Right Place, Right Time

“Do you want to eat here or head back to the station?”

I ponder him for a brief moment. He’s already holding our neatly packed Chinese food in a to-go bag. I glance between him and our ambulance parked neatly out front. “Let’s eat here,” I finally say after some deliberation. It’s well after 4 in the afternoon and I haven’t eaten since breakfast before I came on shift. The 10-minute drive back to the station seems like a relentless eternity for my growling stomach. We plop down at a sunny table near the door and descend upon our food like vultures who have found their first meal in days.

“I took us out of service since you need to leave at 5,” my partner tells me in between bites of his chow mein.

Perfect. Eat. Finish my report quick. And be home in time for our family’s plans for the evening. It almost seemed too easy…and it was.

Algorithms

His shoulders are slouched and his eyes are heavy with sleep….and something more. The moment I catch sight of him, I realize something is terribly amiss. There’s only one reason that my normally bright-eyed co-worker is in plain clothes in the ER at midnight on Christmas. I catch his eye and his determined march down the hallway slows and eventually stops.

“You know her?” I ask gesturing to my left with my head, indicating the patient I just brought in lying no more than 10 feet away in the hospital bed, an array of medical professionals hurriedly working to stabilize her. He nods in response, more of a quick jerk downward with his head verses a full nod but he seems unable to form words as he looks past me to the lifeless woman nearby. He’s avoiding eye contact. My heart is sinking and the knot in my throat is growing exponentially.

“What happened?” he finally asks, barely above a whisper.

“She told her husband she wasn’t feeling good. Then she collapsed.” I spare him the details for the moment but I know there will be more questions and explanations to come. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. The room is suddenly suffocatingly hot.

“The family is here,” he says, still avoiding eye contact.

“I already let the doctor know,” I reply. “He said he’d be out as soon as he can.”

“I need to go see them,” he tells me, and wanders off in the direction of the waiting room.

In his absence, I realize that I haven’t taken a full breath since I first saw him and I attempt to fill my lungs but the air gags me and I can’t shake the sharp pain that sears through my chest as I watch him amble away.

All the Things I Cannot Say

I haven't posted on here lately because I'm starting to second-guess if blogging is really my thing. I originally started this more as an avenue to try to put into words my thoughts & feelings and convey some of the interesting things that I encounter in my EMS ventures. I never intended that I would have a multitude of readers & I certainly didn't anticipate any feedback from my ramblings.

I have been a lot overwhelmed lately. Most of it is in a good way but I think I've become somewhat jaded as to what an interesting day for me and an interesting day for the rest of the world is. Overall, the things that make my life beautiful and wonderful aren't grand adventures but rather the small things that I find hard to put into words. And, it seems that the small things aren't really what draws people's attention.

End of the Road

Some days, when I least expect it, certain calls mow me down in ways I never thought possible. People ask me sometimes what the worst call I have been on is. I don't usually entertain their morbid curiosity.They are usually looking for grotesque stories that exceed imagination. But most of the time, the gory, blood-filled calls or the cardiac arrests really aren't my worst calls. They are perfunctory and by-the-book. I usually have little, if any. time to interact with my patients on truly critical calls. My worst calls usually are borne from the depths of despair of humanity. The patients who know and are conscious of how awful and hopeless their situation is and yet are unable to do anything about it. Those are the ones that pain me long after I have walked away.
We had one such call the other day. And I want to share it with you, not to wow you with some tale of heroism or adrenalin-fueled lifesaving. I share it with you because I want you to understand the truly tragic calls that never cross anyone's mind when they ask what the worst call ever was.

Tiny Cut

It’s so tiny. You can barely see it there on the side of my finger. Yet it’s implications are huge and the very sight of it terrifies me. The barely visible cut hurts but it’s a psychologically based hurt…not a valid physical pain. I try to tell myself it is just part of the job and that all the tests will come back negative. In the meantime, I am left with a million scenarios and scary possibilities.

Free as a Bird

He's my dad. No one else knows I think of him that way. The same blood runs through us...Type A EMS blood. He has helped me grow to where I am today. He guided me as I took my first faltering steps and watched painfully as I fell down on more occasions than I care to admit. But every time he helped me back up and encouraged me to keep going. In more ways than I can count, he is my hero and I will always look up to him. But today, he is letting me go. He is sending me into the world of paramedicine on my own.

Only 17

She is shaking uncontrollably. Her knees are pulled to her chest and when I address her, she briefly unburies her face from her hands. The face that greets me is far too young to be in her predicament. I know that she doesn't need medical help but the officers onscene aren't going to deal with her so I am left with no choice.
I ask her name and she replies in a small terrified voice. She tells me she is only 17.