The "Ghosts"

I can't really explain what happened today. It was supposed to be a fun day for me to venture out at 4am to drive to an EMS conference 3 hours away to learn about the whiles of emergency medicine with like-minded service providers. I look forward to conferences and seminars and other various classes. So, why, today, did I find myself in my truck half-way through an afternoon session, shaking uncontrollably and fighting off tears?

Uneventful

I have not been nearly as regular with my posts lately as I would like to be. My lack thereof can generally be attributed to the fact that not much interesting has gone on recently. I have worked quite a few shifts this month and have had several in which I have not ran a single call. To some this could be viewed as a good thing. If I am snuggled up, sleeping soundly at quarters, it means my corner of the world is free from mayhem. However, as are most emergency responders, I am a Type A personality and do not do well with prolonged periods of inactivity.
My coworkers applaud my abilities to somehow bend the powers that be into letting us all have a full nights rest. I, on the other hand, am growing bored with it. Call me sadistic. (You certainly would not be the first.) As much as I DON'T wish evil things upon anyone (not even when it may seem well-deserved), my job also revolves around helping people in need and when no one needs help, my 12-hour shift seems like it lasts an eternity.

Paint

One of the things that I love about my job is that no 2 days are ever the same. Last night was an example of such. It was not actually my scheduled day to work but I went in for fire training. Although I do not fight fire first hand, as part of the department, I am still required to train a minimum of 30 hours per year with the fire fighters. So, I showed up to do my time, mostly expecting to stand back and watch. But not long after I arrived at our training center, we were paged out for a multi-vehicle accident at a busy, high-speed intersection.

Fire Prevention Week

Today marks the final day of Fire Prevention Week. Although fun, it is a busy & exhausting week at the fire station. And, in spite of the fact that I am not actually a fire fighter, I couldn't pass up on the opportunity to step out into the community and tout my profession to some degree.
Fire prevention week falls every October in the Sunday-Saturday time period which contains the 9th of October. The history behind Fire Prevention Week dates back to 1871. However, only in recent years has this week of public safety been so widely spread.
There are 2 sides to the Fire Prevention Week coin. It is a week in which we, as public safety professionals reach out to our community, especially the young ones and help them to recognize their role in fire safety and preventing fires. Smiling firefighters can be found throughout schools across the nation showing off their trucks and other cool gear to wide-eyed elementary students. And, in all honesty, we have a lot of fun doing it. But it is also a somber week in which flags fly at half-mast and we recognize those who have fallen in the line of duty.

Tough Questions

I've been staring at them for days. I have my name and address information filled in as well as my husband's and son's. The rest is much harder for me. It is my "notification" paperwork for the department. If I am injured or killed in the line of duty, in which order do I want my friends and family to be notified? How do I want to designate my beneficiaries of my benefits? What type of funeral do I want to have? Do I have any special requests upon my death? Once it is filled out, it gets locked in the department safe and only opened if something happens to me in the line of duty.
They won't sign off on my orientation paperwork until I have my forms filled out. I know this is to make sure that they are covering their liabilities but, more importantly, it is because their people and associated families are also important and so it makes sense to take care of them too. In some ways, a deadline on my paperwork stresses me more but on the other hand, it is a good thing. I think of myself as still quite young and immature. But the truth is that we never know what tomorrow will bring. And, in spite of how difficult it is to ask myself the tough "what if" questions, I can't put it off forever.
I have long known that my profession is one of the most dangerous there is. Quite honestly, when I started out, job safety wasn't a factor on my radar. I was young and single and had very little family responsibility. A lot has changed, though, in the last 8 years.
Some days the dangers of my job scare me. I deal with combative patients and those under the influence of various recreational drugs. I work on and along high speed roadways. I do a lot of driving. There have been a lot of advances in the name of EMS safety. But the sad truth still is that, since 2001, each year on average 56 EMS providers have lost their lives in the line of duty, nearly the average for line of duty deaths for law enforcement. Most of those providers lost their lives in auto accidents. Several died from heart attacks and other physical complications related to the stresses of the job. Some were electrocuted or poisoned from onscene dangers. Others were killed by violent individuals at or near the scenes to which they responded.
Every day I go to work, I do all that I can to make sure I don't become one of those statistics. Sadly, some things are out of our hands. I want to go home to my family at the end of every day. I want to see my son grow up and graduate. I want to grow old with my husband. And I will do all I can to make sure that happens. Thankfully I work for a service that wants the same and are extremely safety conscious.
In spite of the fact that I hope the "what if" questions never become a factor, I will fill out my paperwork...and hope that it sits safely tucked away in the department safe forever.

Waiting

They say emergency medicine is hours of boredom interspersed with moments of sheer terror. I am currently enduring through those hours of boredom. Today was not my scheduled day to work the ambulance. I worked my other job this morning and then had the afternoon and evening with family and friends. It wasn't until tonight, just as I was snuggling into my warm bed, that my pager went off that additional resources were needed in a dual mutual aid request. Two large separate structures in our neighboring district were actively ablaze. Arson was believed to be the culprit.
Generally our station has enough employees on shift to cover a small fire call and an EMS call simultaneously. But, as anyone who has ever worked in emergency services knows, when it rains, it pours. Henceforth, we have extensive mutual aid agreements with surrounding fire and EMS services. The conundrum that arises with mutual aid agreements is sometimes other districts have such a high demand for our services that it actually leaves our own district lacking sufficient coverage. Tonight's fires have sapped every available resource in our county...except our ambulance crew.
We wait, monitoring the onscene crews' radio traffic in earnest. By no means am I wishing for something to befall someone but I am seriously growing weary of the waiting game. I am hyped up on adrenalin and yet utterly exhausted at the same time. My mind debates sleep but, as is often the case in the EMS world, the moment you settle in and get comfortable, something hits the fan.
So, I think I'm gonna go snuggle in a recliner, see what's on TV at this unruly hour and maybe catch some "zzzz"s in the process.

Differences

In many ways, I think of myself as an outcast. I don't mean an outcast in a social reject, weird way. I mean outcast in the sense that I have never really fit into anyone's mold. Granted, I have made vain attempts to do so throughout the years but I always seem to fail miserably. This is not to say that I am resentful of who I am. A long time ago, I came to terms with the fact that I was never going to squeeze into a stereotype no matter how hard I did or didn't try. I am o.k. with that although, at times, it seems that other people are not.
From the time I was quite young, I suppose I was "nontraditional". Before I could have a "real job" I went to work for my dad during the summers doing concrete work. Because of my previous construction experience, I transitioned seamlessly into the roofing sector of construction when I graduated from high school. For 3 years, it was the love of my life and I never thought I'd do anything else. When I told people what I did for work, their face would contort into some strange expression of shock and semi-suppressed horror. "YOU work ON the roof?!?!?" was the very next thing I would hear every time. "Yes, stupid head. I work ON the roof. Not under it. In fact, I get to play fill-in foreman when my boss is gone." When I would show up on roofing jobs to turn in a bid or do an inspection, people would stare at me with nothing but doubt on their face that a GIRL could be a roofer. In their defense, my 5'3" 130-pound stature probably didn't seem conducive to the type of work I did either. Nonetheless, I tired of the stereotypical sexist comments rather quickly. The one thing I have learned over the years is not to entertain people's biased views of the abilities of the feminine species. I have had to work twice as hard as any male counterpart to prove that, if I put my mind to it, I can do anything they can. Women's rights may have been over a 100 years ago but apparently more than a few people missed the memo.

What to Say...

It happened again today. They patronized me. They patted me on the back. They put me on a pedestal. They said "I could never do that." and "It takes a special person to do what you do." I still don't have a good response to all of this. I know not everyone can do what I do. I know not everyone can stand the site of blood and vomit or a grotesquely twisted limb. I know that not everyone can "stay cool under pressure". (I want to let you know that I don't really "stay cool under pressure" but I can sure do a mean job of making it look like I am.)
When I decided to be a paramedic, it wasn't because I wanted recognition. It wasn't because I wanted people to think of me as a hero. Quite honestly, I did it because I thought it would be a really cool job...and I like helping people. Admittedly, I also love it partly because of the adrenalin rush. When I flip on the sirens, it still makes me giddy inside. (And it's pretty awesome if/when the ways part when those lights come on.) And I still like helping people.

My Little Boy

I have had a profound case of writers block the last few weeks. If you couple that with my otherwise busy schedule, I have not really been able to generate any quality posts. You would be amused, however, if you looked through my long list of pending drafts, some with only a sentence or two, others with a paragraph or two. Nonetheless, I have high hopes that this post will make it to the final stages of publishing. Hopefully it was worth the wait.
My son turned 5 yesterday. He starts kindergarten next week. Being a paramedic and a dispatcher has taught me to deal with many situations, both physical and emotional. It has not, however, taught me how to be a parent...much less a parent who is trying to wrap my head around my baby heading off to "big boy school".

The Little Things

The following is an excerpt from an article that our chief emailed to our department a few weeks ago. It made me not only proud to live where I do but, more than that, it made me proud to work with the people that I do and serve in my line of work. It recounts one family's experience when they returned home after evacuating due to wildfires in California.
“As Ken Barker looks out from his deck at what used to be homes on Majestic Drive, he feels pretty lucky. The fire burned just a few feet from his home. He then realizes it wasn't luck, it was a battle, and the firefighters at his house won.
A small note is one of the first things Barker saw when his family returned home nearly a week after evacuating. The paper was placed under a lawn decoration on their doorstep.
"It's dated June 29th, and it says we removed one dead chicken from your coop. We gave them food and H20, signed Montana firefighters," Barker read.

Suicide

I have debated for a while whether I wanted to write about this. It is a tough subject to talk about. It is even a more difficult matter to deal with personally.The sad reality has become that my life has been directly affected by suicide in recent weeks and, judging by the increased number of suicide calls that most agencies seem to be responding to locally, this is something that is at the forefront of may people's minds.
I won't claim to be an expert on this subject. In fact I don't want to give the impression in any way, that I am even semi-knowledgeable about it. I simply want to share my thoughts based upon my direct experience with those have tried to take their own life or succeeded in doing so.

Teach and be Taught

Another ACLS class down today. (Advanced Cardiac Life Support to anyone who isn't used to all the medical abbreviations.) Why do I teach? Some days I seriously second-guess the answer. When I am slogging through cardiac algorithms with someone who has the perpetual deer-in-the-headlights look, I really wonder "Who in the world am I to make them understand this?"
Why on earth did I take on such a cumbersome task? Well, like most things, I pretty much fell into it without having a clue what I was really getting into. My adventures in teaching began while I was in paramedic school. Part of our medic curriculum was to take the CPR instructor course. Bam! I was in.

When I Cry

I know some think I'm coldhearted. I want to be compassionate. I want to let others know I care. I want to be there for you emotionally when you need me most. The sad truth though is that I have seen more heartache, chaos and tragedy than most people twice my age. I refuse to say that it has left me jaded. I will, however, admit that I have had to develop different coping mechanisms than everyone else. Sometimes, those coping mechanisms make me seem disconnected or uncaring. Don't let my stern face or lack of tears lead you to believe that I am not concerned.

When someone is having the worst day of their life, I get called out. When their world is being turned upside down, I have to be the solid force that tries to right the situation. When I get called to help, I don't have the choice to fall apart emotionally.

When You Least Expect It

"It looks like there was an accident," I hear my friend's son say in a muffled voice from the front seat of the van.
As my friend pulls to the side of the road and stops on the shoulder, I crank my neck and lean around the driver's seat to see what lies ahead. All I can see is the back end of the SUV directly in front of us. I yank open my door and lean out to assess the cause of what has halted our travel. The scene that greets me is the exact opposite of what I was hoping for. There are cars everywhere, some with noticeable damage, others with none. There are also dozens of people milling around of which I have no idea who are helpful passerby or who have actually been in the accident. There is also debris...lots of it. Shattered glass and plastic litter the roadway for at least the next 100 yards along with chunks of fenders and other unidentified objects that have been scattered from the damaged vehicles. I let out a sigh of relief when I see the flashing lights of a sheriff's vehicle already on scene at the far end of the debris field.
For a moment, I tilt my head to the side and silently hope for the distant sound of a responding ambulance. To my dismay, I hear nothing, absolutely nothing. In fact, for an accident scene, it is eerily quiet. My cardinal rule of coming upon any emergency is to let the responding crews do their job without interference from me. On this beautiful, calm, sunny morning, they are well out of earshot.
I suddenly realize that I have been stuttering incoherently and fumbling through my purse in search of my nitrile gloves. I find them right where they have been for the last several months, tucked neatly next to my CPR mask. I cast aside the mask and before I have a chance to talk myself out of it, I check for traffic and bail out of the van without saying a word.

Newbie Nerves

The only sound I can hear is the truck roaring to the next call with its sirens wailing. We have been summoned to assess a middle-aged male who reportedly had a seizure. My partner sits knee-to-knee with me in the jump seat. He's training to get his paramedic certification so he needs as many patient contacts as possible. Henceforth, this call is his. So was the last one...and the next one will be too. His jaw is set tight and I wonder for a brief moment if he is trying to keep himself from throwing up.

Heroes

Heroes. Real heroes. They don't wear capes. They can't defy gravity. They can't hold up a crumbling building with their bare hands but they will run into one to save what lives they can. And I haven't met one yet that has x-ray vision. The power they possess, however, is indeed superhuman. It is the power to hold back tears while doing CPR on a 3-year-old. It is the power to keep composure while holding a  bleeding man's head in your arms & making small talk to distract him from the pain that is his shattered body. It is the power to hold a grieving widower's hand and tell him the love of his life has breathed her last breath. It is the power to clean up vomit while talking to your partner about lunch plans. It is the power to function in a perpetual sleep-deprived state. It is the power to make a difference.

Call of Duty

There once was a time in my life when I thought that I would aspire in the field of construction and possibly the world of engineering. As is obvious from the fact that I have been a licensed paramedic for the last 6 years, my life took a huge turn. In spite of the fact that I was doing quite well working for a roofing contractor as a salesperson and fill-in foreman, something else burned within me. Every time I heard sirens, I could not deny the inner tingle that I felt. As was the case, living across the street from the volunteer fire department and ambulance service in the little town of Browns Valley, Minnesota, I heard sirens a lot. And the more I heard them, the more undeniable the tingle was.