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Echoes.

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“How’s the weather outside?”   We were packed into the elevator like sardines.  Myself, Blue Eyes, the bariatric stretcher and two Nurses.

Blue Eyes and I answered simultaneously.  He told them that it was beautiful.  “Sunny and warm.”  I told them that it was miserable outside and to be happy that they were stuck indoors on such an awful day. I had been reminded earlier in the shift that anyone stuck indoors doesn’t truly want to know what the weather is like outside.  Unless it’s awful and going to keep them from getting home.  It wasn’t awful outside.  I lied to them.

The male nurse laughed out loud.  “You guys enjoy your day.”

“You too.” Blue Eyes returned.  We walked our land yacht of a stretcher through the ambulance bay doors and into a beautiful 70 degree spring day.  The kind of day that I wish I could recreate every day of the year.  The shift had been uneventful so far.  Just how I like it.  I don’t know where I need to move to have 70 degree weather every single day, but if I can figure that out, I’m moving.  I remember looking up and seeing a MICU that had just pulled in, not even bothering to park.  It happens when the bay is full.

Or when something is going south in the back of the truck.    

The back doors flung open and I heard some yelling, although it was nothing that I was able to make out.  A few years back I would have been intensely interested in what was happening in the back at that moment.  I remember the first time I saw a crew using a Lucas on an arrest patient.  I practically stalked them through the ER, in awe that a machine like that even existed.   It’s not that I care less about what I do now, far from it.  I absolutely love my career choice.  I love it to the point of distraction.  I guess that since it wasn’t happening in the back of my truck,  I wasn’t focusing on the big picture.  Blue Eyes called my name.  “Epi!  It’s a code.  Do you want to help???”

My stomach dropped.  It hit me.  I wanted absolutely nothing to do with that run.  They had a full crew on the truck, Security was already at the back doors.  They would be fine.  If it looked like they weren’t okay we could jump in.  I’ve done enough compressions to know that it doesn’t often end well.

“Epi?  Do you want to help?”  Blue Eyes was ready to go.  In hindsight, I should have told him to go see what he could help with.  He hasn’t had any arrests as an EMT, although he’s done compressions while on the Fire Department.  I should have told him to go.  Blue Eyes, if you read this, I’m sorry.  I failed you, grasshopper.

By the time I could answer him, the Calvary was emptying out of the ER and heading to the squad.  I remember seeing the girl in the front of the truck climb out.  She was crying, her face was streaked with makeup and tears, her hair matted… She was doubled over in the middle of the ambulance bay and there wasn’t a soul with her.  Her hands were covering her mouth and even from twenty feet away I could hear her deep guttural sobs.  It’s that heartbreaking sound that one makes when they realize that a loved one is dying.  Or has already died.    I hear the echoes of those cries in my dreams sometimes.

“Blue Eyes, she needs us more.”  We both jogged over to her along with a bystander that had been watching.

“He’s in good hands…” 

“If it was going to happen at least it happened here…”

“You need to get on your knees and pray, right now.  Right here…”

“It’s going to be okay.”

Blue Eyes had her by the shoulders and the bystander was there, they were both trying to calm her, to ease her fears, but there really isn’t much you can say to someone when they believe that they’ve just lost the love of their life.  When she began to hyperventilate I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her and whispered, “Stay calm.  Slow your breathing down.  Breathe in and out slowly. Very good, in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

Just as she began to slow her breathing down I realized that they were going to be pulling the stretcher out of the back of the truck right in front of her.   She didn’t to see someone  pumping on her husband’s chest.  She didn’t need to see them forcing air into him through a BVM.  There isn’t anything glamorous about CPR or working an arrest.  Just as they were pulling him out of the back of the truck I turned her 180 degrees. The bystander told her once again that she should pray.

And that’s what they did.  They got on their knees, on the blacktop in that urban ER ambulance bay.  They prayed.  My partner would later tell me that even though he’s not overly religious, he prayed as well.  It seemed to bring her comfort.  Something that I wasn’t able to do.  Something that Blue Eyes and the bystander weren’t able to do with words.

I watched as they wheeled her husband into the ER surrounded by the best possible care that he could get in the area.  His color was remarkable considering the fact that the one doing compressions was riding the stretcher.  Good compressions…  Maybe he had a chance…

Once her husband was safely inside of the ER I stood her up, slipped my arm under hers and walked her into the patient entrance.  The bystander that had joined us insisted that she stay with her, and when I left them, they were on their knees yet again praying, holding on to each other.  Two complete strangers.

I found myself outside once again, next to my partner in crime.  This time he had his arm around my shoulders.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay.  Are you okay?”

“Yep.”

We sat and talked awhile while the cars sped past us on that busy street.  We sat and just tried to enjoy the sun.  Sometimes that’s all you can do when you do this job.  Even given what had just happened.  As we turned to head back to the truck (you can only hide from dispatch for so long), we ran right back into the wife of the patient and the bystander.

The wife… she wasn’t crying.  She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t crying.  The bystander, bless her heart had a mile wide smile.  I have no idea why she was at the ER that day, but whoever you are, THANK YOU for taking care of this woman.

Maybe there’s hope…  I’m almost afraid to ask this but…

“How is he?”  Blue Eyes and I asked almost simultaneously.

She managed a smile.  “They told me that they got a pulse back right about the time he was getting into the ER!”

ROSC.  Within minutes of an arrest.  A witnessed arrest with prompt EFFECTIVE CPR and early defibrillation, in the ambulance bay of a top notch hospital.

I guess if it’s going to happen to someone, this is how it should happen.

Posted by on May 22, 2013 • Filed under: EMS, In The City, Me Stuff, Uncategorized

The Perfect Ending to an Imperfect Day.

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I still revert into a five-year-old hopped up on sugar every time I get to watch this….

It didn’t make up for the fact that I missed my little guy playing the theme to Star Wars like a champ with the rest of the band, but it made the situation hurt a little less.

Posted by on May 15, 2013 • Filed under: Uncategorized

A Year Not Wasted.

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Today it will have been an entire year since I’ve posted.  A year.  365 days.

It’s mind boggling to me.  This used to be my safe place.  I’ve shared so much of my life on here.  I have to wonder what happened to shut me down.  There’s been so much I’ve wanted to share, and yet…  I feel that nothing that I’m going to write is going to be worth reading.  When I think about this blog, this creation of mine, and how I felt when I first started to write… I wasn’t writing for anyone other than myself.

I’ve come so far, but as far as I’ve come, it seems as if I’ve taken just as many steps back.  I think I need to break that.  Right now.

**********

Dear Epi,

It’s been almost three years since you wrote these words:

It’s 0240ish…

And I can’t sleep.

The one goal I’ve had in the last five plus years is to be a Paramedic.

Yeah, for some of you out there, I know that doesn’t sound like much.  Some of you have been working as Medics  for longer than I’ve been in EMS.  In some cases it’s five times as long as I’ve been a Basic.  Some of you have forgotten what this feels like.  Some of you have never felt this way.  This is just me being very real.

This is not just some job to me.  It’s the only thing (other than my little ones) that means anything to me.  And I’m *THIS CLOSE*….

And I’m terrified.

I’m no longer worried that I’ll finish.  I’m worried about being set loose with a P card.

I don’t want to be half assed at this.

I don’t want to be merely adequate.

I’m not cool with just meeting the minimum standards. I believe the standards should be set HIGHER.  And at the same time, I want to exceed those standards.

I know I’m rambling… This is what happens when I have enough time to step back from my situation and take everything in.

I have three weeks left before my final.

21 days.

That’s it.

Oh…my… Goodness.

First of all, congratulations, girly… You did it.  You’re going to come close to losing your mind the day before you sit for the National Registry exam, but you’ll show up bright and early, and you’ll knock it out of the park.  You’ll instantly believe that there is no mountain you can’t climb.  You’ll believe that there is nothing that you can’t accomplish.  And that is something you need to hold on to, particularly as a new Paramedic, because the journey ahead of you is not going to be sunshine and roses.

The day after you receive your state card, you will be set loose with a 10-year-old ambulance that leaks every imaginable fluid,  half of a drug box and a monitor older than your partner.  Oh, and your partner is a brand new EMT-B.

Okay, to be fair, it wont be older than your partner, but you’ll joke that it is.  And despite the shocking condition of your drug box you’ll still do your job and do it well.  You will begin to calm down.  You’ll notice over time that your hands don’t shake nearly as much.  I promise.  It just takes time.   You really need to learn to go easier on yourself.

You will eventually leave the service that believed that ALS wasn’t needed to go work for “That Service that shall not be named”.  And you will again start to question yourself.  That sparkly superhero cape that you started to believe would accompany you on every shift will slowly disappear.  This will be your first experience on a primary truck doing true 911 runs.    I wish I could just hug you and tell you to believe in yourself, because you will have some truly amazing moments while you work there.  You will see things that you can’t wrap your head around.  You will watch as someone you were doing compressions on just a month before walks into the ambulance bay to thank you.  You will deliver a healthy baby girl.  Two weeks later you’ll do an umbilical line on a dying neonate.  You’ll do your first intubation in the field.

And then you’ll start wondering about what was drilled into your head while in school.  That sentence that was written on the wall in your classroom for months.  “Just because you CAN doesn’t mean you SHOULD.”    You’ll miss several IV’s in a row and start to torture yourself over why you missed them.  You’ll trudge through a series of runs that were hopeless causes.  A psych patient will come close to breaking your nose.   You’ll make more phone calls to your people, the ones who dragged you through school than you can imagine.

Did I do the right thing?  What if I would have…  Should I have…  Why didn’t I…

Those people, the ones you’re closest to, the ones who have forgotten more than you know at that point…  They’ll tell you that you did everything right.  You won’t believe them.  I wish I could get you to just exhale and believe your people…  You start to think that this isn’t something you can handle, and that you are failing your patients.  You’ll start to think that you don’t want all of this responsibility.  You will constantly dream about that young father and that little boy.  You’ll wake up in a cold sweat still hearing the echoes of their family member’s sobs.

What I wish I could drill into your head, particularly at this point, is that YOU ARE NOT GOD.  You didn’t funnel alcohol down anyone’s throat that night that that father ran his charger  into that ditch, and you didn’t start the fire that killed that little angel.  I wish I could convince you of that.  Nothing that I could say to you will ever convince you, because you are who you are.  You have to go through it.  You will survive it, and it will make you stronger.

And then you’ll find something that lights you on fire.  You’ll get the opportunity to work with students.

And you will fall in love with the education side of this job.  Because you’ve been where they were.  You can spot a nervous student from a mile away, and you can calm them down.  You can also recognize when someone is bored and needs to be challenged.  You will sit in a room and watch while students you worked with receive their certificates stating that they did it.  They passed.  You’ll start to tell them that the real journey is ahead of them.  Because you know that it’s true.

You will stop questioning yourself so much. The little ones, the babies, they will still shake you up a little bit, but the stuff that scared the hell out of you…  It’s not so scary anymore.  Your confidence will start to build again.  There will some setbacks along the way, but they will not be related to the care that you provided on the job.  You’ll truly start to get it.  You’ll find that you don’t have to call a friend after every tough run.

A year ago you were grading Basic students sitting for their National Registry practicals.  Today you did the same thing.  And you’ll be just as proud of them then as you are now.

You will realize what a gift this career is, and how lucky you are to be able to do it.  Despite the horrible pay.  Despite the BS that you will ALWAYS get from dispatch, and despite the workplace drama that will always be there.  And despite how tired you always seem to be.

You made it.  You’re doing what you set out to do.  And you’re doing it well.

And now you have a new partner.  A firefighter who had sworn off EMS and then forced himself into it.  And he’ll decide almost immediately that this was what he needed to do.  Someone who believes that what we do is a privilege.  A partner who is exactly where you were when you started your journey.  Someone who will look up to you, someone who will pick your brain almost constantly.    And your love for the job will grow even more because of him.  You’ll watch him form relationships with our patients effortlessly.

And then he’ll mention that he’s interested in becoming a paramedic.

And you won’t be able to contain your smile.

Posted by on May 13, 2013 • Filed under: Uncategorized

Dear Mom…

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Today is the one day this year that is specifically set aside to honor you.  Every day I honor you, actually.  You’ve been the single constant in my life.  You fought like hell when Brent and I were little ones with no help to keep us under a dry roof, in a good school, and safe.  I can’t imagine what that was like.  Yesterday was the day our family chose to celebrate this holiday.  Yesterday was our Mother’s Day.

And where was I?

I was grading EMT students sitting for the practical portion of their NR EMT-B card. (And I followed that up by doing the same today, on your day officially.)

I sent some gorgeous flowers and a card.  I called.  Twice, actually.  Nick and Abby were there, showering you with enough love for all of us.  I know how much you loved that.

But once again, I wasn’t there.  And I was prepared for you to not be all that happy about it.

Your distaste for your baby girl working in EMS has ranged from wanting to disown me, to sending me job postings for banking positions, to offering to pay for me to go to school to persue “anything other than what you do now.”  Initially, it was because EMS was so foreign to you.  You worried.  You worried about the pay, about the stress that I’d be under dealing with what we deal with, the long hours, the possibility of getting injured…  You told me about a year ago that when your phone rings after midnight that you automatically worry about me because of what I do.  And I know that you still worry.  It’s what a Mother does.  It’s instinct.  I do it to the point of distraction with my little ones.  Over the course of 7 years you’ve become okay (more or less) with what I do.  You’ve at least learned to tolerate it.  I hoped to one day have you proudly tell someone that your daughter is a Paramedic.

That day came yesterday.

On YOUR day.

One of our family members was complaining that I wasn’t at the party.  Loudly complaining.  Bitching, possibly.  (If this family member ever reads this post I’m going to be in a world of hurt.)

You came to my defense instantly, I was told.  “She’s doing what she loves to do.  She’s working.  Let it go.”  You actually said that.  It still blows my mind.  And when I called you later on last night, apologizing for not being there, your response was “April, who should you be impressing today?”

My answer was, “Just you, Mom.”

“Well, you do.  I’m very proud of you.  How did your students do?”

I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry.  My jaw was on the floor.  It was a simple statement that changed so much for me.

I love you, Mom.  Happy Mothers Day.  I know you’ve made mine.

Posted by on May 13, 2012 • Filed under: Uncategorized

Hrm…

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The local news is running a story on where the general public can dispose of their unused medications.

What I’d like to know is where the ambulance service I work for can get morphine.  And a few other important meds that we typically carry.

Anyone else suffering along with me?

Posted by on April 27, 2012 • Filed under: Uncategorized

For Little Red

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I can remember the exact moment that I knew I needed to work in EMS.  The precise moment.  The moment that my son was choking in front of me.  The moment that I realized I had no idea how to help him.  The fire fighters that came to Nick’s rescue inspired me with their professional nature, their ability to treat him and calm both of us down…  I wanted to be the calm in the proverbial storm.  I didn’t want to ever experience the feeling of terror and helplessness that I felt that night when I couldn’t help my own son clear his airway.

Fast forward a few years later – I was working as an EMT.  I loved everything about it, and I did my job well.  But I knew that there was still more that I could do to better serve my patients.  I was never going to be satisfied working as an EMT when there were higher levels of certification in EMS.  It’s just not how I function.

Seven years later and I’m now working as a paramedic.  I’ve experienced more in the last two years than I have in the five years prior.  I still battle nerves on occasion, and there are runs that have reduced me to tears afterwards, but I think for the most part I’m a pretty collected provider.  I work with EMS students at the Basic, Intermediate and Paramedic level at the local university in a lab setting, which I enjoy to the point of distraction.  They’re an amazing bunch, and I’m honored that I’m allowed to be a part of their education.  I read EMS articles on current treatments and upcoming changes.  I read medical studies, hell, I still go back from time to time and skim through my text books.  I attend CE’s locally and at the national level at the different conferences.  It can only make me a better provider, right?

I’ve come a long way.  Those who know me best will vouch for that. But I’m still learning, and I probably will never stop learning.  There are those you can help.  There are those that you want to help, but can’t.

******

I don’t remember what I was doing when I first heard that Little Red was in trouble.  Probably playing some silly Facebook game or watching Grey’s Anatomy or some other mindless activity.  I heard from family that she had been hospitalized for threatening to kill herself.  They were adjusting her meds and she’d be fine, I was told.  I was confident that the medical team working with her would do everything that they could to keep her safe and get her mind back to where it was supposed to be.  They’d fix what was wrong, because that’s what we do.

It seemed like she was back to her old self.  She went back to school to be a Pharmacist.  She continued working towards her black belt.  She worked at an arts and crafts store.  She had a boyfriend and friends.  My kids bought her a Hello Kitty from Build-a-Bear for Christmas.  She loved it, and slept with it every night, she told them.  She would talk to Nick on Facebook about video games and she’d ask about how he was doing in school.  Little Red (she had long curly ginger hair) was the coolest Aunt to them, showering them with attention and love during the brief time she would be able to visit with them every year.

I really thought things were improving for her.  Until I realized they weren’t.

I found myself talking to her one night and realizing that she was alone in a house and intending to kill herself.  It was one of the most terrifying conversations I’ve ever had, bar none, trying to convince someone I adore to go to the hospital from 1200 miles away.  It might as well been 12,000 miles.   I talk people into going to the hospital all the time when they don’t want to go (but need to).  I didn’t think for a second that I couldn’t do the same with her.  When simply stating the obvious didn’t work, I began to beg.  I begged her to think of everything that she had to live for.  She had everything going for her, she was so smart, so close to finishing her degree, so close to getting her black belt.  She lived in a beautiful area, in a nice home…  She was active in her church.  She had so many people who loved her!

I tried logic.  I told her that her system was screwed up because of the meds she was on and that if we could just get her to hold it together and get to the hospital that they could fix it.  She was studying medicine, she’d get it, I thought.  They would fix it. They would balance things out.  They would make her better. They would help her feel like herself as opposed to someone without the will to live, barely getting by.

I tried guilt.  I begged her to think of her family.  Her mother and father, her grandparents, her extended family.    Think of her older brother who was standing next to me crying so hard that he could barely breathe.  I’ve known that man for 13 years and he’s one of the strongest men I know.  I’ve never seen him reduced to hysterical sobbing.  I begged her to think of her niece and nephew who were upstairs sleeping.  What would they do?  How would they react?  They adored her, she’d break their hearts.  I was pulling out everything I could think of, I was desperate.

I offered bribes.  I begged, I cried with her, I let her talk.  We cried some more.  I listened some more.  She talked to me until her parents could get to the house and take her to the hospital.

I don’t think I was wake for five more minutes after I knew she was safe.  I passed out that night from sheer exhaustion.  The next day, my eyes were swollen from the amount of crying I had done.  I was confident that she would be okay.  She was in safe hands.

A month later I received a phone call from Red’s mom.    There was no cry for help this time.  No begging.  No facebook threats.  Nothing.  She had ingested something.  The ER wasn’t sure what it was, possibly antifreeze.  Whatever it was, she took enough of it do some serious damage.

“What are they telling you,” I asked.

“Not much.  She’s on dialysis.  She’s intubated.  Sedated.  What do you think?”

Her kidneys are shutting down, if they can reverse it with dialysis, which I doubt, she’ll still have to deal with a lengthy hospital stay, weaning off of the ventilator, possible pneumonia, possible MRSA or some other lovely infection, and God knows what permanent damage was done…

I didn’t say any of that.  I just couldn’t.

“Red’s in a good hospital with an excellent staff.  It sounds like they’re doing everything that they can for her.  She has a rough road ahead of her, but she’s young and strong. You call me if there’s anything I can do, anything. Okay? I don’t care what time it is.  Call me.” I hadn’t ended that phone call thirty seconds before I started calling my EMS friends to find out if there was something out there that people were taking that reacted like antifreeze.  I was so freaking clueless.  Gutless.  I knew what was coming.  I was just reaching for anything that could give me some hope for her.

Red’s mom promised that she would call if she needed to, and she did.  She called a few more times to ask for clarification on a few things that were going on.  For a day or two it looked like Little Red was improving.  The hospital tried to extubate her and for a brief time she was able to communicate with her parents.

For the first time in four days I had hope.  I even told my little ones that she was improving.  All they knew was that their aunt was very sick and in the hospital and that both mom and dad had cried quite a bit that week.  I just didn’t think that they were ready at the ages of 6 and 11 to deal with suicide.  I’m 35 years old, and I know I wasn’t ready to deal with it.  Not even with the field I work in. Not when it’s someone you love.  Nothing prepares you for this.

Red’s Mother would call one more time on day five.  This time she wasn’t able to talk.  The only sound that came from my phone was a cry, a shriek… A guttural moan that I’ve heard so many times but still kicks me in the stomach every time.  That cry that a parent does when they realize that their child is dead.  The cry that just twists you up from the inside and sucks the air out of you.  I knew instantly that Red, the little girl who I tried so desperately to impress when I was dating her brother was gone.  The teenager who was so excited to show me her high school ring.  The first sister I ever claimed.  The girl from the sticks who was almost a foot shorter than I but who could still kick my ass.  The girl who I had so much respect for, who I had admired so much… The tiny girl who impacted so may lives.  I’m not even sure she ever realized who infectious her smile was or how much people just loved to be around her.  She wasn’t here.  I fight with my religious beliefs on a daily basis, but that day more than any other that I can remember, I truly hoped that there was a heaven, and that she was there, finally at peace.

The loss.  The loss was just… There were no words.  I wasn’t able to attend the funeral, but I’ve seen the video, and it was heart wrenching.  I watched, sitting at my computer as her Sensei sobbed while presenting Red’s black belt to her parents. I watched as those from her Tai Kwon Do classes bowed before her remains and performed every move that she was taught in her training, from the beginning until the end.  Even after the accident that almost took her life a little over a year ago.  She worked harder than most of us to attain to what so many of us take for granted.  Just being healthy.

Dawn, we miss you.  We will never forget you.  You were one of the toughest chicks that I had the honor of knowing. You’ve taught me more than you know, and I know that you’ve made me a better person, a better friend, a better paramedic. And I thank you for that.  I’m better for knowing you and having you in my life.

Love,

Your big sister from Ohio

 

Posted by on April 23, 2012 • Filed under: EMS, Family, Me Stuff, New Paramedic, Uncategorized

Responding

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One of my favorite EMS blogs on the internet belongs to Lt. Michael Morse of Providence, RI Fire Department.  From the very beginning and to this day whenever I read one of his posts I feel like I could have been a third partner on the scene, right there with him.  You start to believe that you’re feeling the emotions that he felt, the highs and the lows and everything inbetween.  His writing appeals to providers of all levels, from the saltiest verteran to the greenest probie.  It’s just that good.

It’s not just good.  It’s excellent reading.

Lt. Morse has a new book out that follows him over the course of a busy shift.  If you or someone you love is passionate about EMS, I couldn’t recommend this book enough.  You can purchase your very own copy of Responding here.  Lt. Morse’s blog, Rescuing Providence can be found here.

Posted by on December 27, 2011 • Filed under: Blogroll, EMS

That’s My Boy.

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There’s a boy in that picture.  Well, there’s a few of them, actually, but the one I’m talking about is wearing a green shirt that looks like it doesn’t quite fit him.  He looks like he might be either a few steps ahead, or a few steps behind the other kids on stage.  He looks like he’s damn near 6 feet tall.  The one standing aside the others because of an unfortunate background malfunction that only a few people caught.

He’s on the far right.

Yep.  That kid.

That’s my baby boy.  And I’m damn proud of him.

He’s had a tough road.  He was bullied to the point where he was coming home with bloody noses, and was a sicker shade of pale than I am most days.  We had to pull him out of the only school he knew about 18 months ago because of the bullying. He’s eleven years old now, and a full foot taller than his 6th grade teacher, and only an inch or two shorter than his Momma.  His voice has dropped a few octaves recently, he’s starting to grow facial hair (oh my JESUS the horror) and he’s still fighting a speech issue that made him damn near unintelligible up until the second grade.  He’s a little awkward, and he still wants everyone to like him.  The big difference now is that he doesn’t care as much when others may not be as fond of him as I am.

That boy… He rocked it tonight.

He even had a solo.

There are no words to describe how proud I am of you, Nicholas.

Posted by on December 15, 2011 • Filed under: Uncategorized

At Last

7 comments

“Mooooom! Mooom! MOM! MOOOOM!”  SWR came running down the stairs to my office, almost a bit faster than her little feet could take her.  I was sitting at my desk playing around on Twitter and in general just enjoying my last off day before a marathon five day run of work at three different places.

“What’s up, Little One?”

“Mom…*pant*  There’s an ammalance…  *pant* Outside!”  She never gets tired of seeing the trucks.  She and her brother would visit once a shift when I worked at the little Mom and Pop place that had a station less than a mile away from the house.  She probably didn’t realize that the ammalance ambulance that she was drooling over was one that I worked out of for almost two years.  One that she’s explored more than once.  It didn’t matter to her…  She’s attracted to the lights.  Kinda like her mom.

What she (and my son) did notice was that the ambulance was sitting in the driveway of our elderly neighbor who we happen to be very friendly with.  When Jon and I had visited the house while it was for sale some six years ago the young couple who had it listed sold us quite literally because of the neighborhood and the people who lived there.  I remember meeting Gigi that same day.  She and her husband had greeted us with hand shakes.  By the time we climbed back into the car some 45 minutes later, we had already exchanged phone numbers.  We knew they were good people.  When we would leave the house for any period of time we felt safe knowing that Gigi and Ted would be watching, they always watched out for us.  Always.  With time they became surrogate grandparents.  They both offered advice on everything from how to replace a toilet rendered useless by a simple toy phone to why we REALLY needed to watch our garage to how to install a hot water spigot on the side of the house.

Ted passed just under six months ago.  I did my best to keep my kiddos from knowing about it, and honestly, I’m not sure why that is.  I guess I was stuck in the “shield-them-from-the-bad-stuff” mode.  But Gigi had been in fantastic health considering her age.  The woman worked out more than I did for Christ’s sake and she was at least 70.  (My apologies, she was 74.  Found that out tonight.  I started writing this over a week ago.)

I was watching the crew climb out when I realized that I knew one of them.  A medic I’ve known for a few years, but who has been working in the area as long or longer than just about anyone else I know. One of the good ones. One that I would trust with my kids.  That seems to be how we judge each other in EMS.  “Would you trust them with your kids or family?” If the answer is yes, you know they’re one of the good ones.

I hoped Gigi was going in for PT or to see an ortho doc, or for a podiatrist appointment, or for something…  I don’t know, benign.  I had only once seen an ambulance in front of that house (another post for another time), and it wasn’t even for her.  I knew she had a few setbacks in the last couple of years, two falls actually, but nothing that would imagine that leave her in the care of…  Them.  And I don’t mean that in a bad way.

“They” do the hospice runs.  Say what you will about them, but “they” are an amazing group of people.  They have a tough job. They may not be doing emergency runs on every shift, but it’s still an emotionally trying job when you primarily transport those who are within sometimes minutes of dying and most of the time are within mere days of leaving us. We’re trained on how to help folks. There’s very little training on how to allow someone to die with dignity and as pain free as possible.

Terminal illnesses… They’re a bitch.

I didn’t know she had one.  Had no idea.  I’m embarrassed as hell to admit that.

Two months ago she and I had a 45 minute conversation in her front yard about her garden, for crying out loud.  In the back of my head, I just…  I don’t know.  I’m pissed at myself for not paying closer attention.  How did I not know?

Had I watched I would have noticed the weight loss.  I would have noticed the home health care nurses showing up.  I would have realized that she just wasn’t outside as much.  She wasn’t in her front yard clipping flowers and fretting over whether or not she had watered enough.  I would have known.  I’m sure of it.  I couldn’t have done a damn thing about it, but I would have been aware.  I could have helped her family.  I would have been more than just someone who lived on her street.  Hindsight, I guess.

I watched through the window as the crew loaded her up, and only walked across the street when I saw her son struggling with the lock on front door. He wasn’t himself, he was a big guy who was the epitamy of strength and composure.  Today he was shaky.  I was nervous to approach him, I know the way that I feel as a provider when the neighbors come out and become involved while we’re on a run, but I did it anyway.  I ran barefoot across the street skipping over the puddles that three days of rain had left and whispered in his ear.

”Brett,hey… I know these folks. They’re good people.  They’ll take good care of her.  I promise. ”

“I can’t remember how to lock the damn door!”  His voice was trembling and there were tears running down his cheeks.  He looked like he had been crying for quite awhile.  His eyes were blood shot and tired.

Immediately I realized that Gigi wasn’t going to a podiatrist appointment.  My heart sank.

“Breathe. Okay?  It’s okay.  She’s in good hands.  Where are they taking her?”

I mentally crossed my fingers.  Please don’t say Hospice.  Please don’t say Hospice.  Please don’t say Ho–”

“Hospice. Just for a night. She’ll be back tomorrow.”

Damn.

I told him what I could without sugar coating it.  “Brett, those people are angels, she’ll be taken care of and treated like the queen she is.  If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

He swallowed hard, nodded, and climbed in the back of the squad.

The doors closed and I retreated back to the house. I haven’t seen him since. (I’ve seen the son a few times…  Mowing the lawn and taking care of Gigi’s flowers.)

I haven’t seen Gigi.

My little ones had questions, and I answered them as honestly as I could.

“People get sick. People die.  Sometimes they’re young, sometimes they’re older.  It just… It happens.  And there’s not a thing we can do about that.  We can be sad about that, of course we should be a little sad!  Of course we miss them!  But we shouldn’t be sad for too long.

Gigi is going to die.  And I don’t know if it’s going to be next week or a year from now, but she is going to die.  We’re all going to die some day.  Don’t be afraid for her, she’s done everything she’s wanted to do.  She has beautiful babies, just like I do…  And those babies have babies.  She has so many people who love her.

But her body is sick.  Think about how you feel when you’re really sick.  Can you imagine being so sick for so long that every part of your body hurt really badly?  Every second of every single day?  And nothing could make it better?”

My daughter was on the verge of tears. “Mom, can’t you take care of her?  That’s your job!”

I was fighting back tears myself, I knew I was going to be losing a friend, one of my people, soon.  “Baby, I wish I could.  I can help fix a few things, but no one can make her better now.  We can just make her feel better.  We can try to take her pain away.  I promise you that she isn’t scared, so there’s no reason for you to be afraid for her.  Do you understand?”

“I just don’t want her to hurt. They’re going to fix her hurts, right?”

“Yes, baby, they’re going to fix her hurts.  They’re going to let her get some sleep.”

The boy wanted to an excuse to go play on the computer.  He’s eleven.  I can’t fault him for wanting to find the nearest exit at this point.

SWR and I talked a bit longer, we shed a few more tears, but in the end I think she gets it.  Well, she may not get it, but she’s okay with it.  She’s okay with at the age of six, that which I could not grasp until I was 34.  (In the interest of being completely honest, I was 34plus 3-ish months.  As in…  Not that long ago.)

**********

She’s dead…  Gone.  Passed on. It was a several days later when a neighbor came over to tell me.  I knew it was coming, well, for a week and a few days, give or take, but it doesn’t make it sting anyless.  I went to the showing.  I talked to their kids.  I met their grandchildren.  I looked at pictures of them both, together, happy.  Ted in is Army uniform, and Gigi looking as beautiful as ever.  That picture had to be at least 50 years old.

And I smiled.

They’re together.  At last.  I can be happy with that.

But Christ almighty, do I hate cancer.  

Posted by on September 30, 2011 • Filed under: Uncategorized

Today…

3 comments

Today I walked in celebration of my amazing Aunt, who has kicked breast cancer’s backside, not just once, but twice. (She’s also whooped on skin cancer, but who’s keeping score when one is clearly that badass?)

I held my daughter’s hand and walked through a sea of pink.

I loved it. And I’m fairly certain the little one had a good time on her first “Race” as well.  We call it “The Race” out of habit.  When someone mentions “The Race”, we all know what they’re talking about.  The Komen Race For The Cure.

I watched a man my age run the 5K in his mother’s pink bathrobe. He lost her six months ago. I saw countless people walking in memory of Jennifer Sugg, who at 31 years old was taken from this world, taken too soon from her husband and two small children by breast cancer. I saw several stories about her on the local news stations.  She never gave up and even at the end wanted nothing more than to raise awareness and funds for breast cancer.  She was 31 years old when she died. Four years younger than I am. I saw so many survivors there in their pink shirts. Many running, many more walking, some walking with assistance, but all happy to be there. Everyone seemed to have a story. Everyone was proud to be promoting awareness. Proud to be raising money to fund research.

That’s my Aunt with her pink survivors flag. She carried it for the entire walk.

I was happy to take part. We all were. But there was this nagging feeling in my stomach the entire time I was there.

In 2010 there were roughly 210,000 deaths from breast cancer.

There were 218,000 deaths from prostate cancer. And another 8,000 from testicular cancer.

I’m all for walking for the girls and wearing pink, but there’s not much out there for the guys. Who’s raising awareness for them? Who is walking for them and sharing THEIR stories? Why aren’t we doing this? I have a friend who’s at war with testicular cancer right now. He has a story, but there isn’t an event to honor, celebrate and raise awareness for that… No one talks about it. We’re not wearing “Save the Balls” or “Save the Booty” Tshirts. Where’s the cool cape my daughter can wear while she’s walking a 5K in honor and in celebration of these folks?

More has to be done.

Please consider checking out http://www.kiltedtokickcancer.org.

And if you can give, please do. Check out Ambulance Driver’s website  for details.  And since they’re running a nice side bet and I can be swayed by someone willing to proof read a post, I’m leaning towards the Dive Medic’s effort.

Be safe out there.

Posted by on September 27, 2011 • Filed under: Family

I Love The Guys….

3 comments

Two of my very best friends are male.  We know we can call one another at any time of day for any reason at all.

I have one son and one brother who I love more than life itself and would walk through fire for.  I’d give my life for them.

I have a step-dad who has taken care of me and mine like we were his own, even though he didn’t have to.  I have three uncles who have teased me (and have provided me with infinite giggles) incessantly since birth. I have double the amount of male cousins than female cousins and growing up with them MADE my childhood.

Countless male coworkers, former partners and good friends who make the long shifts shorter, the the laughs even louder, and the times spent not working… Well, stress (and often EMS) free.

Men who have inspired me. Who have instructed me. Who have guided me through the good times and the bad. I am quite literally surrounded by guys. Working in EMS and coming from a family dominated by the XY chromosome… Well, it was bound to happen, yeah?

Why in the hell is she writing about loving guys? What kind of blog has this turned into? I’m going somewhere with this. Trust me, and read on, please?

There aren’t many guys out there who want to talk about prostate and testicular cancer. Hell, there aren’t many girls out there who want to talk about it either.

Repeat after me: ONE IN SIX. ONE IN SIX. ONE IN SIX. ONE IN SIX.

Say it with me, ya’ll. ONE IN SIX MEN WILL GET A MALE SPECIFIC CANCER.

But Epi! Do you realize how they test for that stuff? Yep. I sure do.  Us chicks have the delightful pap smear to contend with once a year, and of course the ever exciting mammogram.

Men, we feel your pain!

Here’s what I have to say.  We all feel invincible from time to time, but this is out there, and there’s a very good chance you or someone you know will have a target on their back at some point in their lifetime.  That should be enough to scare the hell out of you.  MAN THE HELL UP AND PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR JUNK. (And as NJDiveMedic pointed out via text, “The junk AND your trunk.”)

Let me tell you about a friend of mine. He uses the blogging name Hybrid Medic . I don’t consider myself “old” (most days… That’s another post for another time) at 35, but he is definitely younger than I am. He’s from my neck of the woods, hell, we have a mutual work partner in common.  He has a young family, a wife and a beautiful little boy. I came to know him through Twitter, and was happy to meet him at EMS Expo last year and again at EMS Today this year.

He’s one of the good ones out there.  I’m proud to call him one of my people.  The first real save I got as a paramedic… I remember calling him and saying… ”I LOVE this job.”

He’s young, he’s healthy and in good shape. He’s a firefighter and a paramedic in Memphis. Not someone you’d expect to end up with testicular cancer.

He did. I’ll never forget the day I got the text message from him and the lump in my throat and sick feeling when he confirmed that he now had cancer.  He went to war with it, and it looks like he’s come out on top, but it was a hell of a battle. That’s understating it.  And the scary thing is that he had it (relatively) easy.

It was caught early.  Guys, you need to be aware.

A few symptoms to watch out for:

  • Weak or interrupted flow of urine.
  • Frequent urination (especially at night).
  • Trouble urinating.
  • Pain or burning during urination.
  • Blood in the urine or semen.
  • A pain in the back, hips, or pelvis that just won’t go away.
  • Painful ejaculation.

The above symptoms could point to prostate cancer (or another condition.) See a doctor!

A few more symptoms:

  • Pain in the testicles.
  • Lumps / masses in the testicles (with or without pain).
  • Swelling in the testicles.
  • Persistant lower back or stomach pain.
  • Loss of sexual desire.
  • Increased breast size.

These symptoms could point to testicular cancer (or another condition.) See a doctor!

Have you heard of Kilted To Kick Cancer?  Maybe you’ve seen some posts about it on the various EMS blogs.  A few of my favorite guys are taking part by wearing kilts for the entire month of September.  That’s right, the entire month.  When they aren’t working, they’re kilted.  Folks tend to ask questions when they see a guy in a kilt.  They ask a lot of questions when they see a group of guys in kilts.

“Hey fellas… What’s under the kilt?”

That’s it.  That’s all I have.  Be aware.

If you want to contribute to the cause (with the donations going to research), let me point you towards these folks:

My Blogfather, Ambulance Driver

Jay G. Of MArooned

The Dive Medic from A Look At EMS From 120 Feet Below

Medic Matthew from New Life Changes (GO GET ‘EM MATT!!!!)

Old NFO from Nobody Asked Me

Or really, anyone from this post.  The guys may have a friendly wager going on, but in all honesty, it’s not about bragging rights, it’s about doing the right thing.  Many of them have stories about why they’re participating… If you have five bucks, consider donating it.  Hell, I even have five bucks, and I’m a broke paramedic.

Next year, I’ll be kilted.  I guarantee it.

Be safe out there.

http://testicularcancerawarenessfoundation.org/signs-and-symptoms/

http://www.livestrong.com/article/14231-testicular-cancer/

http://www.pcf.org/site/c.leJRIROrEpH/b.5802031/k.6CE8/Prostate_Cancer_Symptoms.htm

http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/types/prostate

Posted by on September 16, 2011 • Filed under: Uncategorized

Dear Abby

1 comment
Last night my daughter saw me cry.  I try to never let this happen, mostly because I remember how I felt when I’d see my Mom cry.   My little one is very much like me, even at her young age.  The first words out of her mouth were, “What’s wrong, Mom?”  She lept into my lap and gave me the tightest hug.  She wanted to fix whatever was “wrong”.
And then she saw what I had been trying to shield her from for the last couple of years.  She saw what pure evil can accomplish.  She saw the destruction.  She saw more than I meant for her to see at six-years-old.When I realized that her eyes were fixed on people jumping out of two impossibly tall buildings that were on fire…  Well, I turned the TV off and tried to distract her with Play-Doh…  Typical Mom move.

“Mom, what movie are you watching? It looks scary!”

Oh baby, how I wish it had been a movie.

The best I could come up with was, “Sweety, you don’t have to worry.  I’m always here to protect you.  Why don’t you build me a cake?”  Hardly helpful, now that I think about it.

“But who protects you, Mom?”

Oh boy.

I didn’t immediately know how to answer that one.  After some thought, here’s what I’ve come up with:

Dear Abby,

There is a heck of a lot of evil in this world, baby.  I don’t know why these people are this way.  I don’t think anyone really knows.

What you saw on the TV, it actually happened.  It wasn’t a movie.  Some evil people flew planes into those tall buildings.  There were a lot of innocent people hurt.  There were a lot of people that died.  Some of the people who were hurt and who died were Firefighters, EMTs, Policemen, and Paramedics.

I didn’t know any of them, honey, but they’re still my family.  I know that’s hard for you to understand, and believe me, it’s hard to
explain.  We chose these jobs because we wanted to serve the public.  When you asked who protects us?  We protect each other.  We argue at times, just like you and your friends do, but we will always look out for and take care of each other the same way we protect and take care of the public.

That’s what we should be doing.

Sweetheart, that’s how I want you to live your life.  I want you to look out for and take care of your friends and family just like we do.
You can do this, even though you’re only six, by keeping your eyes open to what’s going on around you.  If you see something that doesn’t seem right, tell an adult.  If you see someone doing something they shouldn’t be doing, tell an adult.  If you see someone being bullied, tell an adult.  Don’t ever be afraid to speak up.

Just pay attention to what is happening around you, okay?

I love you, Abby.

Mom

PS… What your brother told you about being a “tattle-tale”? Totally untrue.

Posted by on September 12, 2011 • Filed under: 9/11, EMS, Family, September 11th

Tackling a fear…

7 comments

One of my favorite bloggers and good friend Happy Medic very recently wrote about a overcoming a fear from his childhood.  I was lucky enough to be around to  help drag him towards that evil clown witness the event… Honestly, it was one of the highlights of Expo week for me. 

Those who know me best know that I have a few irrational fears.  Flying is one of them. (Clowns is another one, but that’s another post for another time.)

I do not fly well. 

Actually, I don’t fly at all if I don’t have to, something about hurtling through the air at 40,000 feet in a metal tube is a little unsettling to me.  My fear of flying is so intense that in the past if I’ve needed to get somewhere that was less than a 24 hour drive, I’d hop in the car instead of flying.  Even if the cost of gas was more than the airfare.  Even if it meant I’d spend 48 hours less at my destination because of the long drive. When I learned that EMS World Expo was going to be in Las Vegas this year I knew that I was going to have to suck it up and fly out. 

 

And I did.  I hiked up my supergirl panties and stepped onboard.  The take off was just as nervewracking as I remember them being, which is to say I left nail imprints on the armrests of my seat.  It took a good thirty minutes of shaking like a leaf and suffering from a significant bout of anxiety induced tachycardia before the color slowly started to return to my face.  I swore that under no circumstance was I going to leave my seat until we were safely back on the ground.  I was convinced that if I tried to walk while we were in the air I would inevitably fall on my face due to my shaky legs.  It took an additional 15 minutes to get to the point where I could actually look out the window.

 

And you know what?  The view wasn’t half bad.

I had managed to relax enough to hold a conversation with the flight attendant sitting in the last row directly behind me.  We talked about careers, and what a typical work week was like for the both of us.  We agreed that we could never do the other’s job.  She claimed to pass out at the sight of blood, and I’d offered that I’d probably have a stroke if I had to spend hours a day in the air.  She was very sweet and I appreciated the distraction.  It was beginning to look like it was going to be an uneventful flight.  Just how they’re supposed to be.

I wouldn’t be writing this had the flight been uneventful. 

While the nice flight attendant had excused herself to go tend to a call light, I had cracked open a book and allowed myself to relax and enjoy the quiet time.  I was deeply engrossed in a novel about sparkly vampires (don’t judge me) when I heard what I could only describe as a sick thud followed by a frantic one-sided conversation coming from the fight attendant.  “What the… Jesus!… Hey… Are you okay?  Sir?”  I was turning around to look at the exact moment that she grabbed my shoulder and asked me to help.

There he was, splayed across the floor, directly in front of the rear restroom.  He couldn’t have been 30-years-old and looked to be in good physical shape. 

I knelt down next to him, checked for a pulse and gave him a wicked sternal rub. 

“HEY! Come on, You OKAY?

The flight attendant looked as white as a sheet.  “He just dropped, hit his head on the emergency exit door…”

I gave him another sternal rub that I can guarantee removed any chest hair he may have had remaining.  At that very second the bathroom door opened and a very shocked 70-year-old woman almost tripped over him.  She shrieked, which miraculously stirred our patient.  He opened his eyes slowly and began to rub his head.

Hallelujah.   My work here is done.

“Uhm… how… What happened?” He was trying to sit up.  I put a hand on his arm and suggested that perhaps he should stay put for a minute. I asked him his name.

“Erik,” He answered.  Erik had no medical history.  No allergies.  No alcohol or drugs on board.  He ate dinner on the way to the airport.  He was on Coumadin, but he didn’t know why.

Wait, didn’t he say he had no medical history?  

His pulse was steady and strong now, his color was better than mine. 

“I’m fine, I just need to pee.”  He was still rubbing his head. There was a pretty impressive bump there. 

“Okay, do you think you’re ready to try to stand up? How are you feeling?”

“I’m really okay, the pride took a hit is all.”  Erik stood up, he was taller than I was.  He was blushing and probably wanted to escape the worried eyes of the four flight staff who had congregated at the back of the plane with us. 

He took a step into the bathroom, turned to close the door, and collapsed like a sack of potatoes onto the toilet. His chin rested upon his chest, his arms dangling limp at his side.

“Oh, hell.  Help me get him to the floor.”  I grabbed under his arms, one flight attendant grabbed at his waist, and another pulled his legs. 

“YO!  ERIK!”  I was yelling at him while I checked for a pulse. I didn’t immediately feel one.  Without warning the plane hit some turbulence and I (irrationally — remember, irrational fear of flying) thought I might possibly be plummeting towards the ground in a pretty ugly way.  I grabbed onto the door to the restroom and said a silent prayer that A) I wasn’t going to fall out of the sky, and B) That I wasn’t going to have to do CPR on a 30-year-old man in an airplane somewhere over Nebraska.  Within a few seconds the turbulence subsided and I was able to think a bit more clearly.

Erik was cyanotic.  I’d tell you what I was thinking at this point, but you can probably imagine. 

I pulled his dark red tshirt up.  “I need a defibrillator… Do you have one?” I was asking the nice flight attendant who just a few minutes ago I had been having a nice calming discussion with.  “And a BVM.  Bring whatever medical supplies you have.”

Another flight attendant started yelling for a doctor as she sprinted to the front of the plane where everything we needed was located.

I checked for a pulse one more time. 

Please… Please… Don’t do this.  I don’t want to have to push on your chest.  I don’t want you to die up here.  It’s been a while since I’ve mentally begged a patient to do (or not do) something, but I’m not ashamed to admit that I did it on that flight. 

Erik, or God, or someone must have been listening.  He gasped.  I repositioned his head. Still, his eyes didn’t open.  Another pulse check revealed a slow, but very obvious pulse. I don’t know that it wasn’t there before.  What I knew was that I felt it at that point.

I was on my knees, in a freaking plane, and I had no idea what supplies I was going to have or what I was allowed to do with those supplies.  What I did know what that I had an unconscious bradycardic patient with very slow respirations. 

A defibrillator was handed to me.  Pads were applied. 

Another breath. 

I was handed an ambu bag.  I ripped the plastic open with my teeth and gave him a quick puff. 

There was another yell for a doctor by a frantic flight attendant.

I squeezed the bag again.

Come on, Dude. 

Another squeeze.  Another spontaneous breath, this one forceful.  It sounded like a breath one would take when staying underwater a few seconds longer than they were comfortable with. 

Oooh, he’s starting to pink up….

Another breath.  Another breath.  Another breath.

I checked Erik’s pulse again and he was around 60.  I thought I was going to cry.  His eyes opened and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.

“HowlongwasIout?”  His words were blended together. Slurred.

“Entirely too long.  DON’T YOU DO THAT AGAIN!”  I was a little louder than I meant to be.  I hope he forgave me for that. 

“We have the Doc online,” someone offered… I couldn’t tell you who said it, although I’m sure it was one of the flight attendants.   A doctor who happend to be on the plane appeared and basically shoo’ed me aside.  I was fine with that.  I went back to my seat and exhaled.  I read about sparkly vampires for a bit and managed to nap for over an hour.  That’s something I haven’t been able to do on a plane since before 9/11. 

Erik was waiting for me at the end of the jetway when we landed.  “Hey, I just wanted to thank you…”

I gave him a quick hug.  “No problem.  Glad you’re feeling better.”

Fear of flying? 

Conquered.  (Well, for the most part.)

Number of grey hairs that sprouted within a ten minute period?

More than I’d care to admit. 

Stay safe out there!

Posted by on September 7, 2011 • Filed under: Uncategorized

I’m reclaiming my blog.

12 comments

I started this mess as a way to express myself.

Sure, the blog title itself is EMS related, but I didn’t create it specifically for EMS purposes. It was supposed to be an outlet for me.  I started writing on Myspace for crying out loud!

This was supposed to be a place to celebrate the little things and the big things. I’ve been writing since my early days the job.  I started by writing about what I was feeling while on runs as a new basic. I wrote about the first time I did CPR and felt that sickening “crack” that the instructors talk about. I wrote about when my daughter cut her beautiful blonde hair with my trauma sheers and covered herself in glitter. I wrote about going to medic school and failing. I wrote about going to medic school and succeeding.  I wrote about the first (and the third) time that an infant was thrust into my arms with a parent (or a firefighter) begging me to do what I could do.   I wrote about feeling helpless on hospice runs. I wrote about the number of times I watched poor CPR on network television.

My posts are kind of random.  Then again, so am I. 

900 posts later (holy hell, 900?) and I think I’ve lost my way.  Somewhere along the line I decided that anything I published should be EMS related and worth reading. And by “worth reading” I mean something along the lines of  The Happy Medic, or  CKEMTP, or Tom Bouthillet or Ambulance Driver, or Scott Kier. 

What I didn’t get until now is that I’m not them.  I’m just a chick in Ohio with a passion for EMS and a couple of kids who I adore like it’s my job… I don’t have the experiences that the veterans have.  I don’t have those experiences Yet. Well some of them I have… But honestly, I still feel all green and sparky and baby duck-like.

That being said, I’m reclaiming my blog.

This is my place.  You can read it or you can skip it.  You can comment, or you can choose not to. Just know this, the days of me fretting over whether or not what I’m publishing is relevant to EMS are over. 

I’m back.  And I’m proud of where I am. 

Even if it’s just a chick from Ohio who writes what she feels.  Even if it’s just a girl who puts pictures of her kids up.

Be safe out there, ya’ll, 

April

Posted by on September 6, 2011 • Filed under: Me Stuff

How not to behave in public.

21 comments

There’s a video making it’s way through Facebook and the Fire and EMS blogs. Maybe you’ve seen it. Pay attention, there will be a quiz at the end.

Yeah. That’s the video.

Now, the quiz. Don’t worry, it’s only a few questions.

You are working a code in a living room of a home. The front door is open. Your pants are ripped, you’re wearing pink undies, AND you are having a really bad hair day. A member of the press is videotaping your back end doing compressions from the sidewalk or the street without your consent. Legal or not legal?

You have just stumbled out of your own bed after the best sleep you’ve experienced in months. While rubbing your eyes, you walk to your front porch to retrieve your mail. Unfortunately you did this in your Sponge Bob Squarepants pajamas, and for some reason a member of the press is there to take pictures. Can they legally do this without your consent?

You are in the back of an ambulance with Ronald McDonald. Or Bill Clinton. Or Sponge Bob Squarepants. A member of the press is standing outside snapping away while you take a blood pressure. They don’t have your consent, and they definitely don’t have your patient’s consent. Is this legal?

You are on the scene of a house fire in Podunk, USA. A member of the press covers this, and you happen to be in the shot. You really don’t want to be on the evening news and decide that the best way to handle this is to behave like a four-year-old who doesn’t want to take a nap. You throw a tantrum… ON CAMERA. IN UNIFORM. You then possibly commit battery. Just because you can.

In all of the above scenarios, it is perfectly legal for a member of the press to capture images of you and your patient.

That’s right. It doesn’t matter if you are on the job, a patient, or just unfortunately at home in your PJ’s. If you are able to be videotaped or photographed by a member of the press who happens to be on public property, you are fair game for the front page of a newspaper or the evening news. In some cases it’s even legal if they’re catching you while they’re on private property. If that news crew has permission from the hospital to be in that ambulance bay… They’re allowed to videotape you while you bring your patient in or while you happen to be cursing at dispatch on the radio.

I don’t know who the female is in this video. I don’t know if she was on hour 68 of a 72 hour shift, or if her back was killing her, or if she was just having a really messed up kind of day. I do know what all of those situations feel like. I also know this…

We are always exposed. We are always on display for the public to see. And they’re always going to judge us. The staff at the local ER, the nurse’s aide at the home down the street, the second cousin to the guy we treated last month. The little girl down the street from the call we can’t even remember doing two months ago.

If we are going to bitch about being treated like a third-class service, perhaps some of us need to really watch how we behave in public. We need to ALWAYS be on point. Always. Even when you want to scream and stomp your feet for whatever reason.

Be safe out there.

(Also, consider my writer’s block stomped on.)

Posted by on August 9, 2011 • Filed under: EMS

Baby L

16 comments

Dear Baby L,

It’s been quite awhile since we were last together, yet it feels like yesterday.  I was one of the sweaty paramedics in the back of the ambulance working as hard as I could to save another one of your family members that night.  I was the one who took your limp body from the firefighter’s hands into my shaky arms. I’m one of those people who believe that my partner and I are a team, but ultimately you were my patient and my responsibility.

Just about every waking second since the night of that fire I have tortured myself over the fact that we couldn’t help you more.  I’ve taken you everywhere with me.  You were with me at the CISD.  You’ve been there when I’ve dropped my kids off at school, you’ve been in line with me at the store, you’ve accompanied me to the lake when I’ve made attempts to get my head on straight, and you’ve visited me in my dreams.  Oh sweety, how I really wish I could have done something more for you both. 

 Honestly, and this sounds harsh,  I wish I could forget what your little face looked like that night.  I wish I could see you as a happy toddler playing out in the yard with your siblings on that swingset or in that massive sandbox in the side yard. I would do just about anything so that your entire family could celebrate another one of your birthdays.  I wish I could see you blowing out candles on a cake instead of the little boy with the horrible burns in the back of my truck.  Unfortunately, I don’t get that luxury.  My coworkers don’t.  None of us do.  It’s one of the hughest downfalls to working in EMS.  We see what we see, and we’re supposed to just deal with it.  Some of us are much better at it than others.  For me, it’s been an issue since day one.  What happened to you, and that family member, it was horribly tragic to say the least. And my thoughts and prayers will always be with your family.  It’s impacted me to the point where I actually left a  job and was ready to shred the medic card I worked so hard to obtain.  I felt like you were truly haunting me.  I felt like I was being sucker-punched every time I dared to forget what you had been through that night and then… remembered.  It happened.  What happened to you, it happened. 

What I didn’t get until just recently was this:  You are one of my ghosts.  You deserve to be remembered.  And not in a negative way. 

I did… We did absolutely everything we could do for you that night, Sweetheart.  We all worked just as hard on your Momma.  I’ve poured over the run reports, I’ve talked to coworkers, supervisors, ER doctors and nurses, other bloggers, friends, fellow EMS folks… Just about anyone who would listen.  What I figured out was this.  We all did EVERYTHING we could.   And in the end, unfortunately, we couldn’t control what happened to you any more than the Firefighters could initially control that fire.  We all would have given anything so that the outcome would have been different.  Believe me. 

So, Baby L…  Sweety.  I will always have you with me.  Always.  So many people who you have never met will. We will always carry you with us.  And we are all so unbelievably sorry for what happened to you.  Just know this… And it’s selfish, I know.  I can only speak for myself, but I know this is true.  Horrible things are always going to happen, sometimes to the most innocent people in this world.  People who have never wronged a person in their life.  People who have yet to really live.  And that is a nasty, horrible thing.    There will always be things that will make us, as providers, spin for a little bit. You can’t work in EMS, or Fire, or Law Enforcement without encountering it from time to time.  But we can’t torture ourselves over it, and we cannot allow us to let it define who we are.  That would make us a little less than 100% there for the next person.  The person who we CAN help. 

You’ll always be with me.  Always.

– Me

Posted by on May 2, 2011 • Filed under: EMS

Help Needed.

2 comments

Hey Ya’ll!

I know things have been quiet around here (Cripe! I said the “Q” word!), and for that I apologize. Between the recovery process from my back injury to starting a new job, life has been a little… hectic.

Last night I was sitting at my computer and trying to overcome my unbelievably large writers block when I came across a message from a friend on Twitter. @Jeff_EMT is an EMT with Reedy Creek Emergency Services Station 4 (Walt Disney World across from Saratoga springs Resort Area)  who lost his Father and Father-In-Law to cancer. His sister is a breast cancer survivor. He was/is feverishly trying to raise money for the American Cancer Society’s Relay For Life, which starts at 1800 April 1st until April 2nd at 1000.  It’s a passion of Jeff’s, and one that his entire family participates in, from his Wife and Sister to his three children (including a 2 1/2 year old little one!). 

$911.00 is his goal. He’s doing very well, but I want to see him not just meet, but exceed his goal!  He needs our help. I know that a handful of my Twitter friends and EMS bloggers have already donated (myself included), but I’d like to take this time to ask you, if you’re able, to donate whatever you can to the cause.  Cancer is an evil, evil bastard of a disease. Each dollar donated is one step closer to a cure, 100% tax deductable, and all money donated goes directly to the American Cancer Society.

Let’s help this fellow EMT out by getting him to his goal. Give what you can.  If you can’t give, you can always help by spreading the word about what Jeff is trying to accomplish.  After speaking with Jeff and hearing him speak so passionately about this event, I know how much he’d appreciate it, and I would as well.  I’m the daughter, niece, cousin, caregiver and friend to some amazing people who have had cancer.  I’m also the granddaughter to a man who’s life ended too soon because of pancreatic cancer. 

Thanks for reading, be safe out there.

Jeff’s Relay for Life Page

Jeff’s Twitter page

My Twitter page

Posted by on March 27, 2011 • Filed under: #CoEMS, EMS, Family

Go Forth…

1 comment

And… read.  Please.  My friend Kevin over at  A Look at EMS from 120 Feet Below has a very good post up.  Get a box of tissues ready.

Kevin, we need more like you.  You can take care of me and mine anytime.

The post is called Veteran’s Day.

Posted by on March 11, 2011 • Filed under: #CoEMS, Blogroll, EMS

Just Another Run (Originally posted 8/14/09)

3 comments

From the archives…

There was some discussion on Twitter tonight about service to ones Country… I don’t care what branch you are currently with or were in.  To all of you out there who served… Thank you.

**********

While in Basic school, many things are drilled into your head.

BSI/Scene Safety.

ABC’s.

What you don’t document didn’t happen.

Pack a lunch.

You know, the important things.

I’d like to add something to the list.  Don’t ever become complacent while doing transfers.

Now before you start jumping to conclusions, I’m not talking about the dialysis transfer that codes on you.  I’m not talking about the ECF patient being abused by staff, or the elderly patient being neglected by their family.  (Also something that I’ve encountered.)

Those types of runs apply, certainly.  But that’s not what I’m going for here.  I’m talking about those honest to goodness regular everyday transfer runs.  The hospice runs where nothing goes awry.  The dialysis transfers where the only intervention needed is a couple of blankets.  The ECF to Podiatrist appointments where the patient gets their toenails clipped.  Those runs that many of us do every single day.  The ones where we sometimes get annoyed because we’re carrying fifteen bags in addition to the patient on the stretcher.  The ones that piss us off because we’re just sick and tired of being verbally attacked by the patient, or their family, or even the nursing staff.  The ones where you find yourself groaning, “Oh Lord, please, not another transfer.”

**********

“Unit 33, I have a run for you, let me know when you’re ready for the info.”

The sun was out in full force beating down on us in the little ambulance with no air conditioning.  I would be lying if I said that my partner J and I were both more than a little cranky after having sweated our backsides off for the last six hours.  As bad as we felt after stewing in our own juices for so long (six hours is a long time for us Yankee’s to be boiling in 100 degree heat!), we felt worse for our patients.  We had both made promises that we would be talking to management about the pitiful attempt at a/c that our truck for the day was making.

J was driving.  He picked up the radio.  “Go ahead, Dispatch.”

“Go to Big City Hospital, room 4118 bed one and take them to Midwest Hospice.”

“We’re clear, put us enroute,” J responded.  He turned to me instantly.  “ANOTHER transfer?  Can’t they give us five minutes to get a drink?”

“We’re busy… It’s good for them.”  I swallowed the last sip of my water bottle.  The truth was that I was just as tired and sweaty as he was.  I didn’t want this next run any more than he did.  That being said, knowing the owners and where they were coming from, knowing that this would be a run where they would actually get *paid*…  Well, when you keep that all in mind and remember that the owners sign your checks.  It does make things a little easier.  Even when it’s 100 degrees outside and you swear it’s at least twice that in the back of the truck.

**********

We found him laying in a hospital bed, and not so happy about it.  He had already emptied the contents of his lunch tray on the floor of his room.

“I’m not going ANYWHERE, you HEAR ME???” Words and saliva were flying faster than I could react.  Mr. Johnson was mad as hell, and everyone on the ninth floor of this hospital knew it from those who clean the patients rooms to the charge nurse. We had heard him from the very second we exited the elevators.  Twelve rooms down from where he had spent the last three weeks.  Apparently Mr. Johnson was feeling feisty today.

“Mr. Johnson, Mr. Johnson,” I rested my hands on the side rail of his bed. “My name is Epi, I know you’re a little apprehensive about –”

“You son of a bitch, I’m not going anywhere!” He screamed, spraying me in spit.  All of a sudden I was extremely happy to be BSI’d to the hilt, courtesy of a Nurse who knew why he was on contact precautions.

I wasn’t sure what to say.  “I’m sorry medicare wont pay for you to stay in a hospital any longer… We’re taking you to Hospice to die,” surely wasn’t appropriate, as frustrated as I was getting.

“Please, Mr. Johnson, stop spitting on me.  We’re here to take you to another hospital.  There are amazing people there and they’ll take VERY good care of you,” I started.  I paused, searching for the right words.  I prayed they’d come to me quickly.

“Wh-wh-ere are you taking me?” His voice was shaking, the first time he had actually spoken to me as opposed to screaming.

I searched the room for something to talk about other than where he was going.  Pictures of grandchildren, a sports team he followed, “Get Well Soon” cards… Anything.  I couldn’t find anything.  Despite the fact that he had been there for so long there was no proof of it.  No family members present, no flowers or balloons, nothing remarkable to speak of.

Except a navy blue Vietnam Veteran baseball cap with some pins on it sitting comfortably on his bald head.

“Sir,” I started, “I see you’re an Army man.  I was in the Army myself.  Thank you for your service.”

“You were in the Army?  Did you see any action?” Mr. Johnson perked up.

“No Sir, wish I had the opportunity.” I wasn’t lying either.

“I was in ‘Nam from 1968 ’till 1972.  I tried to go back after that but this god damned knee wouldn’t let me.” He motioned towards his right knee, he even pulled up his hospital gown to show me the scar.  “Sonofabitch is fulla shrapnel.”

I groaned, while nodding.  “I gotcha Sir.  That must have been disappointing for you.” I would have talked to him about anything at this point if it kept him calm.  Telling someone who has not been prepared for the fact that you are taking them to a facility for the terminally ill so that they can end their life at peace and (hopefully) pain free isn’t the easiest conversation.  It seems as if myself and my partner has been thrust into this position more and more lately.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I don’t make enough for the job I do.  None of us do.  Private, Muni, Vollie, or other.

“Sir,” I started slowly making direct eye contact with him, “We’re going to take you to another hospital.  The staff there, the nurses and the doctors, they’ll be able to better manage your pain.  You’ll have your own room, good food, a TV and DVD player to watch some movies…”

“Well hell, that sounds purty good,” Mr. Johnson responded, straightening his hat.

I exhaled.

**********

I was driving while J was in back with Mr. Johnson.  In hindsight, I should have taken patient care.  I had established that bond.  J had been a little put off, and as a result he ended verbally berated by our patient for an entire hour and a half long transport time.  When we pulled up to Midwest Hospice J sprung out of the back of the truck with renewed energy. “Well, we’re here, Mr. Johnson, let’s get you off of this uncomfortable stretcher and into your cozy bed!”

“Fuck you, you dirty bastard!” Mr. Johnson yelled back.

Here we go again.

For my part, I lowered the stretcher legs while J pulled it out of the back of the truck.  We barely paused at the front desk when the secretary mumbled “Room Three-Seventy-Two.  Follow the long hallway up to the right and catch the elevator to the–”

“We know the way,” J returned flatly, sprinting towards the elevator.

One of my favorite Hospice Nurses at this facility met us halfway down the hallway.  “Any family coming,” he asked under his breath.  He was doubletiming it just to keep up with us while simultaneously flipping through a copy of Mr. Johnson’s chart.

“No.” J and I said in unison.  It was unusual that there wouldn’t be someone to go with the patient to Hospice.  Considering this patient’s mental state, I was to the point where I couldn’t blame them.  He was an older gentleman, very set in his ways.  He was hardcore. He was also confused and afraid.  Probably two emotions he wasn’t terribly comfortable with.

I thought I knew him.  Or at least the type of patient he was.  Turns out I didn’t know him at all, and at the same time, I knew him very well.

**********

We had managed to “unload” Mr. Johnson as quickly and as comfortably as possible.  We were done, he was comfortably resting in his new bed.  His care and paperwork had been transferred to my favorite hospice Nurse.

As much as I had hoped to bond with him, and I felt like I had, he was off of our stretcher now and we were quickly approaching being “back in service”.  We were making the cot in the parking lot with a flat sheet I stole from a random closet in the facility when the unexpected happened.  A vehicle pulled up alongside our ambulance, a simple dark green Toyota Corolla.  I recognized the driver as a close elementary and high school friend immediately.    She eyed me suspiciously before she smiled, lowering her oversized sunglasses.  “Epi!  Hey girlfriend!”

“Tammy, Oh my GOODNESS, how have you been?”  I couldn’t believe it, I hadn’t seen her in at least ten years.  Her cousin, my junior prom date, was sitting shotgun.  He waved, smiling with the same goofy grin I remember from all those years ago.

“I think you just brought my Dad in,” Tammy said, her smile slowly fading into the look that most of my Hospice family members wear.  I knew the look well.  It was the look of a caregiver.  A caregiver who has spent the last year plus holding their breath while their loved one skipped amongst the border between life and death.

Oh Gawd No.  Not Tammy’s Dad.  Not Cary.

I always assumed that Cary was Tammy’s biological father.  I hadn’t known that he was actually her Stepfather. I felt my stomach turn as I walked towards the drivers side of the car.  “Tammy, I… I had no idea.”

She nodded, “He’s lost a tremendous amount of weight,” she tried to explain. “He doesn’t look anything like he did before he got the cancer.”

“Tam, I’m so sorry.  How’s your Momma holding up?”

“She passed away last year.  In here, actually,” Tammy motioned towards the building we had just come out of.  “They were so amazing with her, and they took such great care of us too.  When Pop got sick in January, when they told us that his cancer was terminal… We knew we had to get him in here.”  Tammy’s face wore a sad, tired, smile.  “I know they’ll do a better job with him than Kevin and I could.”

“It’s exhausting, Tam.  I know you beat yourself into the ground every day for him.  I know you.  You deserve the break, and you know they’ll treat him like a king.” I squeezed her hand.  “If you need anything, anything at all, call me.”  I scribbled down my cell phone number and handed it to her.

“Did he do okay on the ride over?  We tried to prepare him the best we could, we even cleaned out his hospital room and brought everything here so he would have some familiar things, pictures and such, around.  I dont think he was understanding everything that was going on…”

I flashed back to his empty hospital room and how angry Cary, Mr. Johnson, was.  “Tam, he was a little confused, but he did fine.  I made sure the staff knew to talk to him about the Army.  That seems to calm him down a little.”

Tammy laughed, “It sure does.  We’re gonna go in, thank you for taking care of him, Epi.”

“No problem.  Give me a call, I’m serious.  It’s been too long.” I headed back towards the ambulance and climbed into the driver’s seat and fell apart.

**********

Tammy’s phone call finally came two weeks later.  She was crying.  I knew Cary had died before she even spoke.  As much as I had wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to visit him while he was at Hospice.  It was too hard to see him that way.  I felt like a coward for it.

“The funeral is on Monday, Epi… Do you think you could come?”

“Tam, I’ll do my best.  I’m supposed to work but–”

Tammy cut me off, “Then you go to work.  You do so much good there, Epi.  Dad would want it that way.”

I choked back more tears.

And on that Monday, in an anonymous cemetery somewhere in the mid-west, another Soldier was buried.  Someone’s Hero.  Someone’s Daddy.  Someone’s Uncle.  Someone’s Husband.  Our Patient.

Godspeed, Mr. Johnson.

Posted by on February 19, 2011 • Filed under: EMS

Rally The Troops.

3 comments

Family defined:

fam·i·ly

noun \ˈfam-lē, ˈfa-mə-\

A group of individuals living under one roof and usually under one head : household

A group of people united by certain convictions or a common affiliation : fellowship

**********

A group of people, united.  A family.

That is how we tend to think of our EMS brothers and sisters.  They’re family.  Doesn’t matter if we’ve worked along side you for years, if we’ve met a few times or if we’ve never spoken.  This is just how it works.  We take care of each other.

Justin Schorr aka The Happy Medic is one of our people.  Some of you have met him, some of you haven’t.  But for anyone out there who reads EMS blogs or who has watched Chronicles / Beyond the Lights and Sirens you know who The Happy Medic is. He’s a good friend with a wonderful wife and two of the cutest little girls I’ve ever seen.  He’s out there working the equivalent of three full time jobs between his career, the blog and the Chronicles project.  He’s out there working so that we can move EMS forward. Plain and simple.

A few days ago it came out that one of his little ones was had something pretty scary going on medically and had been taken to the ER.  She had been admitted to the ICU and they weren’t sure when she’d be discharged.

Within minutes I received a DM on twitter from @JustMyBlog, the lovely author of the blog by the same name.  (And a quick little bit about JMB as I’m going to refer to her.  She is one amazing woman and I adore her like she’s my sister.  I think she may be my sister, actually.) She had quickly come up with a plan.

Let’s shower this little girl and her family with some kindness.  It’s what we’d do for our local EMS families if they were in the same position.

My response?  ABSOLUTELY.

Justin is family.  He’d do it for any of us. We may not be able to visit or bring over dinner, but we can certainly bring them some happiness!

From JMB’s post with a few additions from me:

The rules are as follows:

- The girls are young, keep that in mind.  I’m estimating, but I believe the one in the hospital is around two and her sister is 5 or 6.
- What to send? I know the economy is awful. So if you can’t afford much, how about making a card and mailing it?
- Whatever it is you decide to send, and whether it be for Happy, Mrs Happy, or the kids, please make sure it’s something they will want to keep. For example, no used teddy bears. (I added the emphasis – Epi)
- If you’re sending internationally, please make sure you’re sending something that will be allowed to pass through customs.
- Please include your name, Twitter handle, or the name of your blog in your package/envelope so that they know who they’re getting all of this stuff from.

Where to send it:

The address we’ve received is for a drop site.  If you’re interested in sending something, contact myself at Epijunky@pinkwarmdry.com or JustMyBlog at @JustMyBlog on twitter or through email at justmyblog@hotmail.ca.  We’ll get you the information.

Thank you for reading…  Be safe out there,

Epijunky

Posted by on February 17, 2011 • Filed under: #CoEMS, Blogroll, EMS, Family

Good GOD, I’m getting old.

5 comments

So… Tonight…

My youngest… She Who Rules.  The one who looked… Oh… Like this when I started blogging:

She Who Rules is now pushing six.  She lost her 4th tooth tonight.  The tooth fairy even left her a note!  The tooth fairy also realized that she didn’t have anything under a five on her.  That being said… It was a front tooth.  Everyone knows those are worth more money.

This is my girl.  Today.  In all her glory, complete with marker on her face.

Hey, it adds to her charm.  As if that wasn’t enough to make me feel somewhere younger than Old Man River but older than Old Yeller, my Son, The Future Cardiologist, turned eleven.  ELEVEN!!!!

This was him when I started my EMS journey. Younger than his baby sister is now.

This is him today.

That’s my boy.  My nose.  My bad eyesight.  My complexion (Sorry, kiddo, you’re going to suffer from the pimples well into your thirties if I’m any indication), and my height.  The only thing he didn’t get from me is “paleness”.

I couldn’t be prouder to have such a tenderhearted, generous, handsome, gracious young man as a Son.  And for God’s sake, I pray he never sees this post.  For the *checking sitemeter* six… count them SIX readers that I have… Please don’t tell FC about this.

All joking aside.  I have two beautiful children who make the really bad days bearable and the good days that much sweeter, and all of the stretch marks and wrinkles and gray hairs a non issue.

Am I getting old?  Hell YES I AM.  But we all are. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  I have everything I need and then some.

Be safe out there,

Epijunky

Posted by on February 11, 2011 • Filed under: Me Stuff

Becoming the Patient II

27 comments

When I left ya’ll I was hobbling out of a certain hospital in a certain city in NW Ohio.

I felt better than I had in… quite a long time.  I think that the fact that I had been so severely anemic for so long had me believing that how I felt on a day to day basis was normal.  And normal for me really wasn’t that bad.  That being said I felt like I could run a marathon now, I was practically bionic.  Well, minus the bad back, but certainly that would be resolved easily enough.  A little ice, a little heat, some muscle relaxers and a few days off.

I followed the directions I was given, determined to behave and stop being such a damn pain in the ass to all of my caregivers and limped into my Doctors office the next day.

He walked into the exam room holding my folder.  My Doc normally has a permanent “worry wrinkle” on his forehead, it’s part of his charm, and today was no different.  He dropped the folder down on the counter top and looked me over.  ”You’ve had a rough few days, eh?”

“Yeah.  You could say.”

“Epi, I’m not going to sugar coat this.  You need to find another job.”

Blink. Blink. Blink. I had no response.  Internally, I was screaming.  He did NOT just tell me that I can’t work as a Paramedic.  Not after everything that I’ve been through to get to this point, what the HELL? My heart dropped.

Doc pulled my MRI results out of the manila folder.

I was screwed.

L4-L5, and L5-S1.  Both herniated.  I broke down and cried in the office.  Right in front of the doctor.  I cried as I checked out, I cried all the way to the car, and the entire drive home.  I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore.  He had written me off work for an entire month, which I knew wasn’t going to sit well with management.  Hell, it was probably going to get me fired.

The next day, I was let go from the best service I had ever worked for.  And after only getting to work for 6 weeks.  To say that I was devastated would have been the understatement of the freaking century.  That was January 11th.  Three weeks later and I’m still absolutely heartbroken.

As time went on the pain in my back wasn’t getting any better.  It moved from severe muscular lower back pain to severe muscular lower back pain with continuous spasms and sciatica.  If you haven’t ever had issues with your sciatic nerve, consider yourself very fortunate.  If you have, then you know what I’m talking about.  It’s brutal.  The fire-like pain that was shooting down my left leg (and eventually my right leg as well) was more than I could mentally deal with.  I started to think that I was really losing it.  I was absolutely inconsolable.  I lost my job, I was in constant debilitating pain, I couldn’t take care of myself, let alone my children or any potential patients…

Good God, I was a train wreck.  I started pulling away from my friends and family locally, and finally my online family.  My family doctor had been keeping a close eye on my blood count, which thank God was stable (albeit a tad on the low side still at 10), but was ultimately worried about my level of pain.  I was reluctant to take any narcotics, and dead set against surgical interventions.  After two straight weeks of agony, I relented.  He wrote me a script for some high dose percocet and referred me to a pain clinic and a surgeon.

A pain clinic?  He wants me to go to a pain clinic?  I take PATIENTS to a pain clinic.

I began to become paranoid that I’d be perceived as a drug seeker.  Vicodin wasn’t helping with my pain at all.  Percocet was just knocking me out.  Two days before my pain clinic appointment I found myself in my doctors office yet again.  Again in tears.  Humiliated.  Defeated.  Begging for some relief.  Pleading for some way to get just a few minutes of time where I wasn’t so consumed by the constant searing pain in my back and legs.  I remember sitting in that office truly believing that I was losing my mind.  My life was no longer my own.  I was no longer in the position of being a caregiver, I was practically an invalid.  Incapable of doing something as simple as rolling over in bed without crying out in pain.

Breaking point, meet Epijunky.

My family Doc was out of town that day and I was seeing the office Nurse Practitioner.  He had worked as an RN, a Paramedic, and an EMT.  He was my people.  He was my people when I really… truly needed people to talk me down off the cliff that I was teetering on.  ”Epi… I’m not going to tell you that you should continue to work as a Medic.  But I’m not going to tell you that you can’t.  Let’s get you through some of this pain.  Let’s get your head clear, and we can explore the rest of it after that.  Go to your pain clinic appointment.  Get that epidural done with the steroids, and see where you are after that.  One step at a time, ya know?”

I nodded.  I wanted to have some hope.  That was all.

“Epi… I have friends who have worse back injuries than yours.  They’re still working.  Keep your chin up.”  He patted me on the back as I walked out of the exam room.

I could have tackled him, had I been physically able.  It just took a simple statement from a caregiver to pull me out of a state of mind that was so low I couldn’t even wrap my head around it.  Just two minutes.  No drugs, no interventions at all.   Just a little dialog between two people.  I hobbled out of the office yet again.  The difference was, this time I wasn’t in tears.  I had a little bit of hope.

That was four days ago.  Yesterday was my pain clinic appointment.  I wont bore you with the details of a caudal epidural, all I’ll say is that it’s not the most pleasant experience.  It’s one that I hope to never repeat, actually.  But if that’s what it takes to get me back on a truck, I’ll do it.  I’ll do anything.  I’ll even have the surgery done.  I just want to be back.

And sadly, I really don’t know when I’ll be able to get back.

Right now I’m praying that continued steroid treatments and building up my core muscles will keep me from repeating this injury.  I’m praying that I can get back, very soon, in any capacity, and resume my role as a fixer.

No longer a patient.

I guess what I didn’t realize was that I wasn’t just a patient through this battle.  I was a fixer still.  I just had to fix myself.

**********

Thanks to those of you who stuck around to read my story… I realize that it wasn’t a guts and glory EMS post, but it was important to me.  Never ever forget that just the simplest of statements can help your patient more than you can imagine.  Sometimes words can work miracles.

Be safe out there,

Epijunky


Posted by on February 4, 2011 • Filed under: EMS, Me Stuff, New Paramedic

Becoming the Patient

8 comments

Why did you get involved in EMS?

Chances are that your answer may have something to do with wanting to help others.

I know that was my reason.  I’ve always thought of myself as one of the “fixers”.  And it didn’t matter what type of run I was on at that point in time, private transfers or 911 runs, it all comes down to a person with a need out there, and us being able to take care of that need.  Maybe I wasn’t fixing the patient, per se, but I was fixing what could potentially turn into a life threatening issue.

When I became a Paramedic and was set loose to practice on the street my thinking of myself as a fixer was reinforced.  Some of the patients I was now interacting with were of a higher acuity than I had been able to treat before, and now I was in charge of the ambulance and everything on it.  I was responsible for any care or interventions given by myself or my EMT partner, as well as any care or interventions not performed.  It’s quite a responsibility, and while it’s only been six short months, it’s something I hope I never take lightly.

It’s a great feeling, having that name tag that says Epijunky NREMT-P on it.  I fought like hell to get to this point, going through two very tough Paramedic programs with fantastic instructors.  And am I proud of myself?  Absolutely I am.  Not too proud, nothing close to walking around with my chest puffed out with a Paragod attitude… Just… Proud that I finally made it.

In late December, the day after a particularly grueling 24-hr shift, I drove home feeling a little under the weather.  It wasn’t anything specific, and honestly, I chalked it up to just being exhausted from running a ton of calls the majority of the previous day.  I’m 34-years-old and a Mother of two.  My body isn’t used to being up for 24 straight hours.  I remember pulling into my driveway, putting my car into park and grabbing my gear before getting out.  When I stood up, the world spun.  I remember blinking a few times in an attempt to focus on my neighbors house thinking that if I could just stare at one point, this nasty case of vertigo would stop.  And within a few seconds it did.  But not before I took a step, slipped on ice, and landed flat on my backside.  Ouch.  After muttering a few four letter words, I collected my bags, stood back up and went into the house.  I felt fine, and the vertigo never did return.  I didn’t even mention it to my family. I figured it was just another less than graceful move by yours truly.

The following day was Christmas morning, and my gift from Santa was some pretty intense back pain.  My response was to pop some ibuprofen and find a way to make it through Christmas morning without my kids knowing that anything was wrong.  And I did manage to do this, quite successfully.  The next morning however, was another story.  This was worse than just back pain, this was excruciating pain. It was I-cant-stand-up-and-walk-without-help kinda pain.  Knowing that I was due to be on an ambulance for 24 hours the next day, I swallowed my pride and headed into the ER where I was possibly the worst patient ever.

Let me explain.  I didn’t want to be there.  I’m a fixer.  I’m not a patient.  To the ER staff’s credit, they were amazingly patient with a very very stubborn girl.  I thought it was odd that they wanted to run my blood for a CBC, but I didn’t complain.  All I wanted was some relief for my back and possibly a work note if they weren’t going to be able to calm my spasming muscles down before tomorrow.

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.  What happened next would be the beginning of my own personal hell.

Dr. Mc Hottie (well, he is rather handsome) came into my room with a very concerned look on his chiseled face.  He was followed by a PA, a scribe and my nurse.  ”Epi, I don’t know how you’re able to walk, let alone function right now…”

Er, ‘Scuse me?

“Epi, are you aware that you’re anemic?”

“Yes, I have been for years.  I’m a gastric bypass patient,” I mumbled, getting a little nervous.

“Okay, I understand that, have you been having problems with your iron and B-12?” He was sitting next to my bed now.  My anxiety climbed by a factor of 10.  I knew I had problems with anemia, and if you ask anyone who knows me, I’m not just pale, I practically glow I’m so white.  That being said, I came in for my back, and they weren’t even concerned about that.

I just nodded.

“Your hemoglobin is 6.1.  Normal is 12-14.  6.1, Epi.”

Hemoglobin is the component of your blood that carries oxygen from your lungs to the tissues in your body where it picks up carbon dioxide to take back to your lungs.  Basically, the handsome Doctor was telling me that my body was severely oxygen starved.  He started naming a myriad of problems that I was probably suffering from, possibly without realizing:

Pale skin. CHECK.

Shortness of breath.

Tachycardia.  CHECK.

Impaired memory.

Chest Pain.

Dizziness. A big CHECK.

Cognitive issues.

That last one really struck me along with the threat of impaired memory.  While I hadn’t had issues with either so far, the thought of not being able to think clearly while with my children or a patient in the back of the ambulance… That scared the hell out of me.  I was in trouble.  And even worse, I was putting others in danger as well.

All of a sudden my back was hurting a little less.

I was no longer a fixer.  I was a patient.

I had the entire rainbow collection of wrist bands.  Allergy, Fall Risk (!), my hospital ID and finally the green blood band.  My reality was rapidly changing.  I was stuck in a gown, felt like a pin cushion thanks to multiple iv failed attempts, and I was absolutely terrified.  They were talking about blood transfusions, not just one, but multiple.  My quick visit to the ER was looking like it was going to turn into a couple of day affair.  The icing on the cake was passing three different crews and a supervisor from my service while in the ER.

My saving graces were a friend and former preceptor who stopped by and refused to leave me until I was tucked in and he was positive I wouldn’t sign myself out AMA.  Kozi, I can’t thank you enough.  And yes, Turkey is still a funny word.  (I say very weird things while being given IV narcotics, folks.) My sister from another mister JustMyBlog who sent a beautiful flower arrangement, and a certain friend out there who listened (and watched) me whine via skype while they were simultaneously drugging me and giving me blood.

Four units of blood (and one very sleepless night) later, I was set loose.  My HGB was still on the low end, but acceptable by the hospitals standards, and my back pain was being taken care of with narcotics.  I had been given orders to see my family doc the next day, and I was fairly certain that I was going to be in the clear in a few short days. I’d be back on the truck soon.  Management told me to take care of myself and to let them know when I was released by my doctor.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy, yeah?  Of course not.  I don’t do anything the quick and easy way.  My nightmare was far from over.

**********

The conclusion later on tonight or tomorrow.  Thanks for reading, and be safe out there ;)

–Epijunky

Posted by on February 4, 2011 • Filed under: Blogroll, Me Stuff, New Paramedic, Uncategorized

A Moving Tribute…

2 comments

I didn’t know him, but he was my Brother.

United States Army Specialist Benjamin Moore, killed in Afghanistan on January 12, 2011 by an IED.

From FireCritic.com:

“He was assigned to the 7th Engineer Battalion, 10th Sustainment Brigade, 10th Mountain Division at Fort Drum. Benjamin joined the Army in 2009 and was deployed to Afghanistan last May.

Moore was also a volunteer firefighter and EMT with the Hope Hose Fire Company in Bordentown, New Jersey. Moore was posthumously named Chief of Hope Hose Fire Company and will be named honorary Mayor of the Bordentown at their next meeting of the City Commission.”

Watch this very moving video… You might want to grab a tissue.

Godspeed, SPC. Moore.


Posted by on January 23, 2011 • Filed under: Blogroll, Uncategorized • Tagged: , ,

St. Florian…

3 comments

I am not a Firefighter.

I’ve wanted to be… For quite a while now. I just never thought that I had it in me… I never pictured myself among those who did have it… The absolute Bravest among us. The ones who run into the most terrifying situations with faces that rarely betray them. With jaws set firmly, and steady hands like steel, facing what most of us can only conjure up in our worst nightmare, but to what they consider…simply… A job to do.

I’ve seen those faces so many times. Over the last five or six years I’ve been able to get to know many of them and am honored to call them classmates, coworkers, partners, and friends. Some of them I now count among my very best and closest friends. Some of them are trained in EMS in addition to Fire, some of them aren’t. Some of them volunteer their time. Some of them don’t.

Honestly, none of that truly matters.

Ultimately, we’re family.

We give each other a ration of crap just about every shift. Because we’re family.

We back each other up on scene. Because we’re family.

We laugh together… Oh, God do we laugh. Often until we have tears running down our faces…  Because we’re family.

When one of us is in danger, the rest of us spring into action. We tend to take care of each other… Because we’re family.

And when… When any member of  our family makes that ultimate sacrifice… When any one of us loses their life doing the only thing we’ve ever imagined doing, which is when it comes down to it, taking care of OTHERS… We ALL feel it. We all feel that empty space in our hearts. We ALL feel that loss. We all think about that the family members left behind… We all go to that dark place, that place where “What if…” lives.

Because we’re family.

Right now, a great number of my family are hurting.

Two of my… our… Brothers are no longer with us. Edward Stringer and Corey Ankum, both of Chicago Fire, were killed in a fire yesterday. December 22nd 2010. They clocked in at the beginning of the shift, I’d imagine, much like we all did. Looking forward to the holiday season, maybe… Certainly not expecting that that particular shift would be their last… Just ready to do what was expected of them.  Regardless of what that was.

As I said… I’m not a firefighter. One day I hope to be. That being said, these two men are my Brothers.  Doesn’t matter that I’ve never met them. And while I am mourning the fact that they are no longer among us, and that I truly feel empty with their loss, while I weep for their families, I have to celebrate the fact I was fortunate enough to be able to call them family.

Edward and Corey… Godspeed.

To those who knew you best and loved you most… we have the next watch.

Dear God,

Through the intercession of our patron, Saint Florian, have mercy on the souls of our comrades who have made the supreme sacrifice in the performance of their duty, and on all who have gone before us after years of faithful discharge of their responsibilities which now rest on ourselves.

Give us Grace to prepare each day for our own summons to Thy tribunal of justice. Into Thy hands O Lord, I commend my spirit. Withersoever Thou callest me, I am ready to go.

Merciful Father of all men, save me from all bodily harm, if it be Thy will, but above all, help me to be loyal and true, respectful and honorable, obedient and valiant.

Thus fortified by virtue, I shall have no fear, for I shall then belong to Thee and shall never be separated from Thee.

Amen.

Posted by on December 24, 2010 • Filed under: EMS, fires, in-the-line-of-duty • Tagged: