Sol.: Damn Kids Part I

November 12th, 2010

I got a bad track record with kids. In all my encounters in the ER, I’d say about half of one percent have gone well.

I mean, I like kids, but these little demons I’ve dealt with are horrifying.

Take for example this little devil of a child that came through our doors a few months back.

He was nine-years-old. His parents brought him in because he was vomiting and had a fever for a couple days.

He looked sick. His eyes were red and had dark circles around them. His face was pale.

For a brief moment I felt bad for the kid. That faded quickly, though.

As his father carried him to the room, the kid cried and fought all the way.

“Daddy, daddy, please take me home. Please, daddy. No… I hate you….”

He clawed at his father’s face, struggling to break free. He kicked and punched him.

His mother followed behind, pleading for him to stop.

We all watched, stunned. This kid was kicking his father’s ass and the only thing the man would do was laugh.

This was one tough kid….

“My dad would have kicked my ass if I acted like that in public,” one of the docs said.

Darlene turned to me and said, “Ya see, Sol.? That’s the perfect reason for birth control right there.”

“Shit, Darlene. I’m not going in there with that little terror,” I replied. “If he’ll do that to his ol’ man, what’s he going to do to us?”

“You’re a real tough guy, Sol — you know that? You’re, like, three times his size, you chicken shit. Let’s go!”

I got up and followed her in.

As soon as he saw us, he screamed even louder: “No, please. No shot. I don’t want shot….”

“We’re not going to give you a shot, hon,” Darlene said.

He thrashed his body, kicking at his father who was trying to hold him down on the cart.

“Yeah, big guy,” I said. “We just want to check your vitals….”

“No. No vitals,” he cried. “I don’t want any vitals….”He was thrashing around like a crocodile….

He continued to fight with his father. His father continued to laugh and plead: “Asir, please stop acting like this.”

We tried reasoning with him for a few more minutes. Nothing worked.

Darlene gave me the look, which meant it was time to make the move.

I moved in slowly.

For some reason I had both my hands raised at chest level, showing him my palms like a hostage negotiator in the movies, as if to say: “You see? I got nothing here. I’m not going to hurt you. Trust me.”

Then we pounced. I grabbed both arms and placed my forearm on his chest to keep him pinned on the cart. Darlene grabbed his legs.

“No, please,” he screamed. “No shot. No vitals. I want to go home I hate you.”

He kept thrashing like a crocodile, trying to break free. He got a leg free and kicked Darlene in the stomach, but she regained her hold.

After about ten minutes of fighting him, we got his vitals. When we were done, we walked out of the room, tired and sweaty.

“The little bastard got a temp of 104,” said Darlene. “We’re going to have to start an IV to get him some fluids.”

“Shit….”

To be continued….

Editor’s Note Sol.‘s last post for The Third City was Stick It up Your Orifice….

2 Responses to “Sol.: Damn Kids Part I”

  1. […] Editor’s Note: To fully appreciate this post, make sure you read Damn Kids Part I…. […]

  2. […] who writes about the funny and/or tragic things he sees in his job as an orderly in a local ER.  If you ask me, it’s just as good, if not better, than the TV […]

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