The black dog has risen it's ugly head and coupled with a sore throat and abdominal pain, my muse appears to have buggered off to Spain for the weekend – so I bring you a post that has been sitting in my 'potential post' file for some time. I wrote this when I was still on an ambulance, as opposed to the RRU I'm currently on.
We got called to a “Female – epileptic fit” in the street – this was a call that was sent to us by the police. Now, I may be accused of being overly cynical, but when the police call us to an “epileptic fit”, it is normally because they are arresting someone, and in order to avoid going to the police station the person fakes a fit. There are ways and means of detecting when this is the case, some of which I have mentioned previously. Even though this was the likely explanation for this job, we still rushed down there, fully prepared for it to be genuine.
We turned up to see a car being towed away, and the police that met us had a slight smirk about them, it's the finely tuned sixth sense I have that made me suspect that the police were hiding something from me. We were led to the patient, who was laying in a darkened alleyway, with her boyfriend standing over her.
As is my normal approach, I said something along the lines of “Hello love, can you open your eyes for me”, I brushed the thick, long hair from out of her eyes, and, being unable to see the patient properly pulled out my torch and shone it in her face. At first I thought it was just a very unattractive woman, then I brushed the hair back a bit further and that caused the wig to slip…
This female was born a man.
Now, I have no problem with transsexuals. I know a couple in a social situation, and apart from the time I caught one of them going to the bathroom in pink dressing gown and pink bunny slippers, their gender doesn't pay any part in what I think of them (as with gay men, I just think, “Great! More women for me!”, of course it doesn't work out like that, but I live in hope).
The hardest bit is working out wether to call the patient 'he' or 'she'. So I asked the boyfriend.
It looked as if the patient had had a genuine epileptic fit, and so we got her onto the ambulance, and started our treatment. I managed to get a lot of the details off of her boyfriend. We got her into hospital, where we found out that she was not unknown to the hospital. By now she was starting to come around.
As she, and the boyfriend didn't live in the area that we found them in, I asked what she was doing there – apparently, she had parked the car on the estate, then someone had stolen the keys. Given what she was wearing (pink furry moon-boots, tight leather miniskirt, tight pink top, and a leather/furry frock jacket), and what I saw when I peeked at her previous medical historyt – I wonder if she was one of those 'ladies of the night' that we often drive past.
I mean, most of them look a bit rough, but having been born a man might explain a lot…