Rotting Skin Man

One call will stick in my brain for eternity. Those of us on the call still talk about it now and then and refer to the poor gentleman as "Rotting Skin Man". I have already forewarned you that we are a sick and twisted bunch of folks so try not to be offended by that.

It started off as any other day. I had a different partner than normal. A gal who just started working with us and had a huge chip on her shoulder about the fact that we treated like a newbie even though she had been in the field before. My paramedic student was a great guy who learned quickly and I really enjoyed having around.

We got called to a neighboring district because they were out of ambulances. We haul ass thirty minutes away with second hand info that the police in that county had gone on a welfare check and need an ambulance immediately.

Fortunately, I used to work in that county and knew my way around and we got there in decent time. As we approached the scene, I recognized the place. I had been there before. Last time I had been to this place, the guy had busted his head open and it had taken myself, my partner, two firemen and two cops to hold him down long enough to sedate him to get him to the hospital. Try not to be surprised that alcohol was involved! 

We approach the house and see two officers outside the house. I approach one and he says "Its bad". Never a good sign coming from a cop. We venture inside where there are two volunteer firefighters and another police officer standing over the naked, face down, obese body of a man, his head wedged between the toilet and the wall. The stench is awful. There is discoloration in the carpet all around him and the oozing poo coming from him let he know he had been there a few days before he died. Horrible way to go.

I ask the policeman for the guys info and he stares at me. "Aren't you gonna do anything?" he asks. Huh?
"Uh, like what?" I I look a little closer and see soem movement between his should blades. "Holy Crap! He is alive?" All three of them nod thier heads enthusiastically at me.

Now the fun begins. It had been five days since anyone had talked to or seen him so we assume that is how long he has been lying there. His right arm is above his head and has gone through the sheetrock. We cannot simply pull him out, he is seriously stuck. His skin is moist with sweat and I don't even want to delve into what else.

I go outside the bathroom to the connecting bedroom and decided to rip apart the wall from the other side in hopes of freeing his arm and head. I kneel down. Squish!! EW!!!!!!
The carpet on the other side of the wall was soaked with feces and urine too! This is one of the few calls I lost it on. I did not actually vomit but I did runoutside gagging and gulping fresh air. My only consolation is so did EVERY other person there at some point.

So anyway, work work work, tear down wall, sawzall two by fours, and wahlah! He is free. Now to remove him. His long shoulder length gray hair is saoked and matted and I actually had to grab my trauma shears and cut the toilet brush out of his hair.
Plan A is to grab his arms and pull him out of the space between the toilet and wall into the main part of the bathroom where we can better asses him. I grab one arm and my student grabbed teh other. 1, 2, 3 we pull.

A layer of skin just came off in my hand. Back out side dry heaving I go. My student followed  me, wiping his hand on the couch on the way out. I yell into the house for them to put oxygen on him and then my student, myself and one of the officers discuss what to do.

There really are realatively few choices. We will not be able to get him out of there and stay clean ourselfs. We m ay cause him soem injury in the process. Finally we go in and just do it. I grap under one armpit, he grabs another and one of the firefighters goes for the torso. We pull tug and twist and get him free.

He is now an unconscious, naked, obese man laying on his back, no longer stuck, but still lying in poop covered squishy carpet. We roll him onto a blanket, hoist him onto our bed, and rollhim outside. Chunks of flesh are hanging off his arms. Where his one arme was locked above his head against the 2x4, the impression of the beam is still visible. In fact, it never resumes its normal shape. We race him to the hospital and the first attemot to get an IV just lands more rotten flesh in my hand. I get up and move towards the tiny exhaust fan that is supposed to help but does nothing. I tell my student that an IV is most likly impossable and we need to do an IO. An IO isn an Inerosseous Infusion that constitutes a very large, thick needle being put into the leg bone. We used to just do them on children, but at this point we had just recieved a handheld drill type thingy that would allow us to use them on adults as well.

My student gleefully got out the drill and even did a practice "vroom vroom" in the air and then poised the needle over his leg. He pulled teh trigger and the needle spun and spun but did not penatrate the bone. Push harder, I tell him, Like when you are putting a srew into a post. He stood up and leaned his weight into it. The needle bent. BENT! I have never, to this day seen such a thing. I pick the needle up and look at it. Ummm, i don't thinkwe can fix this. Try again. Same thing happens. Now we only have two IO needles for an adult on the entire ambulance. We are hosed.

I look at his feet and am thankfull they are niether poop covered or decaying in front of me. Together we manage to get a tiny IV in his foot. Intubate him to help hiim breathe and pray our driver gets us there quickly. The stench is unbearable.

We deliver him alive and take over an hour cleaning our ambulance. Already the story of how we bent two IO needles is being cirulated and we are mercillessly made fun of. I can only assume he had a metal plate in his leg. Two hours and three showers later we are ready to hit the road again. The man made it out of the hospital to a nursing home but died within a week.

It was a true testiment to what the human body can withstand though. 5 days with no food, no water, in a cramped position, covered in so much urine that your skin is disolving, yet he was still alive. Perhaps had he been younger or healthier he may have even walked away.