*Note: Patient is stated to be 350LB*
Ugh. The text glowed white on a black background, eliciting inward consternation and outward groans for my partner and myself.
As Medic 19 lumbered up Georgia Avenue, I clicked "enroute" on the computer and flipped it closed. We had been fitfully trying to get back for lunch, but no such luck today. Any day on an ambulance, really. Far out of our response area, we headed north to find what awaited us on Shepherd Street.
Jay (as we'll call him) was seated completely naked on the floor of the basement he lived in, surrounded by the sparsity of a man whose sole obsession is certainly not furnishing his living quarters. Instead, Jay's room accessories consisted of a TV, a high-backed rolling office chair parked in front of it, and six or eight of the 50-count DVD towers full of porn.
(Oh, and there was a small coffee table; the one square foot of it what was not covered in porn had amassed a collection of chinese food containers, stacked twenty or thirty high.)
There was porn on the walls, there was porn kicked under the bed, there was porn still in unmarked brown mailing boxes, waiting to be unwrapped. Porn playing cards had apparently fallen over quite some time ago and were left to lie about; the few of them that remained visible offered a stark and explicit punctuation to the collection of dirty towels and clothes on the floor.
Taking a history and obtaining vitals was a surreal sort of moment, surrounded by every manner of pornographic material. Apparently the southwest corner of the room was the blacks-on-blondes fodder; yet another DVD tower specialized only in group social functions of staggering proportions.
Side note: I wasn't aware that they even made Innocent Until Proven Filthy 13, much less the first twelve that were neatly organized above it in the rack. Others were far more blunt (and thus unprintable here).
According to Jay, he had come home from lunch and needed to go to the bathroom; shortly thereafter, he sat down on his chair, became dizzy, and slid to the floor.
Sir, at what point between sitting in this chair and sitting on the floor did your clothes spontaneously fly off?
(I couldn't bring myself to ask.)
Physiologically, everything checked out. He was a touch confused, but not in a stroke kind of way. More of a "uh, why did I pass out naked and who are these people in my house?" kind of way. His vitals were great, but we all agreed that he should be transported to the hospital anyways; his obesity had led him down the road to a number of chronic medical conditions, and it was impossible for us to rule out the etiology of his syncopal episode.
(If you ask me, the only chronic thing he's suffering from is a… *ahem* protein deficiency.)
The TV was blaring the entire time we were there. Surprisingly, it wasn't porn. Instead, the classic Guess Who's Coming To Dinner added to the general absurdity of the room. Sidney Poitier's soothing baritone rang out through the TV as we wheeled Jay out the door and into the ambulance.
"Did you see my movies?"
"Hmm?" I looked up distractedly from the tablet computer where I was entering his most recent set of vital signs.
"Did you see all of my movies?"
There was a hint of pride in his voice, and I was only half-surprised that his first cogent sentence was about his pile 'o porn.
"Uh, yeah. That's… quite a collection you have there."
"Aw, that's not that much. It's pretty small right there, but I have more somewhere else."
My mind reeled at the thought of Jay's U-Stor-It unit somewhere nearby. He would fling the rolling door up with a great flourish to reveal another collection of unimaginable quantity; and like Scrooge McDuck, he would jump in and laugh as he swam amongst the DVDs piled inside his vault.
I snapped back to reality as I realized he was listing off names, seeking my approval for various titles and actresses.
"Gianna Michaels, she's pretty good… The Lesbian Truth or Dare series? I like Alexis Texas, too…"
He drifted off into his own thoughts, and I left it at that.