So, the name.
Derby names thrive on puns – either on names (my fellow fresh meat Aurie O’ Speedwagon) native homelands (our transplanted Texas Chainsaw Mascara) or other distinguishing characteristics (the adorkable Nerd Degree Burn comes to mind).
I knew I wanted something medical, and to my endless frustration “Anna Flacktick” was already taken. “Sue De Moan Us” was too obscure and we already had one Catatonic on the team.
And then I was sitting in the lounge, playing the semi-morbid, definitely black-humor mandatory game we play as residents. It’s the response/protocol game.
Each time a trauma victim hits the ER, the team is notified via page of either a protocol or a response. From there, a strangely elegant choreographed sequence of events take place. The involved members gear up in bright red leaded aprons over scrubs, the extra-bright, extra-hot overhead lights get powered up and roles are assigned. One to do the primary survey (the beloved ABC’s of airway, breathing and circulation), one to get an arterial blood gas to get immediate results on hemoglobin, acidosis and oxygen saturation, one to fufill the “finger or tube in every orifice” mandate of trauma evaluations.
I’ve been in on a handful of Trauma Protocols myself and it’s amazing to be among all these fantastically skilled people, moving in tandem to achieve one all-important goal.
Really, there was no option when it came to picking a roller derby name.
The difference between Trauma Protocols and Responses (which does happen to be my dear husband’s name) usually relates to how unstable the patient is when they’re evaluated outside the hospital. Intubation and on the ventilator automatically gets you protocol status, same as a blood pressure less than 90 or a glasgow coma scale less than 10. (incidentally, that was also almost my number, but since almost every page is estimated to arrive in 15 minutes, I had to go with it) Responses require injury to 2 or more body regions, spinal cord injuries or to be stabbed somewhere relatively important. Suffice to say you don’t want to be either… and not just for the finger/tube in orifices part.
The photo above is an example of one of the pages. Demonstrated by “Trauma BROtocol”, as James is my brother from another mother, even when he’s grumpy from being on said Trauma team all month and I have to cheer him up with artery-clogging breakfasts.
Which (finally) brings me back around to the game. When the aforementioned pages come through, resident the first holds the pager to their forehead, Johnny Carson-Carnac style, and the rest of us try to divine the nature of the injury.
I am terrible at the game, for the record. It would help if I stopped guessing things like “accidental spearfishing injury”.