Class 23

In modern days and in days of old,

if you listen close to the stories told
of the paramedic students and the patients they had,
and after this story you’ll know the struggles we had.
You’d sometimes hear a fancy tale
of funny calls or traumas from hell.
Or days and nights spent ridin’ as intern,
because it’s a RED patch we want to earn.
Couldn’t bear to take just any job,
we want a life that’s fit for not every Joe blob.
Its calls with blood and big trucks too
and when time was slow there was plenty of hydrants to do.
No one would tell of druggies he couldn’t quite tame
cause their tolerance and his sedative were too nearly the same
or ornery wenches and puking kids too.
“No problem,” we say, “for we and our crew.”
When the call comes in we jump on the truck,
head out to the scene a hopin’ for luck.
We call out the orders tryin’ not to look like a fool. (Remember to vomit those BSI, Scene safety, Number of patients, Need for help, Rule out the spine, and General impression, patient presentation, LOC, ABC’s, Chief complaint, secondary surveys, with its algorithm),
cause that is the rule.
You take the legs and I’ll take the head
and if we don’t get going she’ll surely be dead.
Then strip em and flip em and get that IV and more,
then call that ER doc before we charge through the door.
Then make a report and get out of there.
We have to keep moving there’s no time to spare.
We have to get working there’s chores to get done,
and it all has to happen before the next run.
But just like a singer whose songs are sung,
the words of eagerness rolled off their tongue
and that’s how it all came to be
this small group of guys called Class 23.

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