No One's Named Trinidad

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19:00 hours. I am sitting in the ready-room of a local fire department when tones go off. The radio crackles overhead and an irritated police officer comes on the air - "We have a drunk being belligerent and disruptive... Just roll a bus, get him out of here."

The paid firefighters roll their eyes and, grumbling, saunter towards the ambulance waiting in the bay. I follow. As an observer, I am not responsible for patient care - indeed, I am not acting in the capacity of a medical provider at all. I am here to build relations with the local Fire Department, in hopes of eventually working together between my organization and theirs.

Regardless - We arrive on scene and I hop out of the rig. There is a small, scared, hispanic man sitting on the corner of two streets. There are two noticeably larger men, police, standing above him casually. The two firefighter/EMTs that I am with also get out of the ambulance, admittedly less happy to be here then I am, and start talking with the police.

"He doesn't speak English," one tells the EMT in charge, "We don't know what to do with him..." A beat, followed by a grin. "He's your problem now."

The EMT groans and grab our patients' arm - "Come on, buddy, you're coming with us."

We get onto the ambulance. The EMT directs our patient to sit on the side bench. He looks at me, and tells me to sit on the other side of the ambulance, almost as if protecting me from him. The EMT starts getting vitals.

I take a minute to visually examine our patient. He is sitting with his hands on his head, almost as if he thinks he's under arrest. He looks concerned, and scared. He looks at me, and blinks.

We start heading towards the hospital. The EMT turns to our patient and asks for his name - Our patient stares blankly back. Annoyed, the EMT rolls his eyes and goes back to filling out what he can.

I feel for this man. I have very limited knowledge of spanish, and an even poorer way of executing the language, but I try. "¿Cómo te llamas?"

Our patient turns to me, and suddenly, he is lit up. Like a lightswitch, and to my horrow, he begins speaking very quickly, and insistently, all in spanish, all directed at me.

Helplessly, I try to explain - "No hablo español... No comprende!"

Sadly, our patient turns away. We get to the ER and lead him in. The EMT delivers the little information we can give to the triage nurse, and they begin joking together. One of the orderlies pass by and callously tells us that all we need to do is tell our patient "no hablo." The EMT begins going through our patients wallet - and, annoyed, asks the nurse if there's anyone who speaks spanish. "The only ID I can find in this wallet says his name is Trinidad. No one's named Trinidad."

A hispanic looking nurse is leaving the ER. The EMT pulls her over and asks her to translate - She looks irritated, but not surprised. She returns a few minutes later and tells the EMT our patients name is Trinidad. The EMT rolls his eyes and writes her off as an idiot. He puts "Trinidad" for patients name on the run form.

We leave the hospital. The EMT sits up front with the driver, and they joke about how no one's named Trinidad, how it's a country, not the person's name...

I sit in the back thinking about our patient - How he didn't need to be in the hospital, certainly not the ER... How he will now need to pay for the ambulance ride, the ER stay, and the awful medical service he will receive. Sadly, I watch the road from the back window of the rig, and wait for the next call to be received.