We get dispatched to one of the busier intersections in our first due for a two-vehicle MVC. We pull up to find a nice newer pickup that got rear-ended by a clapped-out early-2000s Nissan Altima, the kind of car that looks like it’s had multiple different baby daddies behind the driver’s wheel.
In the pickup: a pregnant 20-something and her boyfriend. For the most part, calm, collected, and rationally working through what just happened.
But in the Nissan was my patient. Early-30s woman, clearly in open warfare with her biological clock. She’s sobbing, shaking, and clutching her 7-Eleven coffee like it’s the last emotional support object she owns. Slightly overweight, big chest, a face that may have been cute before life hit her in the face with a reality shovel, and now just an emotional train wreck.
She’s complaining of the standard post-wreck pains, headache, backache, etc. But doesn’t want to go to the hospital because she “won’t have a ride back.” Always a classic.
While I’m taking vitals and trying to keep her focused and out of the downward spiral, the pregnant lady’s parents show up. Her mother immediately goes full feral cat, screaming at my patient about almost killing her pregnant daughter. My patient fires right back, while I step back and watch the show. Intervening between contentious individuals isn’t technically in my job description, and life can be so dull sometimes.
However, my coworker ( a young man, a couple of years younger than me, smart, competent, and OCD) is not having it. He steps in, raises his voice at both of them, and tells them to knock it off and go back to their vehicles.
My patient recoils like he slapped her soul and gets instantly offended, and demands that he not touch her or take her vitals. As soon as he steps away, she looks at me and says, “I know he’s young, but he should NOT be talking to women like that.”
I just stare at her, blinking and speachless, but the unhinged monologue inside my head rages!
Lady… if you had any idea of the primordial, caveman-levels of misogyny and chauvinism simmering inside the man that you are currently talking to, you would stroke out right where you stand. You have NO business telling my competent, put-together coworker how to act. You probably shouldn’t even be driving. Definitely shouldn’t be responsible for taking care of children. Honestly, I’m not sure I’d trust you with a pair of safety scissors. If I had it my way, you’d be Exhibit A for why women shouldn’t be allowed to drive or vote. But here you are, just out in society, spreading chaos willy-nilly, rear-ending innocent people, and expecting men to scoop up the mess and emotionally babysit you afterwards.
But out loud, after thinking all of this I only said.
“Let’s just focus on what we can control, sweetheart.”
Professionalism! hanging on by a thread.