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

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

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

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

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

**********

Dear Epi,

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

It’s 0240ish…

And I can’t sleep.

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

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

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

And I’m terrified.

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

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

I don’t want to be merely adequate.

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

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

I have three weeks left before my final.

21 days.

That’s it.

Oh…my… Goodness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And where was I?

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

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

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

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

That day came yesterday.

On YOUR day.

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

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

My answer was, “Just you, Mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

Anyone else suffering along with me?

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

He’s on the far right.

Yep.  That kid.

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

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

That boy… He rocked it tonight.

He even had a solo.

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

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

“What’s up, Little One?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Terminal illnesses… They’re a bitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn.

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

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

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

I haven’t seen Gigi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

And I smiled.

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

But Christ almighty, do I hate cancer.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Men, we feel your pain!

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few symptoms to watch out for:

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

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

A few more symptoms:

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

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

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

“Hey fellas… What’s under the kilt?”

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

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

My Blogfather, Ambulance Driver

Jay G. Of MArooned

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

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

Old NFO from Nobody Asked Me

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

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

Be safe out there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I do not fly well. 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“HEY! Come on, You OKAY?

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

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

Hallelujah.   My work here is done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I checked for a pulse one more time. 

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

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

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

A defibrillator was handed to me.  Pads were applied. 

Another breath. 

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

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

I squeezed the bag again.

Come on, Dude. 

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

Oooh, he’s starting to pink up….

Another breath.  Another breath.  Another breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fear of flying? 

Conquered.  (Well, for the most part.)

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

More than I’d care to admit. 

Stay safe out there!

I can’t sleep.  Indulge me.

IF you find yourself in Medic or Nursing school… And IF you find yourself serving time enjoying clinicals on the labor and delivery floor of your favorite hospital….

Remember the importance of those those three letters.  B…S…I…

I had amniotic fluid not just wash over me… Not splash on me, but in fact SPRAY on me today.

In my hair, on my face, and pretty much showering me from forehead to hips.

Blech.

I mean, I love the itty bitty ones, but I will never walk over to an RN who asks me if I want to see something “really cool” without proper protection again.

No pun intended.  Or pun intended, at this point I’m not even sure.  My apologies, for the 4th time in four weeks I’ve found myself hiding in the basement because of a tornado watch/warning.

That being said…  HOLY CRAP!  I was tagged in a meme by the Happy Medic himself.

Get it?  Holy cra– Oh, nevermind.

So I’m supposed to share what I’m reading while spending time in the Ladies room.  While I can’t possibly imagine why ANYONE would want to know this… What the heck.  I’m game.

So here’s my list (in no particular order other than the first):

First and foremost, I’m a medic student *THIS CLOSE* to the end of my program.  If I don’t have Volume 1 or 2 of the big red book (BRB) in my hands, it’s because something’s wrong.

And yes, I read it in the bathroom.  I read it in the tub.  I read it while I’m on clinicals, and I read it when I’m lucky enough to be catching a soap opera.

And yes, I watch soap operas.  CBS, btw.  Ridge is a tool.  Carly is my hero.  Victor can kick anyone’s ass.

The Big Red Book(s).

If for some reason I don’t have the BRB available, or I’m too exhausted to even consider opening the thing because I’ve been studying about upper GI bleeds and the joys of dig toxicity and the fun arrhythmia’s they produce, I’m probably looking for some mindless entertainment.  What’s more mindless than Jessica Alba Cosmo Magazine?  I mean where else can you check out an article about your man being possibly being gay and then instantly skip to an article about His #1 Sex Fantasy?

Cosmo.  I’m a chick.  I read it.

While I am a chick, I’m a chick who has a ridiculously geeky side to her.  It seems to rear it’s ugly head any time I have an opportunity to learn more about my chosen profession.  JEMS Magazine, how I love you.  Let me count the ways.  (And that ResQPod rocks my socks!)

What Keeper-of-the-Cheerios doesn’t need to know what the Best Toys of the Year(!) are?  Okay, so that was a little over the top, but I have subscribed to Parenting magazine for the last 9 years or so.  When FC fell into the entertainment center and gave himself a black eye at the age of nine months, Parenting magazine told me that it was ok.  When SWR developed colic and her Dad and I were driven to the point of actually hiding from her, LITERALLY HIDING, Parenting magazine gave me ways of coping with the shrieks and screams and ways to calm her.

Yep.  I am the Keeper-Of-The-Cheerios.

Last but not least (and I’m hanging my head in shame here for some reason), Twilight.

Yes, I’m one of those girls.  I’m in love with a book series.  My name is Epijunky, and I’m addicted to the Twilight books.

I’m in love with the idea of a hot vampire who would say something like, “Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving”.

Okay that was a private joke that no one will get.  That being said, I’m in love with the idea of true love.

And hot vampires.

Okay, so I’m enamored with some actor, but still.

So, in playing along with the meme rules, I’m going to tag five others.  Let’s see if they play.  No pressure…I mean *I* did it, why wouldn’t you?

My girl Bernice.  Because if I feel like I need to do it, I shouldn’t be the only girl playing.  And because Bernice rocks my socks.

Ambulance Driver.  Because honestly, who HASN’T wondered what this man is reading while in the little boys room?  Okay, that was possibly a rhetorical question.

Mr. CKEMTP.  Because us redheads have to stick together.

Medic Matthew, the best friend I’ve never met.

Jay G from MArooned.  Who I’m fairly certain hasn’t read my blog in months.

I’m curious, sue me.

If you’re brave enough, play along. :)

(Note:  I’d like to apologize for how disjointed this post is… I’ve been trying to write it for at least a week, and the more I wrote, the more I tried to polish it, well, it lost something.  It was a very emotional night for me, and in the end just getting my words out was more important than keeping the paragraphs flowing. — Epijunky)

I’ve written before about EMS and how close us folks can be.  How we’ll go to war for each other if need be.  How if you mess with one of us, chances are you won’t like the end result.  If there’s one thing I can say without a degree of doubt it’s that we are a tight group.  I’m going somewhere with this, I promise.

You might have heard about some nasty weather that steam-rolled it’s way through my neck of the woods a little more than a week ago.

An F-4 tornado.

I had just gotten home from some clinical time in the ER when I switched the tv on and realized that every channel was showing the weather.  It was going to get nasty, they said.  Hail, heavy rain, high winds, they said.

What did I do?

Honestly?  I cracked open a beer.  It was a warm night, and it had been a long day.   Hey, I had just started an IV in a thumb and had seen the most grotesque traumatic injury that my sparky green backside could conceive.  I was feeling pretty happy to be home.  It was already after 9pm, and the plan for the night was an early bedtime.

Half an hour or so later I heard the sirens go off.  As the kids started to panic, I switched on the TV.  Tornado Watch. It’s not a huge deal up here, as we find ourselves under a watch at least twice a summer.  I had FC come downstairs and play in his sister’s room, which didn’t make him a very happy ten-year-old.  I left the tv on, but muted and went back to playing some mindless game online.

The siren in my area is just about a block from my house, so when it does go off, there is no missing it.  It vibrates the entire house.  When that shrill whine started up again, SWR did what any five-year-old girl with a fear of bad weather does, she panicked.  FC, for his part, paced, a worry wrinkle crossing his forehead. Every hair on my body stood on end.  Hearing a siren twice within half an hour was not a good thing.  I turned my attention back to the news, where we informed that were now under a tornado warning.  I managed to get the kids settled down and returned to watching the breaking coverage of this “weather event” as the meteorologist referred to it.

The projected path of the storm was south of me, but not by very much.  Where it was hitting right now, according to the local news affiliates, would be the rural area where my instructor lives.  It would then move directly upon an area where a lot of folks I care about work.  Too close for comfort to where a co-worker and classmate live (Rockstar Partner, actually).  Very close to where a good friend of mine was out celebrating at a Bachelor Party.   My Dad’s house was directly in the path.  My Dad. My people.  So many I cared about were directly in it’s path.

I quickly went from being calm and collected to… well… Not so very calm.  Every time I spoke to my little ones,  my voice was at least an octave higher than it should have been.  I was afraid, but not for the reasons that I used to be.  I had always been a little skiddish as a kid when the sirens would go off.  Now, I knew I was safe.  My kids were safe.  I wasn’t worried for us.  The more I watched the television, the more nervous I became.

Before I knew it all hell was breaking loose. We had confirmation of a touch down in the township.  The highschool was destroyed.  The police station was destroyed.  The EMS station where so many of my friends work or had worked in the past was destroyed.  I started sending frantic text messages.  I made phone calls that went unanswered.  I cried, and I prayed, and I prayed some more.  There were family members that were in danger.  There were coworkers, classmates and very good friends in danger.  And if on cue, I was cut off.  My cell phone went from four bars to zero.  No coverage.  I was cut off.

I couldn’t help but imagine the worst possible scenario.  With no way to communicate by phone, I attempted to go to bed with the kids.  I was not rewarded with sleep.

Lake High School (Ohio State Highway Patrol)

At the second that I was freaking out the most… the ones I was so worried about?  They were springing into action. In the pitch black dark of night, backboards were replaced with doors and plywood.  Flashlights were searching for victims.  Folks were pulling people from the rubble. Ditches and culverts were being checked.   The ones that weren’t in the immediate area were moving in resources to an area that basically had all of their emergency services knocked out.  The outpouring of help from so many of the neighboring communities, just amazing.  We truly are a family.  When one of our own needs help… We do everything we can.  I know people who have given up just about ever waking second of their free time helping out in that area.  They’re still doing it a week and a half later, with no plans to stop until there is no longer a need.

Main Street – Millbury, Ohio

I am honored to know them.  I’m humbled that I’m able to call them my friends, and I’m so proud of the work that they did under such horrible conditions.

My cell phone isn’t working, but we are all okay.

If you find yourself out there, please…. know that someone is praying for you.

And I’m not the only one.

Please be safe.  And stay off the roads.

One of the best things about blogging is the chance to get to know (and in some cases actually meet) other people with the same passions that I have.

99% of the time those folks have forgotten more about EMS and taking care of people in general than what I’ve learned in five years.  It’s humbling, but at the same time, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  I mean, look at the opportunities I have to learn!

While in class the other day I updated my Facebook status (because I’m a geek like that) with a simple statement:  “PALS today.”

I got a few thumbs up and assorted positive comments.  And then one of those people I look up to posed a question.

“Be sure to ask your instructors to explain how a 16% ejection fraction at 100 compressions per minute is better than 80% ejection fraction at 60 beats per minute.  We literally induce mechanical V-fib on these kids doing CPR on profusing pulses, but follow all local guidelines. Don’t ever do the math.”

Hrm.

Please… Someone explain this to me.  And remember that I’m a student with a fragile mind.

As in, I can’t remember why I walked into the kitchen, or the name of my dog most days.

Educate a girl!

I’ve been suffering from an insane case of writers block.  Between almost constant worrying about school, and completing my clinical hours, and whether or not my kids were okay, and starting back at work after having a month and a half off… Well… A girl loses the urge to write.

And then you wind up in the ER with the little one.

Tonight I was gently reminded why I love blogging so much.  My writers block was obliterated.  I’ve been typing for three hours straight.

And SWR is doing just fine now, thank God.

In lieu of actual content, I give you this:

The LP 15 in all it’s glory.

I want.

Something worth reading will be up tomorrow.

Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year.  From us to you.

Just… thankful.

For the opportunity to hang out with my family today.  For the first time in I don’t know how long “The Cousins” were together in one place at the same time.  It seems like one of us is typically absent for one reason or another during the holidays.  We’ve always been so tight.

That’s my Cousin J, Baby Brother, Myself, and Cousin T.

We had a great time.  Good food, lots of laughing, and just enjoying being around each other.  And just when things couldn’t get any cooler, My Baby Brother and his Beloved made an announcement.

Guess who’s gonna be an Aunt????

*This* girl is :)

Hope your Thanksgiving was just as special!

So there’s actually some interest in this. Schweeeet :)

So tell me, who out there is really, truly, honestly willing to drive?  Because I have a feeling that we’re all going to have to jump in the car at least for a little bit.

When?

Where?

And how much bail money would we need?

After what I thought was a complete catastrophe meltdown and loss of the entire blog, I’m happy to report that we’re back up and running :)

Ridiculously happy.

I’m in a good place, ya’ll.

Haven’t killed anyone, haven’t watched anyone die, and if anyone needs to be bagged while I’m working on a certain truck at work, I’ll have nine different BVM’s to pick from. (Don’t ask me why we have nine BVM’s on the truck, I asked the owner today, he had no idea either.)

School is going well.  I’m feeling challenged.  And I LOVE a good challenge.  Eight months to go in school means an eight-month-long challenge.  All the better!  Bring it on, I’m game!

Work is work.  Hell, they don’t even provide us with toilet paper.  That being said, I had an interview today with a new service in the city and I really feel good about it.  I should know by Wednesday.  I’ll let you know when I do.  Send good vibes my way, I need them.

My head and heart are in a better place.  And that’s a huge load off my shoulders. I finally can feel the tension in my shoulders relax.  I’m sleeping better, I’m eating better, and in general, I just feel good.

How are ya’ll?

Eleven years ago I met a boy.

And he made me smile and laugh.  He bought me flowers and held open doors.  We would sing, and shake our asses, and have silly string fights in the living room.  We had so much fun.  And gawd was he hot.  I endured three hours in a 15 year old truck with virtually no brakes just to see him.  He drove hours to see me even though he didn’t know if I was was working or not. (This was back when most folks didn’t have cell phones, Ya’ll.)  I did whatever I could to see him.  He made me laugh.  And he made me smile.  And after a few months I realized, as he did, that we loved each other.  God, help us both, we were in love.

We loved each other.  We didn’t want anyone  else.  We just wanted each other.

Whatever this girl wanted to do, he did.  For my part, I sold the camera that my Father bought for me to pay for the insurance on a car that was barely street legal.  I wanted to move to where he was, just to be near him.

We were in love.

How would you feel if you weren’t allowed to be married to the one you love?  That person who makes you feel alive?  The one who you want to tell all of your secrets to?  The one who you want to run home to at the end of a really shitty day? The one who you can’t imagine life without?  The one who makes the butterflies show up at just the thought of them.  You know that feeling, right?

Well let’s just say that you can’t marry them.  The Parents don’t approve.

Sorry.

“But we’re responsible adults… We have good jobs, we pay our bills… Hell, we even vote…”

Too bad, so sad.

“Okay, can you explain why?”

No, it’s just not right.

“Okay, I understand that you’re against this, could you give me a legitimate reason why?”

No.  Now go brush your teeth, go to bed, and forget about this nonsense.

All of those emotions, those legitimate feelings, kicked under the rug, basically, dismissed.  All because someone out there, your Mother, your Father, or someone as insignificant as someone you don’t even know says that “It’s wrong.”

That’s their only response.

“It’s wrong.”

Tell me how messed up that would be?  How hurt would you be?  You aren’t allowed the basic rights that everyone else has.

Who are THEY to judge what is right and what is wrong?

They don’t even know me.  They don’t know what we have.

***********

This past week in the state of Maine a great injustice was dealt to one of my closest friends and many others, and it’s pissing me the hell off.

I’m talking about Gay marriage rights.

Who are WE to decide?  Honestly.

Think about this.

How many relationships do you know of (gay, straight, or other) that have ended because of one reason or another?

Countless, right?

Infidelity.  Dishonesty.  Jealousy.  Money issues.  Trust issues.  Total incompatibility.  “We rushed into it.”  You name it, the excuses and reasons are out there.  And every single person who has an excuse believes that it’s legitimate.

And to those people, it IS legitimate.

Let’s face it folks, we’re all human.  We all have real feelings and emotions and we’re driven by the same things.

Gay or straight.

We’re all people.  We’re all human.

To tell anyone that they can’t marry someone because it’s just not right?

What the HELL.  This is not right, and it needs to end.  It needs to end now.

Love is love.

Don’t you dare tell me, or any of my people, who we are allowed to love and who we aren’t.

Love is love.