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.