Yes, it happened again.
My second patient of the day was another fall victim. The first one had been an elderly lady who fell down the stairs and broke her back. This one, however, had fallen from a standing position. When I heard that mechanism of injury, I groaned. Audibly. LOUDLY. For patients like these, I think of it this way: if you fall from a standing position badly enough to pass out, you probably are A) drunk, B) drunk, C) drunk, or D) otherwise unhealthy enough to have passed out merely from falling down. They are usually not the worst injured patients, and I rarely get too excited at the prospect of seeing another elderly ground-level fall "victim" with bumps and bruises and little else.
A few minutes later Arthur (not his real name©) arrived moaning and groaning, yelling that his hands hurt, his head hurt, his neck hurt, his legs hurt . . . pretty much everything from the tips of his hair to his toenails hurt. He was a rather burly guy, about 120kg, but he was acting like a 15kg toddler. His only outward signs of trauma were some abrasions on the bridge of his nose and his forehead, but whenever I touched his hands or legs, he screamed.
His workup was essentially negative - bumps and bruises, a cervical strain (whiplash), and a concussion. So if he sounds like most of the other ground-level falls, why the hell am I writing about him?
Because he wasn't drunk. He didn't trip and fall. No, Arthur was wrestling with his wife who got the better of him, jumped on his back, and put him in a choke hold until he passed out and fell flat on his face. Five minutes later when he still hadn't awakened, his wife freaked out and called emergency services.
As he explained what had happened, his wife walked in. She couldn't possibly have been as tall as Arthur's chest, and she might have weighed 1/3 what he did. I listened to Arthur intently, my eyes flitting from him to her, trying to look him in the eye while all the time doing my best not to break out in a fit of raucous laughter.
Did he let her win, or is she some kind of human honey badger? I have no idea, but fortunately the little Tasmanian devil didn't do any major damage. As I walked out, only one thought crossed my mind:
NOW I've seen everything.