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.

However, I never thought of myself as being of the same caliber as those EMTs and firefighters. And so, in a vain attempt to defy the tingle, I refused to go sign the volunteer form and start my training.
Along the way, I tried to confide in others regarding the effects of the tingle but the general response was apathetic and outright negative. As the days and months rolled past, the tingle did not budge in the face of those well-intentioned nay-sayers and it refused to surrender to my attempts to snuff it out. Inevitably, in the spring of 2004, the tingle had its victory. In a perfect storm of a desire to be closer to my family, my roofing company relocating and a job listing for a paramedic in a town near my family, I made a rash decision. Almost overnight, I left the only "real job" I'd ever had and moved westward 100 miles to the "booming metropolis" of Aberdeen, South Dakota.
At the last minute, I managed to sign up for an EMT-Basic course in the tiny town of Eureka, South Dakota. That stop sign on a blacktop changed my world forever. It was there, at the volunteer ambulance barn, that I met like-minded cohorts who also were responding to some inner, inexplicable calling. Together, we faced the terrors of trauma and medical emergencies with wide-eyed wonder (and fear).
I'm sure at some point during that 4-month class, we all cried (never in front of anyone of course) or thought about quitting or threw up a little in our mouth's when presented with a gruesome situation. But we all lived to tell about it...and miraculously so did all of our patients.
After getting my initial EMT-Basic certification, the perpetual tingle left me with no choice but to pursue my certification as a paramedic also. Fast forward 10 months later and I was creeping into a classroom at Avera McKennan School of EMS. Sadly, I don't remember all the names of my fellow comrades in that class. I do know we shared a lot together over the 12 months that followed and not everyone stood up to the tests of endurance that were thrown at us in our budding EMS careers.
I myself nearly reached my breaking point about 8 months into the class when I watched a dear friend suffer a cardiac arrest and, in spite of our efforts to bring her back, we lost her. The days and weeks that followed that loss were some of the most difficult of my life thus far. I questioned every action I had made on the call. I thought that attending her funeral would give me closure. It didn't. Going to her house was painful because I kept expecting her to be there. I saw her face in the face of every cardiac patient I responded to...sometimes I still do.
I think most EMTs go into paramedic school thinking that they will save every patient that they touch. It doesn't take long to realize how off-base those paragod ideologies are. No one ever really teaches you how to deal with death. It is a lesson that is learned only by facing it head on. The problem comes when you refuse to face it and cling to the paragod facade.
I chose not to face my friend's death. Inevitably, that only made the pain worse and finally, several weeks after she was gone, I called the only person in the world who I hoped would understand. My very first EMT preceptor who has been a flight medic for longer than I have been alive. His words have helped me survive every rough call that I have been on since then. "The day you stop caring is the day you need to find something else to do with your life." He taught me how to look at a call from the outside in, and, in spite of the fact that the outcome wasn't ideal, know that that I had done what I could to the best of my ability. We can't save everyone but we can care. And, when all is said and done, we need to walk away and know that some things are outside our scope of power to change. In spite of the fact that some would put us on a pedestal, at the end of the day, we too are only human.
There is a long list of other instructors, friends and comrades that I am forever grateful to for helping me in my journey through EMS. They have taught me more valuable lessons than they may ever know. It has been a rough journey...certainly not the journey I had envisioned when I started out 8 years ago. Most definately not a journey of glory and heroism that most people imagine when I tell them I'm a paramedic.
My journey took me through 2 ambulance services in South Dakota anda brief stint in Idaho. I have now settled into an extensive volunteer service in Montana. I started training there 6 weeks ago. It is yet another new adventure in my journey of responding to that tingle that started so long ago.