3 blind mice

So. Its hot and humid; a typical DC summer day. Everyone's nasty and quite honestly smells a little. We have the privilege of wearing navy blue polyester uniforms. My concern of the day is to not have those lovely polyester pants catch fire and melt to me from the friction of my thighs rubbing together.

Sixteen hours into the shift we're called to a house for a possible suicide. The police clear the scene (thank you Rick) and we go in. I have never smelled the smell I smelt. (Say that 3 times fast.) It was a combination of cat pee, probably some human pee, general funk, and some sort of food being cooked. Goat perhaps. As I enter I notice the floors are carpeted and stained. Good, good, found the source of the smell. Then I hear the scream. I move a little closer, peek over the couch and see this guy flopping purposefully like a fish on the floor speaking in some language I don't speak. Sometimes he throws in a, "I'm going to kill myself," line hence the call for the suicide. He starts kicking the engine crew and then spits on one of them. Yeah. NOT cool. Everyone kept their cool. No one spit back. I had my partner check his sugar and it was 43. (Too low.) After some sugar paste my man's back to normal. So, like we usually do after someones sugar is corrected after being low we stand there and stare at them for ten minutes while they eat something substantial This guy was no different. It usually ends up being anywhere from two to ten people in an awkward room not really saying much. While I was trying to iron out the plan of if the guy was going or not to the hospital I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. I played it off. I have new glasses and sometimes I think I see things on the sides, but its really just the frames or something. I took a step back, looked at the ground and there it went again, along the side of my sneaker. I turned to the Captain of the engine and asked, "Was that just a....," as he was shaking his head yes. "Are you f*&(&*) kidding me?" was my next question. Captain got a big grin on his face and says a blunt, "no." At that point, I could care less about the patient and if he wants to go to the ER. (He was in the process of eating cereal, he could care less.) I started looking everywhere, trying to find a chair to stand on or a table or anything would have done. You see, everyone else was wearing pants, I had shorts on. So I was freaking out even more because I've already thought through the mouse was going to come back and crawl up my leg or something. (I had a great imagination as a kid.) There was this nasty twin bed on the floor kind of propped up against the TV stand. That's where mouse #2 ran came hauling ass out. "I gotta get out of here," I told the Capt. He laughed and told me to go he'd get the guy outside. 'Crap,' I thought as I was leaving. Everyone put their bags on the floor. You can never put equipment bags on the floor. The roaches that were making the walls and rug move in the house love to find new homes. Now, I'm freaking out even more. I mean serious on the very of an anxiety attack freak out. But, I'm trying to be professional because, well, I get paid to do so. I grit my teeth went in the hall way and cooled off. Oh, did I mention there was no AC in the stinky funky apartment? Nothing like stench and humidity. I'm standing there on the landing and watched the roaches crawl out of the apartment across the hall, walk straight and enter the apartment where our patient was.

If you haven't figured out yet, I don't do bugs. No way, no how, nothing. Ask Brian, I'm a freak about roaches. If I ever found one in this house we'd probably move. I'm itchy thinking about it. Do you know they are the only things that would survive a nuclear bomb?! Nasty!

I felt guilty leaving the Captain in there so I returned. He asked why I was there and I told him I felt bad leaving him in there by himself. He looked down at the floor and mouse #3 sauntered by. I look at the Capt and said, "I'll be outside." In the meantime my man on the cot starts screaming he wants to kill himself. His sugar was dropping again. I started with the oral sugar paste, because no way in hell was I going to try to restrain a floppy man with roaches in his pockets. For all I know he brought a mouse friend in his bag.

Those mice look so cute in the cartoons and kids movies but real life...not so cute! Oh, and so what does Bastard cat decide to do today? Get off his lazy ass and start playing with mice toys. While I was napping, he brought one of his toys up on the bed. Real funny, Bastard, real funny.