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.

"The Knife and Gun Club" - Part 2

(See Knife & Gun Club - Part 1)

Trauma One was stocked with everything needed for a rapid trauma resuscitation … including a machine to transfuse massive amounts of blood and fluids within minutes, a chest ‘cracking’ tray (used for - just what you would think), an abundance of sterile tubes, needles and catheters used for placement in patient’s heads, hearts, chests and nether-regions. Trauma is brutal, no doubt about it and many times, invasive procedures are performed without anesthesia. The life-saving procedure itself trumps pain management. Thankfully, most trauma patients tend not to have memory of their ER experience and that I believe to be and example of God’s grace.

The trauma team converged on this guy. Multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, abdomen and legs. Doctors, nurses and techs all had, literally, a piece of him. Within sixteen minutes of his arrival to our ER, he was stripped, assessed, monitored, had two tubes that were as big around as some garden hoses inserted into each side of his chest with 'auto-transfusers' attached. Auto-transfusers collect blood coming out of his chest into special sterile, filtered containers so that when they fill, his own blood can be transfused back into him. A foley catheter, multiple IV’s, arterial blood, and other diagnostic blood and urine samples were sent, a quick chest xray and before I knew it, he was out the door (OTD) and en route to the O.R. Although central pulses (groin and neck) were present, at no time were we able to find a peripheral pulse (arms) or get a blood pressure.

What happened to me during those sixteen minutes were the strangest that I have ever experienced with any patient in this shape. It didn’t (and still doesn’t) make sense.

As I was preparing to start my gangsta’s IV, I looked at his face. It's a reflex to warn someone that you're about to shove something sharp into them. Normally, when a trauma patient is so profoundly in shock, they are unable to make eye contact with you but this trauma patient did. “What’s your name?” I asked, not expecting a response. His affect was serene and peaceful. His reply, calm and almost musical, “Michael” he said.

I looked up at a tech who shrugged his shoulders and raised an eyebrow as if to say “go figure”. I then recited a fairly standard statement that I would usually give to frightened, less critical, alert trauma patients…”Michael, I want you to know that we are here to help you, you're in the hospital and you will be feeling better soon. Don’t be afraid OK?”

Much to my surprise, Michael looked straight at me – all the while being poked and prodded (remember the chest tubes?) by strangers and said “What’s your name?” This was a first. I told him my name was Joan. “Joan.., Joan.., Joan” he said slowly. Then he actually smiled and said, “I know where I am and I know where I’m going. I’m OK. I’m not afraid.” I asked him if he was in pain and he said he was not. Knowing that he may not survive, I asked him if we could call anyone for him. He smiled again and said “Cameron, tell Cameron.” I asked for Cameron’s phone number and unbelievably he gave it to me. I had the ER tech write it down.

Michael made it to the OR but died 'on the table'. Should I call his family? Do I call Cameron? Do I really want to get involved with a 'gangster's paradise', so to speak?

Next: Knife & Gun Club - Part 3