Skip to content

Archives for ems

See all posts in the network tagged with ems

Echoes.

4 comments

“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

For Little Red

5 comments

 

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

No comments

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

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

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

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

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:

And The Winner Is…

1 comment

I wanted to thank everyone for their comments… It was a tough decision with so many funny stories and jokes, but after conferring with a good friend we’ve come up with a winner…

*drumroll*

Bill “Pineapple” Hopkins.  A copy of EMS Monopoly is heading your way!

His submission:

The EMS Community is Well known for it’s Humor. From the West coast to the East coast, we are all the same. I am a paramedic on the Gulf Coast. A few years ago I ran a cardiac arrest. This day I had an EMT Student with me doing her first clinical ride with EMS. Upon arrival, Firefighters were in the process of BVM and good compressions. It’s Summer, this code is being run on the front lawn. As I lay down on the freshly mowed grass, I get my intubation stuff ready. I insert the #4 Mac and visulize the cords, however, I must have lifted just enough to release the gastric pressure and I was suddenly covered by semi-digested chicken noodle soup! The spew was epic! Like a hand-grenade in a cream-puff. We continued the code and went off to the hospital. After we delivered the patient to the ED Staff, I sneaked off to the bathroom to clean up. Well, just before I go into the bathroom, I hear my Student talking to others in the EMS ready room about the call. I grab some saltine crackers, and after I clean myself up, I crush up the crackers and cover my hair. I return to the ready room just in time for my student to point to my head and expound upon the call. At this point I grabbed some of the broken crackers and started to eat them. My Student turned an awesome shade of green and ran out the door… The introduction into EMS Humor!!

I’m sorry, that right there is funny.  And yes, I realize I’m not right in the head. :)

Congrats, Bill.  Email me your contact information at epijunky@pinkwarmdry.com and I’ll ship it right out to you!

Posted by on December 6, 2010 • Filed under: EMS, Funny Stuff

The Rollercoaster

3 comments

Today I was able to play with care for the most beautiful 6 month old little girl.  She melted my heart… Constantly trying to eat my name badge, playing with the leads to her monitor, daring you to not just adore her with her big blue eyes, blonde curls and infectious laugh.  She was sweetness and light all wrapped up into a perfect tiny little person.

Today I was honored to take care of a nine-year-old boy with a list longer than I am tall of health issues.  Close to my Son’s age, with his same hair and eye color and build, I couldn’t help but put Nick in his place.  I was able to help bathe him, change his briefs, and soothe him during an uncomfortable procedure.  I was able to sit and talk with his parents about what his every day is like, as well as what it’s like to have a child with special needs.  I saw the exhaustion in their eyes, sure, but I also saw their absolute adoration of that little man.

Today I was able to bond with the pregnant mother of triplets.  We talked about her nail color (we both love obnoxious nail polish colors), her decision to not name her daughters and son until she actually saw them with her eyes, where to find the cutest baby clothes, and finally, what it was really like to have two children already with three on the way at the age of 22.  She trusted me enough to allow me to observe her cesarean and hold her hand while her epidural was placed.  I watched while three tiny new lives came into the world and was able to run back and forth between the operating suite and where the babies were to report to Mom who was screaming the loudest, their weights, and in general how they were doing.  I was able to tell her how absolutely beautiful they were and saw the love in her eyes for them.  It was probably one of the most amazing experiences I’ve had in EMS, and I wasn’t even in the back of an ambulance or in a patients home when it happened.

Today I saw a little one, not even a month old yet, fighting for his life because of something that one of his parents did in a fit of rage.  I felt my fists clench when we were finding out what really happened to this tiny angel.  I found myself constantly remembering that I needed to not focus on the parent who did this, but on the one who really counted.  Instead of coming up with ways to injure the guilty party in my head, I focused on learning about the ventilator that was breathing for him.  I focused on learning as much as I could about what his care would consist of, and what signs and symptoms I could look for in the field in patients who had the same type of injuries.

Today I came home from work physically exhausted and mentally fried and wanting nothing more than to hug my children as long as I could.

I know I’m in the right place. I just thought that five plus years would be long enough to be used to the roller coaster.

Posted by on November 30, 2010 • Filed under: EMS, New Paramedic

EMS Monopoly Giveaway!

65 comments

If you’re reading this, chances are really good that you are involved in EMS in some capacity, that you have a strong interest in it, or that you adore someone who is.  That automatically makes you very cool in my book.  In the spirit of the Christmas season, I have a gift for you.  You can keep it for yourself, or give it to that loved one who would appreciate it just as much.

Ohhhh…. Lookie here.

Courtesy of EMSPlay.com and FireEMSBlogs.com I’ve been given a copy of EMS Monopoly to be given away to one of my readers.  If it were up to me I’d give every single one of ya a copy, but I only have one. (Because I kept the other copy for myself.  I’m sorry, it was cool enough that I had to rip the plastic off, get out the camera and take some pictures:))

Don’t worry, your game will be brand new, still in the plastic.  Ready for wrapping and placement under the tree…  Or keep it for yourself.  Hell, I would…

Oh yeah, I did.  Sorry bout that.

So what’s the catch?  Myself and a few friends of mine have had a rough couple of weeks.  We need to laugh.  So make us laugh.

Well, make me laugh.

Leave a comment with a joke, a funny EMS story, a link to a picture that makes me laugh, a video… Anything.  Just be silly :)  Considering the fact that SpongeBob Squarepants and fart jokes make me giggle, this should be pretty easy.  That’s all.  Make a girl laugh and you get a copy of this pretty cool board game.

You have five days.  Ready… Set… Go…

Posted by on November 29, 2010 • Filed under: EMS

I’m finally there.

17 comments

I found myself sitting in the back of the squad catching my breath.

It truly did look like a bomb had gone off back there.  Countless plastic wrappers, empty med vials and much of the contents of our formerly pristine cabinets were tossed about.  Three different drug boxes were open with some of their contents missing.  Our stretcher sat outside of the ambulance, the lifepak and a mass of cables (hopelessly tangled) sat on top of our backboard on the stretcher.  All of the cabinets had broken tags.

It had been a very long day already, and we had a few more hours of work ahead of us in an attempt to piece together our truck.

**********

It was one of those days where you don’t get to do a lot of sitting.

I think that’s probably the most positive spin I can put on how I was feeling.  I was cold, tired, and getting a little cranky.  We had been running the stripes off the side of the truck… Back to back to back transfers with few and far between opportunities to learn about the new equipment I now have available to me at this service.  After almost 13 straight hours of teching all but one run (and squeezing in driving time when I wasn’t teching) and I was ready to throw in the towel.  Figuratively and literally.

We were posting in a quiet area… If there is such a place… I turned the lights in the mod off and reclined the captains chair.

Bring on the power nap, baby.

I had barely managed to close my eyes when I heard the high pitched tones go off.  OOOOEEEEOOOOOOOUUUUHHHHHHHH!!!!  Unit 427…. 2122 Blackhawk road… Cardiac arrest… Unit 427…2122—”

*Blink*

I leaned forward into the driving compartment and strained to hear the rest of the dispatch.  ”They just said Cardiac arrest, right?”

“Sure did,” My FTO replied as he threw the truck into drive and lit us up.

Airway bag.  Monitor.  Drug box. They’ll all need to go in.  What are the ACLS drugs and dosages?  Crap, I can’t remember the dosages…  Uhm… SHIT!  Where are the IO needles and pressure infusers kept? Do we have an extra roll of paper for the monitor?  ET or King?  Where’s the vent?  We’ll need a backboard too…  I tossed my field guide in the action area, just in case.

I had a good seven minutes to complete my mental checklist and load the stretcher up… My FTO had barely managed to hit the brakes before a Volunteer Firefighter was throwing open the back doors to the squad.

“It’s an ARREST!  BRING IT ALL!!!”  He sounded significantly more rattled than I did, which is an odd feeling for me.

I’m usually the shaky one.

I shook my head in an effort to clear my mind and jumped out of the back of the truck. The volunteer and I dragged the fully loaded stretcher across the gravel driveway towards the front door of the home.  Bright red, amber and blue lights from various vehicles bounced off of the houses.  It was a little disorienting… Kind of like stepping into a crazy nightclub environment and feeling dizzy from the light show going on inside.

**********

A man I recognized as being a fellow coworker from the last service I worked at was kneeling next to the AED while another pumped furiously on the patients chest.  ”Clear… CLEAR!!!”

The patients arms jerked like someone had just scared the life out of him.

Hrm.  I’ve never seen that happen before outside of TV or a movie…

The living room of the trailer was at capacity.  Three guys in turnout gear were mixed in with three others volunteers in jeans, sweat pants and shorts.  The patients wife sat stone-faced in a rocking chair while his two Sons held back his hysterical Daughter.  A curious neighbor hung out with the two Sheriff’s deputies outside.

“What do we have?”  I got a good look at our patient… He looked pretty good for a man in cardiac arrest… Diaphoretic, sure, but very pink.  Good on ya for the fantastic compressions, mate!

“VFib.  That was the second shock.  He was out doing some work in the back yard, came in the house, complained about some chest pain, and just dropped right here.  His son started CPR.”  The firefighter doing compressions on the large man was doing his best to give us a run down, it was very clear that he was running out of steam.  ”Someone switch with me,” he asked, a little deflated.  I’m sure his back and shoulders were screaming at him.

The next few minutes was filled with some organized chaos.

Switched to our monitor.

King LT placed with ResQPod.

Another shock.

Bilateral IO’s drilled in.

Epi pushed.

More compressions.

Another shock.

Epi pushed.

More compressions with a fresh set of arms.

Another shock.

Amiodarone pushed.

More compressions.

I was furiously scribbling down notes and reaching for another Epi when something caught my eye.  It looked like our patient with the previously dead eyes was now attempting to chew on his tube. Others noticed it too.  Three of us simultaneously reached towards pulse points on the patient.

Hey, that’s a strong radial.

“Stop… Stop for a minute,” someone yelled.  All of the activity in the room ceased for a few brief seconds while we held our breath.

That’s definitely a pulse.  That’s a good pulse.

“Oh my GOD, DAD?  DADDY???” The grown woman broke past her brothers and rushed us.  ”Is he going to live?  Did you get him back???”  She grabbed on to my arm and pleaded with me to make a promise that her Father was going to live.

I froze.  I was standing there holding the IV bags looking much like a deer trapped in headlights.  ”Uhm… We’ll do everything that we can, Ma’am… He has a long way to go, but his heart is beating on it’s own.”  I didn’t know what else to say.  I didn’t want to give her any false hope, I just wanted to get her Dad into the back of the truck and haul ass to the closest ER.

**********

He survived, and the last I heard he was neurologically intact.

We ended up doing a few 12-leads that revealed a massive inferior MI.  We kept his BP up and packed his groin and axilla with ice packs.  He got fentanyl and chilled saline.  When he started bucking the tube we RSI’d him.

A STEMI and ICE alert was called in with the report.  Luckily (if there is a way for an arrest patient to be considered lucky), we only had a ten minute transport to a STEMI center.   The patient was heading to the cath lab within a few minutes of arrival at the ER.

This was the first arrest that I’ve been able to take part in since becoming a paramedic, and it was a hell of a learning experience.

Here’s what I really picked up on during this run.  And this is in no order whatsoever….

I’ve learned that these runs work best when egos are left at the door.  I thank God that wasn’t an issue on this run.  Everyone worked together.  It was the best case scenario for the patient.

I’ve learned that there is no ALS without BLS.  We’re told this in school, and we know it in our heads, but when you see it in person, when you see that arrest patient with pink skin… because of good compressions, a BLS skill… Well, that kind of cements it in your head.  Make sure your basic skills are excellent before moving up in certification levels.

I learned that getting amped up on a run like this is best handled by remembering to breathe.  Seriously.  Keep breathing.

I learned that it’s a good idea to know if family is riding up front during transport. We often have a coping mechanism during stressful situations that most people don’t understand.  We make jokes, we say things that lay folk would find a little… well… inappropriate.  If positions were switched I can’t say I’d feel differently.  It’s all said in an effort to break the tension, and there’s absolutely no disrespect meant, but the average person isn’t going to realize that.  Just be conscious of who’s riding along.

I learned how important it is to keep track of your equipment. Equipment like thermometers, for instance, tend to disappear rather easily in the back of a squad with five people and a patient.

I know I’ve said this before… Multiple times, in fact, and I’m going to say it again.  Know the back of your truck. Know the back of your truck. KNOW THE BACK OF YOUR TRUCK. This was only my 4th shift with this service, and honestly, I thought I knew where everything was… Or at least what cabinet it was in.  I was wrong.  It wasn’t anything vital, and my FTO wasn’t upset over it, but damn if I wasn’t angry with myself over it.

So there it is, ya’ll.  My first code as a medic.  And he not only lived, but he’s still the same person.  I was a part in that as a member of a team that really did work well together.

It’s a feeling that can’t be beat.

One more thing… I made ya’ll a promise well over a year ago that when I finally pushed epinephrine as a medic that I’d do it with my people in mind (it was a little quirk of mine given my namesake).  For every single person who listened to me while I was in school, for every person who gave money (which I still can’t wrap my head around) so that I could actually go back to school… For every person who told me that I could do it.  For every person who told me that I had the stuff to reach this goal… For every person who let me start an IV on them.  For every person who was… There.  In any way shape or form.

I’m finally there.  I’m where I should be.  Thank you.  And that field guide… Never looked at it.  Not even once.

Posted by on November 20, 2010 • Filed under: Blogroll, EMS, Medic School

Please

27 comments

Let me start this by saying that I realize my posts have been few and far between.

For that I’m truly sorry…

Being a baby medic is a very scary thing for me.  I take my job seriously… Becoming a medic has brought on a whole new level of responsibility, and I don’t take it lightly.  And I shouldn’t… I know that. I’m dealing with it the only way that I know how.

UGH….  I’m struggling to find the words to describe what I’m feeling right now.

Hrm.  Let me put it this way.  This is for anyone who is reading this is who currently a medic student.  When folks tell you that the only thing scarier than being a student is being set loose to practice on your own… Yeah, they’re right.  I have a whole series of posts I could (and have started) writing about this.  That’s for another day.

This is about tomorrow.  Saturday.

Tomorrow I’m starting at a service that I’ve been trying to get hired into for years…  I’m terrified.  I have a case of nerves unlike anything I’ve ever dealt with before.

I just keep thinking… Please don’t let me mess this up.  Please help me keep my head in the game.  Please keep my hands steady. Please let me remember everything that I’ve learned.  Please let me do no harm.

Please.  Please…

Please just let me do some good.

Posted by on November 5, 2010 • Filed under: EMS, Me Stuff, New Paramedic

Passionate for Pink

6 comments

“Your Aunt found another lump.”

I remember hearing those words come out of my Mom’s mouth last year…  And just feeling… Well, numb.

I couldn’t believe that with everything my Aunt had already been through that she could have breast cancer again.  I felt like all of the air had been sucked out of my lungs.  I felt the blood drain from my face.  I felt tears forming in my eyes.  I felt sick. I can’t even begin to imagine how SHE felt.

I instantly thought of how many people I knew who had been knocked down by breast cancer: A grade school friend who I had just reconnected with a few months earlier had just lost her Mom to it (who I adored).  My stepmom had been diagnosed a few years earlier and was still suffering through various treatments.  The Sister of my partner at the last service I worked at.  The countless hospice patients who had been told… “I’m sorry, there’s nothing else we can do other than make you comfortable.”

My Aunt’s world changed overnight.

Rediagnosed with DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ).  We had every reason to believe that it was well contained.  Everyone we spoke with believed it was. We spent some time doing some research on her options.   It was a few weeks later that we found out that her options were significantly more limited than we had hoped.  She was going to need a double mastectomy.

Fast forward another two months and we found ourselves in the hospital with her.  Seeing her in so much pain that it hurt to take a breath in at times.  Nauseous and in tears when she’d throw up from the high doses of pain meds they were giving her.  We stood next to her as her body fought to recover after the mastectomy.  We fought with her, begging her to let us help with the countless drainage tubes.  Making sure that she was eating and that she was comfortable.

When the depression hit, it was… Honestly, I don’t know how to put this in to words.  I felt like I was watching this beautiful vibrant woman fall apart.  I don’t think that any of us truly knew what to say to make things better.  I don’t think there was anything that could be said.

I remember telling her that her femininity, the stuff inside that makes her an amazing woman… It didn’t come from her boobs.  It came from her head and heart.  It sounded right at the time.  I don’t know now. She went through hell. But she survived.

A two-time survivor.  My Aunt is so badass it must hurt to be her.

This is my Aunt, and she really is as badass as I say she is.

**********

A few weeks ago I was sitting at my computer looking at my account for the upcoming Race For the Cure.  I started thinking about the thousands of people who would be there that day, and how each of them had been touched by breast cancer in some way.  Then I started to think about my beautiful little girl with the sparkling brown eyes who loves life to the very fullest.  I thought about my other Aunt, my Mother, my Cousins, partners and good friends.  I thought about their little girls.  I thought about all of the women in my life who could just as easily be diagnosed with this horrible disease.

And it’s not just women who are affected.  2,000 men a year are diagnosed.  That’s right, guys… You’re not exempt.

I started doing a little reading and I found out that the five year survival rate for those diagnosed in an early stage is 97%.

*blink*

That’s right, 97%.  Prevention and early detection is the key.

It’s as easy as 1, 2, 3.

1.  Do a self breast exam every month.

2. Be sure that your doctor is doing an exam once a year.

3. Mammography.  Sure, it’s not pleasant, but neither is stage IV cancer.

I couldn’t believe that such simple steps could result in such a high survival rate… I wanted to scream it from the rooftops.

I immediately wanted to do more than just run this year.  I wanted to do more than just raise a little money.  I wanted to do what I could to get this information to the public (and…. raise a little money for Susan G. Komen as well…)

I wanted to create some thunder.

If there’s one thing that blogging and social media has taught me in the last couple of years it’s that change can start with just one person.  Get enough of the right people involved and you’d be amazed at what can happen. I sought out one of my favorite people, The Happy Medic, and asked him what he thought about possibly changing his blog background pink.  Maybe linking to the Komen page.

Happy Medic being, well, Happy Medic… He ran with it.

EMS for the Cure – Challenge from Thaddeus Setla on Vimeo.

I’m going to ask you to do the same.  Please consider changing your facebook picture, an avatar, your blog banner… Anything… Pink.  If you’re a blogger, consider doing a post on breast cancer awareness and prevention.   If you need help with content or images you can always email myself or The Happy Medic.

Let’s make some thunder, ya’ll!  You have no idea what impact YOU can have.

Posted by on October 2, 2010 • Filed under: #CoEMS, Blogroll, EMS

89 Years and Two Days

76 comments

89 years and two days she had spent on this planet.

65 of them married to her first love.  Her only love.  The man she’d spend her entire adult life with.  The only man she ever looked at according to her daughter.

62 of those years spent taking care of her babies.  Four of them, three boys and a girl.  The children she doted over from the day each was born.  Her mothering instinct would never leave her.  Her oldest three were already retired, with great grandchildren of their own.

5 years spent grieving the death of her husband and best friend.

7 months living with pancreatic cancer.  Dealing with constant pain that never could completely be controlled.  Slowly but surely realizing that if she chose to remain in her home, she would have to allow her children to take care of her…  Their roles would be reversed.

When we arrived at Rita’s home, it was just her and her adult children.

In hushed tones they explained the situation:  She was very weak.  She wasn’t able to keep food down anymore.  She was in so much pain, yet she was refusing her pain meds.  There were times where she wouldn’t be able to catch her breath, even with the nasal cannula and 50 feet of oxygen tubing.  They were all in tears, at their wits end.  They wanted to take care of her so badly, but she was refusing any comfort they offered her.

I knelt at her bedside, touching her right wrist.  I could feel her heart beating away her pulse was a little tachy, her skin was cool.  ”Ma’am, my name is Epi… I’m here to take you to Hospice.”

Her eyes slowly closed as she nodded.

“All right, Mrs Benson, I’m going to go get some of your belongings together, I’ll be right back with you.”  I gently squeezed her hand.

“Young lady, call me Rita” she whispered.

“Yes, Ma’am. Rita it is.  I’ll be right back.”  I left her with her daughter and went about gathering some personal effects that might bring her any measure of comfort in an unfamiliar place.  Pictures of grandchildren, great grandchildren, even great great grandchildren.  A framed picture of her beloved.  A quilt that she had made shortly after her wedding.  Her house coat and slippers.  Her pillow.  Her three sons loaded them into a van along with a grocery bag filled with medications, her walker and her wheelchair.

When I returned, Rita was sitting up in her hospital bed with her daughter making a last plea, ”Mom, please take something for pain, the medics said that it can be an uncomfortable ride.”

She just shook her head and mouthed the word “No”.  When her daughter asked her if she’d like a sip of water, she refused it.  I made eye contact with her frazzled daughter and suggested that maybe she leave the room for a second to help her brothers (and to allow her emotions to settle).  She nodded and left quietly.

“Ma’am… Rita…  I know that you’ve been hurting, please reconsider.  The ride over will be bumpy, the last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable.  Believe me, I’m back there all day, and it’s rough on me, even.”

She whispered, “Do you really think I need it?”

I nodded.

“Okay.  If you say so.”

“Rita, My partner and I are going to get you moved over to our stretcher.  We’ll cover you up with a blanket and get you comfortable.  I’m going to ask your daughter to give you your pain meds, alright?”

Rita’s eyes slowly scanned the room, as if she was saying a silent goodbye to every framed picture, every knick-knack, every memory that she had made with her family there.

We gave her a moment to gather herself then we moved her gently to our stretcher.

**********

The ride in the back of the squad was bumpier than I had anticipated.  I think we hit every pothole and crack in the road between that farm house and the facility.

“Rita, how are you feeling?  Are you warm enough?”  I had shut down the a/c and her hands still felt cold, her nails beds dusky.

“I could use a blanket, Annie.  Be a dear?”  She was looking at me, but she wasn’t seeing me…. It took me a second to realize who Annie was.  Annie was Rita’s daughter.  Annie was not in the back of the truck, she was two cars behind us crying in her car.

I grabbed two blankets and covered Rita up.  ”Rita, Annie’s not here, she’ll meet us over at–” I stopped speaking when she reached up with a shaky hand to brush my bangs out of my eyes.  It was a simple movement on her part.  A simple every day thing that a Mom does to her daughter.  My Mom had done it to me countless times.  She’s still does it today and I’m 34-years-old.

“Annie, how many times have I told you to keep your hair out of your eyes? Just like when you were a little girl.”  Her voice cracked.

I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I did the only thing that came naturally.  I just smiled.  ”I guess I need to work on that still.”  I adjusted the O2 running to her n/c, increasing it just a bit.

“Did you turn the lights off?” Rita asked.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Did you lock the front door?”

I nodded again.

“Good girl.”  She closed her eyes and lay her head back on the stretcher.

“You taught us well.” I whispered.

Posted by on September 21, 2010 • Filed under: EMS • Tagged:

On This September 11th…

2 comments

From Post Secret

Nine years later and I’m still hurt and angry.

So today, in honor and in memory of those innocents who were killed by terrorist murderers, I did the only thing two things that I could do.

First, I learned something about two of the victims from that day.  (Thank you, Happy Medic for the inspiration)

I learned about John Vigiano Jr (FDNY) and Joe Vigiano (NYPD), brothers who were both killed that day.  I read about their father, John Vigiano Sr, a former FDNY Captain.  I read about the family rivalry between FDNY and NYPD… I read about their accomplishments, and how proud John Sr. was to be their Dad.  I read about how important their chosen careers were to them, and how much respect they had for each other and their respective departments.  I read about the love they both had for their little ones.

Two men just doing their jobs.  Killed by cowards.

The only other thing I could do to possibly honor those people… The civilians, my Brothers and Sisters in EMS, the Firefighters and Law Enforcement folks who were murdered that day was to put on my uniform and go  to work myself.

So that’s what I did.  I went to work.  I got on a truck and stood proud, with my chin up.

And I didn’t forget that day.  I’ll never forget.

I refuse to.

Posted by on September 12, 2010 • Filed under: EMS, September 11th

New Addition to the Blogroll

1 comment

Please welcome Hybrid Medic to the Blogroll…   He’s got some great experience as both as a Paramedic and Firefighter in a major metropolitan city and I’ve really enjoyed the posts that he’s put up.  He’s been one of the people that I’ve gone to with questions lately, and I’ve really appreciated his input.

Here’s a post he wrote very recently on Medic school.  Enjoy!

Posted by on August 31, 2010 • Filed under: Blogroll, EMS, Medic School, patient-management

When You're Wrong…

8 comments

You should say you’re wrong.

Today, I was wrong.

I was sent out on a Short of Breath run with a Basic who I’ve worked with before.  Several times, in fact.

I was nervous.  I’m new.  I’m supposed to be nervous, right?  All of these runs get my heart racing.  That being said, I know this particular partner.  I’ve known him for a few years.  I’d trust him with my kids.

And today, I took my own nervousness and the fact that I’m not the most confident Brand Spankin’ New Medic out there… On him.

And that’s just not cool.

I was wrong.  I’m saying I was wrong.

“D”… Again, I’m sorry.  Thank you for pumping me up while my hands shook.  You will be a fantastic Intermediate/Specialist!

Posted by on August 26, 2010 • Filed under: EMS, Me Stuff

I’m willing to beg…

19 comments


For a good cause.

On June 5th, 2010 an F-4 tornado ripped through an area not very far from my home.  It destroyed the EMS quarters where a few very good friends of mine work.  It leveled the Police Department tossing their patrol cars like they were toys. The High School, just hours before a graduation was completely torn apart… It left a trail of destruction.  It took lives, including a sibling of a former coworker.  A little girl is orphaned, losing her Mother, her 4-year-old Brother and her Father.  The Valedictorian of the graduating class lost her Dad.  So many people lost their homes…

Please consider taking a second to vote for Lake High School in Kohl’s Cares.  The top 20 schools will win $500,000.  Imagine what that could do for the area…

Here’s the link. Vote for Lake High School. If you look on the left hand side of the page under the picture, you’ll see a link for LHS.  Click there.  (Sorry, this is turning out to be slightly more complicated than I thought it was)

Thank you…  You have no idea what this means to me.

Be safe out there.

Posted by on August 25, 2010 • Filed under: EMS, Me Stuff

For the EMS folks :)

7 comments

This coming Wednesday (July 14) at 7pm EST I’ll be a guest on the EMS Office Hours podcast.

Me.  Holy cow, ya’ll.

I’ll be talking with Jim about finishing up with Paramedic school, my experience so far, and my expectations as a new medic.

Feel free to pop on by Wednesday night and heckle me participate in the program!

Posted by on July 12, 2010 • Filed under: Blogroll, EMS, Medic School