Emviolence In The E.r.em
Sandy Nelson was a cute, diminutive, sweet lady who worked in discharge planning at the medical center. By today’s licensure standards, she would be a social worker. She was quick-witted and peppy, a 30ish mother, who sported a bleached blond pageboy and conservative dress, a very energetic speaker. Sandy was responsible for matching patient and family economics to programs which would subsidize health care costs for eligible people.
Sponsored programs was the sign over her door. We graduate students in healthcare administration rotated through there for an orientation to the service. I cannot remember how many hours were required, but I became friends with Sandy beyond this schedule, since I later took a job as ward clerk in the Emergency Room one floor benearh her. She was situated fair off the main lobby of the hospital, where in the early 1970′s a spacious truck parked and several men came and loaded all the exquisite furnishings, explaining to the guards that they had been asked to “change it out.” When the dupe was realized, there was a general melee in the administration area, and Sandy and I recognized each other from the orientation. We stifled our laughter at the confused administrators stumbling over each other, and became fast friends. Both on the day shift (I worked on ICU/CCU at night), we began to take breaks and lunch together when our schedules permitted.
Sandy contributed a great deal to my understanding of health administration. She explained pecking orders of the staff, more detail about her eligibility work, introduced me to other departments, and being about 10 years my senior, she rather served as a coach, mother, and buddy. A regular chatterbox extrovert, she teased me about my balding and I teased her about her small stature. We enjoyed an almost familial relationship. Sandy was so polite and genteel, I never imagined that she would have a tough side. Apparently, the ER head nurse, my supervisor, was aware of this side of Sandy.
In 1974 there was a huge gangfight in Durham. I was off from the ER that day, and had been fishing out at Butner before reporting in for 2nd shift on ICU/CCU. Locking my bicycle in the rack. I entered the hospital building through the ER, as usual. There was a large crowd outside the entrance, which was not unusual, but I was so young and innocent (and stupid) I didn’t notice certain things which would now send me into reverse or at least to another entrance. Through the noisy crowd and smell of blood I walked toward the nurse’s station to speak to the hospital staff there.
On the approach to the long countertop, I began to tune in to the unusual amount of blood, rough street talk, tattoos, smoke, and wailing. I was just about to turn my head and observe when I saw what really smartened me up to the situation. There was an aide, a clerk, and a janitor with saucer eyes and facial expressions so frightened that I had to notice. The head nurse was further back in the status, talking very seriously with a pensive-looking medical student. No one responded when I spoke in greeting.
I followed their focus and turned around to peep the waiting area. People were in a frenzy. Two gurneys were being loaded with unconscious men in bluejean jackets, bandanas and blood. Hangers-on were distraught, loud, and heedless of the admonitions of the nurse and male tech, who were trying to gather the injured men assist to the treatment areas. Beyond the gurneys were men and women, mostly older than I, with scary looking injuries.
Other gang members were attending them, cigarettes hanging from their mouths in casual irreverence to the signage. The males had arms like a sack full of doorknobs, with tattoos aplenty. Even the slightest female looked
like she could eat us for lunch. This was a rough crowd accustomed to rough living. There must have been 30 people in the waiting room, and they were all together. At least half of them had serious-looking injuries. Some injuries looked like gunshot wounds from scatter shot.
Unprejudiced as I was about to get the heck out of the way, we all noticed, through the glass doors, a lot of movement outside. A crowd of similar or larger size was swarming in here fast. The arriving crowd seemed to have the same attributes as the waiting room crowd. Blue jean jackets with patches, jeans, bandanas (of a different color) and lots of blood. Big boots. Very anxious and emotionally distraught.
As the unusual crowd approached the building, a bellow went up from the waiting room crowd. Injured men and women, who had impartial been stretched out over chairs, were suddenly at attention and looked like they were about to charge. Handguns and big knives appeared from out of nowhere. It looked like a rumble was about to be re-ignited, that was my impression. These must be the people responsible for tearing up the waiting room gang. These were, then, indisputably gangs of some sort.
Scared to death, I felt the adrenalin start pumping in my body. Surely I wasn’t the only one afraid. Torn between flight and fight, help or make tracks, I began to turn when someone roughly grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. I almost fainted. It was the head nurse. She spoke hurriedly through clenched teeth, “Go get Sandy. Now!”
Not call the cops, not call security, not what I would have expected. Get Sandy. I thought, ‘Uh, o.k., I will be helping AND getting the heck out of here. The illogic of the order slowed me down, but my acceleration was more than compensated by fear and responsibility. Subliminally, the nurse had somehow let me know that I did not want to fail. I fled, taking two stairs at a time.
Sandy’s office was only about 30 feet from the top of the staircase. My feet were touching ground about every other step. Thank God, Sandy was in. Near hysteria I spouted, “They need you in the ER, right now, there’s a coupla gangs fighting down there!”
Sandy’s face instantly morphed into a fierce mask. I became speechless. She sprang up without a word and before I knew it she as off and gone. It caught me by surprise. It seemed as if she had a understanding. Not knowing what to do, I went after her. By the time I got to the stairwell, she was out of sight. As I entered I heard the door closing one flight below. My mind was whirling, what to do, what was Sandy going to do, who was this new person I objective saw come over Sandy?
By the time I hit the bottom step, I could hear a shrill piercing demanding voice coming from the ER. Upon opening the door, I saw that the rival gangs were frozen in area, just at the point of going at each other but now motionless. They were looking in agape astonishment at the source of the fearsome voice. That voice I can still remember, it would take the paint off the walls.
Easing out from the stairwell so I could see the source of that war cry, I saw my little slight friend Sandy Nelson standing up on the registration counter. She was the source of the demanding voice. Everyone was paying strict attention to what she said, men and women, rival gangs, all the employee staff. “Now y’all score back in those chairs or get your (expletive deleted) outside this building! We are going to treat those of you who are injured, but only if you mind your manners.” Sandy turned to the secretary. “Call the law, correct now, then call security.”
Back to the crowd, she said, “Now hear this, the doctors and nurses are going to look at everyone and decide who gets treated first, and in the meantime you are expected to act polite to each other. If you aren’t necessary to the treatment of a patient, go sit in those chairs or outside, and don’t start anything. Those guns and cigarettes have to go outside, and I mean now!” Sandy was loud as a megaphone, with a coarseness of voice that defied her stature. The crowd scattered like bees and only the injured remained. One tough-looking lady made a face, thought about responding to Sandy, but said nothing and left mercurial. And not a single male contested Sandy’s authority. The police and security came shortly, and there was not a weapon or crowd in sight. That little woman jumpy everyone, including some of the staff. She could not have been more effective if she had a lightning bolt in her hand. To this day, the lightning bolt is an right image in my memory.
Why did this happen this way? I still don’t know. I wish I could finish the story with a flourish, but the excitement just died away. I never was in the know back then, I was only a numb college kid working two jobs and with my own agendas and schedules. Sandy never discussed it, but I am sure the real, non-student staff had plenty of discussions. It may have been a crisis team function, or perhaps she had a role spot out in a disaster drill. Certainly Sandy Nelson rose to the occasion, perhaps exceeding her authority and expectations, but the diminutive, sweet lady sure took charge and diffused a violent region. Wherever you are, Sandy Nelson, a tip of the hat to you.
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Filed under Nursing Class Schedule by on Oct 27th, 2010. 