canada, one married an American and some traveled to other cities in the U.S. When my roommate announced she would be returning to Canada, I decided to move on.

The thought of returning to The Great White North didn’t interest me at all. I had become accustomed to sunshine and didn’t want to leave it behind so, I hopped in my Chevette and headed for Southwestern Bell Telephone Company (SWB). I presumed that SWB would have telephone books for most major U.S. cities (as this was way pre-internet). My research began and ended with The Yellow Pages for Dallas, Houston and New Orleans. I scribbled down the phone numbers of only those hospitals that displayed the largest ads.

The first hospital that returned my call was Baylor University Medical Center in Dallas, Texas. Baylor arranged for an interview, took care of my air and ground transportation to Dallas and provided a room for me at the Baylor Nursing School Residence. Following my interview, I was introduced to another Canadian nurse, who had been working at Baylor for a couple of years. She invited me out to dinner and brought me to the happening place at the time – TGI Fridays on Greenville Avenue. It was everything I had dreamed of … handsome guys in three-piece suits and cocktails in fancy glasses... Who could ask for more?  Part 5: A Friend in Dallas

Coming to America 5

My New Friend, Earl.
Moving to Dallas was a piece of cake. My new apartment was arranged through the hospital. I sold my car for the first month’s rent and security deposit. After all, I really didn’t need a car anyway as a city the size of Dallas would surely have a super mass transit system a la Toronto, New York, London or Paris. A friend’s Dad offered to drive me to Dallas and off we went.

My new furnished apartment was perfect and located about seven or eight miles from the hospital. Knowing that it would take me a while to get used to the transit system, I called a cab to take me to the grocery store. Dallas was kinda 'spread out' and the nearest grocery store was about three miles away. I had expected neighborhood markets. Oh well. There was a 7-eleven within walking distance.

About one and one-half hours later, the cab arrived. Apparently, cabs were not plentiful in Dallas and according to my gravel-voiced cowboy-hatted cab driver, and new best friend, Earl, “everybody has a car here”. When I asked about Dallas’ transit system, Earl snickered and in heavy southern drawl answered “Ayyy what?” It turns out that Dallas didn’t have a real transit system. It was rudimentary and unreliable, virtually non-existent. I was crushed, broke and car-less. I made a deal with Earl to come back and pick me up from the grocery store in an hour. He did.

Sitting in my new apartment, feeling sorry for myself and without a friend in the world (except for Earl), I started questioning my decision-making abilities. Why did I sell my car when I didn’t know that I would need one in Dallas? Why did I choose a city where I didn’t know a soul? Would I have enough money to last me until I get my first paycheck?

I recall my Fort Smith friends telling me how ‘brave’ I was for moving to Dallas, alone. I realized now that ‘bravery’ didn't have a lot to do with it but that ‘stupidity’ surely did. I was miserable. Part 6: Twist of Fate

Coming to America 6

Twist of Fate
By the time I had started my new job at Baylor University Medical Center, I was becoming broker and lonelier by the day. I couldn’t afford taxi service anymore (so much for my new best friend, Earl). Fortunately, the assistant nurse manager of my unit offered to give me a lift to and from work. She was great but I didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness and ask her for any other favors (like driving me to the grocery store), so I became a 7-eleven junkie on my days off and ate at the hospital cafeteria when I worked. I was twenty years old with no friends, no money and with the exception of going to a job that I hated, I was stuck in my apartment day and night. What a loser.

Then through a twist of fate, things started to turn around.

My apartment faced a fairly busy street but the sounds of cars passing didn’t bother me as I was a heavy sleeper. One night I was awakened by the sound of a loud “BOOM”. I rolled over and went back to sleep. A little while later I was awakened yet again by the sound of sirens. When I opened my eyes, flashing red lights were outside my bedroom window. Whatever. I went back to sleep. Loud voices and what sounded like 2-way radio communication woke me up again.

I got up to see what all the ruckus was about when I walked into my living room and tripped over one of my sofa chairs that was normally located about four feet away from my bedroom door. I hadn’t turned any lights on yet so I couldn’t quite figure out what the bright white light was coming from my living room wall. When I did turn on the light I could see that my wall was crushed in and my sofa chairs were thrown across the room. Earthquake? I carefully opened the door to my apartment, fearful of what devastation I would witness on the other side when I heard someone say “Hey! There's somebody in there!” They were referring to me. Clad in my scrubs, sleepy-eyed, bed-headed and barefoot, I stepped outside of my apartment to a round of applause, gaining quasi 'celebrity status' at my apartment complex immediately. They may not have learned my name but I was known as "the girl who slept through a car slamming into her living room."

I guess Dallas wasn’t so bad after all. I may still be broke and car-less but at least I had someone to talk to at the pool. Part 7: Banking American-Style

(..the lady who ran into my apartment was fine – minor cuts and bruises only.)

Coming to America 7

Banking, American Style
Payday. I thought it would never get here. I didn’t have a bank account yet so I asked around and a couple of the new Filipino nurses told me that a banker had just given them a class on "American Banking". His bank was within walking distance of Baylor (a definite bonus) so they gave me his card.

That afternoon, I told my 'ride' not to wait for me as I planned on walking to the bank, opening an account and cashing my check. I would take a cab back home. When I made it to the bank, I couldn't find an entrance door for the life of me. Well crap, it was a 'drive-thru' bank. So, with my head held high and shoulders back, I walked up to a car bay and pressed the red 'call' button. "I would like to open an account" I said. The teller (who had to be stifling a laugh) said "I'm sorry ma'am, but this bank is a drive-thru only. If you would like to open an account, you will need to visit our bank office." There were two cars now, lining up behind me. I pretended not to notice. "Where might that be?" I asked. Trying my best not to sound sarcastic. "Just turn left on Hall then make a left on Elm. It's about 3/4 miles up on Elm" she said. - Easy for her to say, she was not the one walking alone in downtown Dallas.

That weekend, with cash in my handbag and a smile in my heart, I began my search for wheels. The used car section of The Dallas Morning News had pages of car ads and many dealerships were offering “No Money Down!” Perfect! I had no money to put down on a car anyway so, I’m thinking that this type of deal will work well for me. After calling several of the “No Money Down” dealerships, I soon learned that the “No Money Down” deals were for people who had an established credit history in Texas. My bubble burst. Was it a sign? Should I just pack up and go back to Canada?

On Monday, I contacted the banker whose card I had recieved earlier - 'Mr. Lou Bittner, Vice President, The Texas Bank'. I made an appointment to see him that afternoon "about a loan". The way I looked at it, if he was kind enough to help Filipino nurses learn the American banking system, maybe he would have a soft spot in his heart for a Canadian.

Mr. Bittner was a well-groomed, older man who looked very much the part of ‘the banker’. He invited me into his office and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. I took a deep breath and began my semi-rehearsed pitch… “Mr. Bittner, I am twenty years old, I am not an American citizen, I have no collateral and I have only been a nurse at Baylor for three weeks but I am trustworthy and could provide you with personal and professional references from Canada and Arkansas, I don't know anyone here. Anyway, I would like to apply for an unsecured loan to buy a car.” I had remembered being told by my dad that a loan without collateral was called an 'unsecured loan' and I thought that using 'banker-speak' would make me sound like I knew what I was talking about.

Mr. Bittner paused for a few seconds then looked at me intensely and said slowly, “I’ll tell you what... I will loan you $3,000.00. But first, you have to come up with $1000.00 on your own. When you do that, call me and you'll have your loan. Your car cannot amount to more than $4,000.00 including tax and title.”

We had ourselves a deal!   Part 8: Wheels!