Yes, I’m that geek.

I’m the geek that looked for things in the every day to take pictures of so that I could put together scrapbook pages documenting our lives. It was something that I found joy and took pride in. I still love the fact that someday my son will have these scrapbooks to share with his Wife and Children.

About the time that my Daughter was born (which coincides with the beginning of my EMS career, incidentally) all of a sudden I didn’t have the spare time to spend on scrapbooking. I have literally THOUSANDS of pictures of my daughter, and have put together all of three pages for her scrapbook. I need to work on that. Eventually.

Okay, I’m babbling. I’m just thinking out loud through typed words because someone told me that I needed to “Find my joy” today.

My kids are my joy. They’re the reason why I do everything I do. I haven’t lost sight of that.

But outside of that, what, really, is my joy?

What’s your joy?

Abby (She Who Rules) is CLEARLY not Three.

This is my (very late) contribution to Normal Sinus, an EMS collaborative writing project. Go check it out! I promise the other posts are much better than mine :) I had a really hard time with this post for some reason, I meant to make it humorous, but apparently most of my humor is written unintentionally.

You can can fill out the billing information, PPH, and medications to most of your regular patients, by memory.

You’ve ever uttered the words “I love the smell of dialysate in the morning.”

You’ve accumulated over 100,000 Speedway points on the Reward card thanks to diesel purchases. (Or as an alternative, you tell your friends that you need to go “fuel your car” as opposed to “you need to go get gas.”)

You can map a path past a good coffee shop to any Hospital/Nursing Home/Wound Care/Pain Management Clinic/Dialysis Clinic in the city, and do it efficiently.

You’re on the local Wound Care clinic’s Christmas card list or you get an invitation to the Dialysis Annual Memorial Day Picnic.

You realize that you know the entry and exit codes to over 45 Nursing Homes and Hospitals.

You sleep better in the truck than you do in your own bed.

You can’t remember the last time you “Lit up” the truck, or used the 911 radio.

You have standing prescriptions for Flexoril or Soma, and own or have access to at two of the following: ice packs, heat packs, Bengay, Absorbine jr., a back brace, a massage therapist, a chiropractor, or a really cute friend with great hands who loves to give back rubs.

You realize that in the last six months, 15 out of 17 of your original “Frequent Flyer” patients have died, and you can name them all.

This was meant to be humorous, I had every intention of going that route, but the truth is that those of us on Transfer units have a tough job.

It’s not glamorous, it’s long hours for low pay.
It’s constant runs, and no station to call home.
It’s being looked down upon by the “Professionals” on the dedicated 911 trucks.
It’s more and more bariatric patients and the inevitable back injuries.
It’s the constant risk of exposure to any number of diseases and infections that are resistant to antibiotics.
It’s growing attached to your regular patients and watching them die.

It’s a hard job.

Unfortunately for some it’s the only way we can be a part of the EMS system in our area. I have some “time to serve” before I can work on a 911 truck regularly, I understand that. I just hope that I can survive that time on the Transfer unit without becoming completely burned out and apathetic.

The day that I discover I don’t care anymore is the day I take off the uniform.

There was this girl. This girl was a huge fan of blogs, particularly EMS blogs. She loved to read about other folks experiences.

She started to believe that she had some stories of her own to share. She had a voice, now she could have a platform to yell from.

She created a blog. She named it Pink Warm and Dry. Partially because of her absolute love of all things pink and girly, partially for the medical reference.

One year, 290 posts later, She’s still here, sometimes yelling, sometimes crying, sharing her work experiences, her family stories, sharing her proud moments and those she’s not so proud of. And people are actually out there reading. To her it’s humbling to think that people are interested in what She have to say.

It’s humbling, but it’s also a little scary at times. Last November She posted about Megan Meier. CNN.com picked up on the post and it was on their main page for several hours. She got a ridiculous amount of traffic off of it, but also some scary comments. It was a reminder to her that in the end, She’s responsible for what She writes.

If you asked her, She would have to say that the most amazing part of this entire experience has been the friendships that She’s made. There are people out there who She’s have never met who She cares about as much as members of her own family, some of them more. Who would have thought that someone could love people She’s never met?

Obviously, She is Me. I’m grateful, folks. I’m humble and grateful. Thank you. Thank you for sharing YOUR lives with me, thank you for sharing yourselves, your experiences and your knowledge with me.

Epi

I couldn’t agree more. 

Just when I thought there was no way I was going to laugh.

*snip*

Sam: If you’re in SC you should just come full circle to VA and chill with me
Epi: Oh ABSOLUTELY!
Sam: You could come ride along with me!
Epi: That would be insane!!! Can you imagine the blog post?
Epi: How geeky is that? THAT’S what I thought of?
Sam: WE COULD DO A PERSPECTIVES POST!
Sam: hahaha omg, what dorks are we?
Epi: But we’re hot dorks. So it’s okay.
Sam: Smoldering, dorky temptresses.

Smoldering dorky temptresses. And further proof of how Sam and I are sisters from another mother.

“Trailer for sale or rent — ROOOMS to let — Fifty cents…”

I’m singing at the top of my lungs, flying down the highway with the window down and my sunglasses on. The radio is blaring Roger Miller at a level not safe for human ears. My daughter, if she were in the car, would say that my singing isn’t safe for human ears. Everyone’s a critic. Porn Shops and Truckstops blur past me at 75 mph.

Then it happens.

My previously purring engine now sounds like someone pulled the plug on it. After a minute or so it revs back up and runs fine.

Lather, rinse, repeat X 3.

“SON OF A ….”

Well, you can fill in the blank there.

Here’s where I spent the next hour pondering my choices. It had a great view of the vending machines, the dog walking area, and the bathrooms.

Do I take my chances and continue on? What happens if I break down and end up being the first female some insane escaped convict sees?

Hrmm. Is he wearing a flightsuit? I love a guy in a flightsuit.

I decided that the mature, responsible, level-headed Epi should probably get her ass back to NW Ohio while her car (hereto named Esmerelda, Mistress of Disappointment) was still able to. Regardless of how disappointed she is. And she is disappointed.

Just call me the Queen of the Road.

I’m going to take a few days off to… decompress.

I hope you all find the time over the holiday weekend to spend some time with those you love.

I should have a hell of a post come Monday :)

Happy Independence Day!

Had to do a little more sanitizing.

But the blog is back for both of you who read regularly :)

I couldn’t resist.

For some reason or other I was up close and personal with this earlier today. And instantly thought of you, dear.

Yeah, I’ve done it too. Three times in fact. *hangs head in shame*

It’s been three days since I’ve had a good night’s sleep.

Hopefully that changes this weekend. I think it will. The alternative isn’t pretty. Take this conversation between myself and McHottie as an example…And keep in mind that this is after three days with very little sleep…

Epi: (cracking open a chilled bottle of water courtesy of *major local healthcare system*) Mmmmm… Wait… EWWWW.

McHottie: This water leaves a strange aftertaste doesn’t it? Like Very Inner City ER…

Epi: This water tastes like the ambulance bay at Very Inner City ER

Random person sitting and apparently listening to our conversation: Ya’ll are tired, aren’t you?

McHottie: Well, she is…

Epi: It tastes like the ashtray in the ambulance bay at Inner City ER….

McHottie: I get it. It’s bad. (He caps his water bottle and stows it away under the head of the cot)

Random person: What time DO you start in the morning?

McHottie: Seven. We work ten hour shifts, seven to five.

Random person: I’ve been here since eight…

Epi: It tastes like—

McHottie cuts me off: I GET it.

I yawn and throw the bottle in the trash.

Yes, I realize that I need to get some sleep.

By the way, two hours later I was suggesting that we procure ourselves some kites to fly the next time we posted anywhere. And I was singing a song from Mary Poppins about doing the same.

I made sure the public wasn’t involved this time. No worries.

Wish me luck on some sleep tonight :)