A few words about the hospital
Resuscitation is a great place, you know.
If you think that the resuscitation looks something like in the film about Dr. House - all sorts of couches with remote tilt adjustment, patient's bedside monitors that show in real time anything from pressure to oxygenation - you are deeply mistaken. Everything is much more prosaic. Well, apart from the block with ventilation. Painted with many layers of paint walls, iron beds of the release of the times of the USSR. And if you think that the work of the resuscitator is to inject something directly into the heart with a huge terrible needle and then harder to hit the defibrillator into the chest and the heart will immediately start working, as shown in the movie - you too are mistaken, the device called defibrillator is not used so often. As a rule, the heart refuses to work for any reason, and in this case, no bits will help, it is necessary to search for and eliminate, or at least temporarily, this cause.
Or do nothing at all. There is such a thing as "expected death". If you clearly see that the patient is completely hopeless, traumas are incompatible with life, and no matter how they lead him, he will not survive - he is not reanimated. He lies and dies, why should he still be tormented before his death? Well, since pumping out anyone is necessary, then after the patient leaves, he would need to put a defibrillator burns, and a couple of ribs to break if the person is elderly, so that no one cares later. Like, here, see how they tried to reanimate, but failed.
Those who can still be saved, are divided into two categories: one for all to spit, they are unconscious, they lie like vegetables. Very nice people by the way, they do not call anyone, they do not complain to anyone. There are still others - riotous. These are far from nice people, because they have a habit of rioting and debauching. They untie themselves and the game "catch me if you can" begins. Once I got from such a pipe, torn from the back of the bed by the horns, I did not become a patient of the intensive care unit myself. Well, or a victim of the experiments of neurosurgeons hehe, we love them)).
And still once I go to the intensive care unit and I hear "Bend down!" Reflexively crouch, and above my head flies and imprinted into the wall a bottle of 400 ml. Some sbrendivshy patient reached the locker with solutions. Sniper hellish. Voroshilov-shooter, while caught and reassured - all the department perepoloshil.
Well, sometimes our own employees are brought and put under a dropper with acute alcohol intoxication, dada, it was like that.
So here we are))
