Does Hyrule mind teaching how to assess a patient??👉👈
"You... want to learn how to assess patients?" Hyrule asked hesitantly.
Wild shrugged. "What if I want to be an EMT?"
"You also said you wanted to be a chef in the hospital."
"I can do both, you know."
Hyrule laughed. "I suppose so. Well... we'll need a patient for this to work."
Wild immediately snatched Sky, who yelped as his friend snaked a hand around his wrist. "Sky's the patient, heaven knows he needs to be looked over anyway."
"Look who's talking, Mr. I-Have-Seizures-and-Don't-Tell-Anybody," Sky grumbled as he was manhandled to sit between the other two.
"Well, everyone knows now."
Hyrule and Sky gave Wild a scalding look. Adequately apologetic, Wild shrugged sheepishly.
"Anyway," Hyrule sighed, shifting his focus to Sky. "Assessments come in different forms. You've got a primary and a secondary assessment. Primary is kind of a general overview and checking for life threatening stuff, secondary is in-depth on what the issue actually is. Make sense?"
Wild nodded.
"Great!" Hyrule continued with a smile. "Okay. Sky's our patient. Sky, you got shot once, right?"
Sky nodded, and Wild balked. "He what?!"
"It was a long time ago," Sky waved a dismissive hand.
"Okay, so that's our scenario," Hyrule said, standing. "We're dispatched for a 21-year-old male with a GSW--"
"That means gunshot wound, right?"
"Yeah. GSW, conscious patient. That's all we've got. So, you get on scene, and the very first thing you do is check for scene safety. If the scene isn't safe, we're not going in. First thing you're taught in EMS - your own safety comes first, because if you're shot you can't help the patient. It's you, your partner, then the patient."
"How often do you actually listen to that rule?" Sky asked, raising an eyebrow.
"That's not what we're learning today," Hyrule waved off easily. It was pretty common knowledge that while he would never put his partner's life at risk, he'd gotten himself into dicey situations before. But he knew how to get himself out of those situations too. "So, we determine the scene is safe. Next, is our primary assessment. The purpose of this assessment is to check for life threatening things, and an overview of major body systems. Neuro status, bleeding, and your ABCs: Airway, Breathing, Circulation.
"The situation is pretty dynamic, like sometimes you walk up and somebody's got an arterial bleed and spurting blood everywhere, your assessment stops right there and you go fix that bleed. But generally you'll have time to do the entire primary assessment."
"Okay, so neuro and ABCs?"
"Yeah. And the good thing is that most of it happens all at once, you know? You walk up to Sky and he looks at you, then boom, you've got a good neuro - he's awake, he's alert. He may not be oriented, but you can figure that out by just talking to him. And by this point you can tell if there's life threatening bleeding. Then it's ABCs - is his airway patent, or open? Is he breathing, and is he doing so normally? Is his skin warm, dry, and normal tone for him? You can literally do al these things by just walking into the room and looking at him for five seconds. The primary assessment is done really fast and, the more times you do it, basically automatically."
"What would be an example of something being wrong?" Wild askd.
Hyrule glanced at him. "When I got on scene for your crash, you were unconscious and unresponsive--in other words, you were not only unconscious, but nothing would wake you up--and your breathing was gurgling sounding because you had blood in your airway."
Glancing at Sky, Hyrule said, "Sky can give us an example of a not great primary assessment, I'm sure."
Helpfully, Sky immediately flopped off the chair he was sitting on, collapsing to the ground with a crash. Wild laughed, and footsteps rushed from upstairs into the living room.
Twilight immediately froze in the entranceway, eyes wide and fixed on Sky. "Sky, what the--guys what the hell is hap--"
Sky perked up immediately. "Oh, sorry! I'm just helping Hyrule teach Wild!"
Twilight froze a moment and then sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and grumbling under his breath.
Hyrule smiled, pointing at Twilight. "He just perfectly showed a good primary assessment looks like! He walked in and saw the patient down on the ground, tried to figure out a neuro by calling out to him, and when Sky woke up he immediately could tell he was fine. Neuro intact, not bleeding, had a patent airway because he's talking, breathing normally, and skin looks normal."
"I hate all of you," Twilight groaned, walking out of the room.
"Okay, but by skin looking normal... what does it mean when it doesn't?" Wild asked.
"Your skin can tell a story," Hyrule explained. "If you're diaphoretic, which means sweating, something is likely wrong. Though it depends on context - if your patient's sweaty but they were just exercising, it makes sense. If Sky's sweaty on the ground after being shot, he's in shock. If the skin is cool, the body isn't circulating well - that can sap the color right out of your skin - the lighter your skin tone the more notable it is, but darker skin tones can become paler too. A lot of times with darker skin tones you'll want to look at their palms or their lips, that'll help you determine it. Another color is grey - that usually means cardiac and it's bad. So skin can tell you a lot!"
"How did my skin look?" Wild questioned, curious.
"Pale," Hyrule immediately answered. "Anyway. Sky's your patient. Look him over."
"Okay," Wild blew out a breath, approaching Sky and kneeling beside him. "So he's unconscious, that's my neuro so far."
"Can you arouse him at all?"
Wild poked Sky in the neck. Sky flinched. Wild poked again and Sky giggled. Wild's eyes widened in realization, and a mischievous smile crossed his face.
"Wild, wait--"
Sky started laughing hysterically as his friend tickled him, wiggling and trying to shove him away.
"Get--off of m--Wild you jerk--"
Hyrule chuckled. "Well, we're not taught to tickle our patients, but that works."
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I think it’s pretty neat that stargazing was a Gallavich thing.
In season 2, Mickey says “you want us to put a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?” There is that—once again—an inner desire hidden behind the veil of a witty rhetoric. The dawn is popularly the symbol of new hope, the sun coming up shining its light, enveloping the ground with a potential of joy and rebirth. But with stargazing, the darkness in which it transpires precedes the coming of dawn. It is the hoping itself, the wishing, the tilting of head towards the sky, like the heart whispering a prayer to the universe. The sun is a very bright star that illuminates all. It’s overwhelming with its promise of renewal and warmth of love. That's why it’s much easier to look at tinier, less brighter stars at night. The multitude of them enough to give light—not too much—but just enough to stare at, so it doesn’t hit you all at once. The dawn would tell him he deserves to love and be loved, and that contrary to his belief, he’s not fucked for life. It’s a crazy jump, and the blaze of it might even burn. Meanwhile, the twinkle of the stars would tell him that a boy likes him enough to hang out with him, and that it is okay to long for something so far out of reach, for now.
In season 5, Ian is having some grass time (he’s lying on the grass), stargazing. Earlier than this, he mentions you can never see this many stars from Chicago because of light pollution. Mickey calls, and he holds it up to stare at his ringing phone. Contemplating whether he should or should not. He stares at the stars—weaver of fates, guider of travels. Desire, once again, for answers. A confirmation. Some direction. There must be something because here, they’re clearer, unlike back home where it’s hindered by stray city lights. Maybe this could help clear his clouded mind. Maybe he could draw constellations by connecting the dots and it’ll show him what to keep, what to lose. A glint. A flicker. “That’s the most important thing, to find somebody to love, right? Who loves you back for who you are.” But the thing about the stars’ divine message is that it could often be misunderstood. Misinterpreted. Maybe the stars will sigh, oh well. Guess you could take detours. Because another thing about stars is that, although enigmatic to a fault, they know where everything must go. They are close to the language of the gods. Perhaps for now, the answer is to be apart because in the grand scheme of things, it will all play out as planned.
In season 7, together, under the very same stars. It is hope and desire realized. Who would’ve thought? It was inexplicable, almost alien, that this is how their story is going now. But to the stars, it’s an old song. This is exactly where they should be. It’s the same narrative back then under the bleachers, when they didn’t know better. When voicing your feelings seems a futile and gargantuan feat. It’s the same story now, when they reconvene after, celestial forces refusing to cut these ties. When feelings are all you could voice out, as you’ve learned that if they swim inside you long enough, you’ll drown. “God I missed you.” The stars have known since the beginning. Its plans, slowly unfolding themselves. The wisdom they hold seem nearer now that if reached by the fingertips could be cold to the touch—not yet, not yet.
But even stars could grow impatient.
Even stargazer lilies—observer of heavenly bodies, predictor of futures—bloom facing the sky. Upwards, toward the stars, the flower looks upon. Maybe they’re ready for the dawn. The sun, the bigger and brighter star. The ball of fire catapulting itself, yet it doesn’t burn. It caresses, warm to the touch, and over the land gives life. It is here before them, and it will be here after.
“Now?” Now.
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