On the Clock

New Post

2008-11-28T19:15:00.001-05:00

Hey guys and gals!

I've got a post up at my new site. I figured I'd update here for a few times with a reminder that I've moved in case anyone missed it!

Take care out there,
Sam

New Site

2008-11-23T23:06:00.003-05:00

It seems to be the thing to do in medblogs nowadays! First, Cheating Death became Medic Three. Then Epi moved her blog to an amazing new site.

Now, you can add me to the list. I'm not getting rid of this site, taking it down, or anything like that. I moved all my links, entries, etc. to a new site, though. I now have the domain http://samtheemt.com.

It's all ready to go. I hope you guys like it; let me know what you think! I'll be updating regularly there now.

Take care out there,
Sam

Mama Who Bore Me

2008-11-21T02:51:00.002-05:00

Her hand is cold as it makes contact with my face. She's looking right at me with these cloudy green eyes, lost in her overdosed haze. I'm supporting most of her weight as she tries to pee before we go. I'm literally her rock right now.

"Sarah," she says longingly as she strokes my face, "Sarah I'm so sorry."

She smells like my mom. Her hair is long enough that it reminds me of playing with my mom's hair as I sat behind her on the couch. A burning wetness stings behind my eyes, and I force it back.

In a moment of lucidity, she snaps.

"Oh GOD just go, just let me die, Sam. Jesus just go, I just want to die, I took all these pills and I just want to die."

I help her up from the toilet, pulling her pants up while juggling her weight with the basket I hold for her as she tries to vomit. I flush the toilet with my foot, and bear hug her all the way out to the stretcher.

"My husband doesn't love me. I asked him for a divorce. He knows I want to die, he told me to just fucking take the pills and get it over with and just do it. He has a death wish for me."
"Mary, we're going to take you to the hospital now."

I don't even have a set of vitals on her. Eric and Jake wheel the stretcher out to the ambulance as Mary clutches my hand like it's her lifeline. Without letting go, I climb into the back with Jake as Eric heads for the driver's seat. She keeps looking at me without seeing me.

She sees her daughter, Sarah.

"Sarah, I just love you so much, you and your brother, you know? I'm so, so sorry. You're so beautiful. You've gotten so much older since I saw you last. And your hair, it's so long."

She stops, her head hitting the stretcher with a thick smacking noise that sickens me.

"Oh god the drugs, Sam, the drugs are kicking in."
"Mary, I need you to stay with me. My partner is going to start and IV on you to give you some fluids and medicine, okay? I'm just putting these stickers on your chest so we can get a picture of your heart and make sure it's okay."
"Okay, okay, I'm trying."
"No one sleeps in the ambulance, isn't that right, Sam," I hear Jake say as he spikes the bag of saline.
"It's the second rule of the ambulance," I say, referencing Frank Pierce's number one rule without letting on.
"I'm here, I'm with you."

I tie the tourniquet around her arm and feel for a vein. It's beautiful, and I know Jake can get it with no problem. I move over so he can stick her, and try to keep her talking.

"Mary? Mary? Mary, stay awake."

She doesn't move. I rub her sternum deeply and she groans, opening her eyes.

"I'm here, I'm awake. Oh, Sarah, you're so pretty."
"No sleeping, Mary, I need you to stay with me right here, right now."

Her head smacks against the stretcher again, and her arm drops.

"Mary," I yell at her as I rub her sternum again, "Mary open your eyes."

She doesn't move. I rub it again, with more force, and she doesn't even flinch.

"FUCK," I yell at Jake as I hurdle over the patient and stretcher in one fell swoop.
"What?"
"She's not breathing."

I pull out the bag-valve mask and rip the plastic off. It floats in the current the heater produces, waving eerily. I hook up the oxygen and drop the stretcher back. I position her, lift her chin, and make a tight seal with the mask.

I watch her oxygen saturation levels rise as I breathe for her, my hands responsible for her life. Jake finishes the IV and pulls out a nasopharyngeal airway to keep her airway patent as I bag her. I see things flying around the back as he applies lubricant to the airway, pulls out suctioning equipment

Every five seconds, I pump a life restoring breath into her body. Jake gets orders for Narcan and pushes it, but there's no result.

She wakes up long enough to pull out the airway as she vomits, and promptly returns to her previous state. I try to hook up the suction and still keep her alive as Jake yells vitals up to Eric to call into the hospital.

My hand is cramping from my grip on her face--on her life. I push the annoyance out of my mind. Bag, I tell myself once every five seconds, but it's not enough. I need the metronomic tattoo I usually get from the bridge we drive. But tonight we go to a different hospital, away from bridges and rivers.

I hum. It's quiet enough that Jake can't hear, but I know that some part of Mary does. It provides me a steady, calm rhythm to which I can bag, and connects Mary to her daughter, at least in my mind.

Mama who bore me
Mama who gave me
No way to handle things
Who made me so bad

Mama, the weeping
Mama, the angels
No sleep in Heaven, or Bethlehem

Some pray that one day
Christ will come a'-callin'
They light a candle
And hope that it glows
And some just lie there
Crying for him to come and find them
But when he comes they don't know how to go

As we arrive at the hospital, I continue the song in my head, too embarrassed to be heard. It's partly out of respect--respect for Mary and Sarah and the sanctity of the bond. I bag her as we change beds, as they expose her indecently on the table.

I allow myself to be pulled out of the room by the current of those around us. Propping myself up against the wall in the EMS room, I close my eyes tightly and shake my head.

"You alright," Eric asks as he comes in.
"Yep," I lie.

Of Cats and STEMIs

2008-11-18T04:40:00.004-05:00

The cat is the first thing I notice when we come in the door. Scrawny and motionless, it peers up at me. It's perched contently on the back of a recliner, and as I move closer it tilts its head slightly.

I swear it's animatronic. It looks like some weird statuette of a cat covered in fur that someone would find at a bazaar. In fact, most of the things in this room look like something I'd find at a flea market or carnival.

I introduce myself with the same tired words.

"Hi, my name is Sam, I'm an EMT with the rescue squad. Can you tell me what's going on tonight?"

The cat opens its mouth as if to respond, but I hear a woman speak instead.

"It's my mom. She's having this weird pressure in her chest. Aren't you, Mom?"

I look over to the recliner with the cat and see a woman sitting comfortably. She doesn't seem in any distress, other than a hand placed carelessly on her breast. She doesn't speak.

"She just got like this about thirty minutes ago, and I figured I ought to call." A baby lies fast asleep on the couch next to the daughter.
"Alright, what's your mom's name?"
"Alice."
"Thanks."
"You know, I was thinking about this because the other weekend I had kidney stones, and they hurt a lot, but mom had kidney stones and didn't really complain, and--"

I let the paramedic hear the rest of the story as I start addressing our patient. She speaks to me a little bit, lets me take her vitals, and tells me that she wants to go to the hospital. That's fine by me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Drew looking at the cat suspiciously. He moves his finger towards it, and it extends its head to smell. His eyes grow wide, and I stifle a giggle.

I ask Alice some more about her symptoms once we get into the ambulance. She says it only hurts a little bit, but she just feels uneasy. Her blood pressure is sky high, and she does complain of a headache. She says she just doesn't feel quite right.

I look over at the monitor after I finish setting up the 12-lead for the paramedic. It's suddenly quite clear why she's not feeling right. As the strip prints, I set up an IV. Alice's heart muscle is dying, and she needs to be at the hospital now.

Without alarming her, my partner informs Drew that he needs to get us to the emergency room post haste. The red lights flash in the deep blue night, but the siren remains silent in this rural town.

I'm fixing to insert the drip set into a liter bag of saline, when I find myself planted firmly in the IV box.

"Hey Drew," I call up to the front sweetly.
"Yes ma'am?"
"Could you tone it down just a notch? You found me a new home in this pretty orange box."
"10-4, my bad!"

The IV is beautiful, and I do my best to maintain my balance while I hand over the tubing. I've never run a truly emergent call with this paramedic, so I'm trying to get used to his style while effectively help Alice. It proves difficult at best.

My partner gives her four baby aspirin, a sublingual nitro, and a little bit of morphine IV. This is the first obvious ST Elevated Myocardial Infarction (STEMI) I've run, so I try to keep my excitement to a minimum.

Alice says she's feeling much better as he calls the hospital to speak with the doctor. It's weird the way she acts, though. Her movements are small, and she remains relatively motionless on my stretcher. She only speaks when spoken to, and her voice is soft.

A statuette of a woman, Alice is something you'd find in a bazaar. Alice is her cat.

I shake the weird images from my head as we wheel her into the hospital. It's five in the morning, and my mind is playing tricks on me.

"Do you think I can go to work today," she asks the doctor genuinely.
"That'd be a resounding no," I hear someone reply as I make my way back to the EMS room.

"Sorry about the IV box," Drew says as he pats my shoulder.
"Not a problem," I say as I dust my self off dramatically.
"But dude...what was with that cat!?"

The Screaming Bridge

2008-11-16T02:55:00.003-05:00

I had a really long conversation with a friend tonight. He made me cry over the image of a solitary green mitten in the snowy sunset. It's okay if you don't understand; mittens shouldn't make people cry, I know this. He inspired me to write the images I see, rather than trying to force them into a story. It was basically exactly what I needed to hear.

Because I've stopped writing. I'm sorry; I'm a delinquent blogger. But for some time, I've just felt uninspired, and really pressured by myself to write about every call and every word.

That's not a fair expectation for me to have of myself. I should seriously stop that.

So I promise you this: when I feel inspired to write, I will write. And when nothing is coming to me, I won't try to muddle through flat words to bring you inspired thoughts.

And eventually, I'll tell you about the screaming bridge.

Take care out there,
Sam

Award!

2008-11-14T00:25:00.005-05:00

I know I promised a post on that strip. I'll get on it ASAP, but I've just been super drained lately. This is a rough time of the semester, and with trying to volunteer 18 hours a week and work 20...well, you can understand I'm sure.

In any event, I was nominated for this Bookworm Award that's been running the gamut of my favorite medbloggers for a bit now. Thanks so much to Bernice and ParamedicSuperMonkey, two wonderful bloggers. Go give them a read if you haven't already :)

Rules are as follows. Pass it on to five other bloggers, and tell them to open the nearest book to page 56. Write out the fifth sentence on that page, and also the next two to five sentences. The CLOSEST BOOK, NOT YOUR FAVORITE, OR MOST INTELLECTUAL!

Okay...I have two books right on top of one another. The first is Rescue 471 by Peter Canning.
"We get called for an unresponsive diabetic on Brookfield Street."

Second is The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. I had a conversation with a friend today (via GChat's awesome new video interface!) about this book, so I dug it out of my bookshelf to reread it :)
"I remember staring at the old man, then at my hands, then at Canada."

Epi, duh. She's phenomenal, and if you haven't read her blog by now, you're seriously missing out.

EE at Backboards and Bandaids. It's so nice to read the musings of another college EMT.

Medic Three aka Cheating Death. He's got some seriously wonderful stuff. Go check it out!

ManchMedic. One of my new favorite blogs. I can't believe I didn't read his before.

Lastly, Witness. This is mainly just so he'll post SOMETHING, but he's a fabulous writer and I love it when he actually does update.

Tonight in the ER, I had a woman who was seriously afraid of needles. She was there with her boyfriend for abdominal pain. The conversation went something like this.

Me:"Hi, my name is--"
Her: "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD ARE YOU GOING TO STICK ME WITH NEEDLES OH GOD!"
Me: "Ma'am, I have to start an IV. The doctor is going to want to give you some fluids and medication to help you with that pain."
Her: *incoherent screaming*
Boyfriend: "Baby, which is going to be worse...this little needle stick or the pain in your stomach?"
Her: "THE NEEDLE!"
Boyfriend: "Then why did we come...?"

She feigned fainting. When her boyfriend let go of her hand, it sort of hesitated in mid-air and then collapsed dramatically on the bed. He rolled his eyes at me, I smiled back at him, and finished what I was doing.

The nurse comes in, looks at me, looks at her, and looks at the boyfriend.

"Hey," she says as she shakes her. She continues feigning this unconsciousness. "Hey, listen. Anytime you want to stop pretending like you're unconscious, that'd be great. I don't have the time to sit around and play with you."

Miraculously, she comes around, mentions something about feeling woozy, and how she hates needles.

It was a great day had by all.

p.s.--My best friend has a legitimate phobia of needles, so I understand people who don't do well with needles. I do my best to be accommodating and take them seriously. But when I have three-year-old patients who deal with it better than they do, and they start acting like they're unconscious...I lose all respect.

Take care out there,
Sam

Things and Stuff

2008-11-08T16:08:00.002-05:00

So, I didn't get one of the finalist spots for the blogging scholarship. Oh well! There's always next year, and for now, there are some great blogs nominated. You can see the full list and links to each finalist here. Check them out; maybe you'll find a new, awesome one! Regardless, I'm so excited to see so many young people being active and engaged with their surroundings. I'm sick of the apathy my generation seems to have, and it's nice to see a lot of my peers rejecting that.

Also...our favorite frequent flier that I wrote about here is sort of getting what's coming to her. Apparently they're finishing up the paperwork, and she'll have a warrant for abuse of 911. Let's see if she'll end up moving again.

I've got a post coming on this strip soon:

Oh, Drew.

2008-11-06T06:58:00.004-05:00

I love my partners so, so much. Let me give you a little hint as to why.

During Obama's infomercial
Drew: "Hey Sam, look! Wavy waves of grain! Er...waving waves of...wait, what?"
Me: "Amber waves of grain?"
Drew: "Yeah!"

At dinner
Waitress: "What can I get you?"
Drew: "Hmmm...how many bruschettas come in a bruschetta?"
Waitress: "Uh...what?"
Drew: "Nevermind."

After our call tonight
Eric: "You didn't write your report en route?"
Drew: "Naw, I never do."
Eric: "Why?"
Drew: "With my handwriting? It would be completely ineligible."
Me: "HAHAHAHAHA!"
Drew: "Er...that other one."

A Few Things

2008-11-05T01:37:00.005-05:00

I've been gone from the internet for a little bit. I took a trip home to introduce Ben to the family; they loved him! Dad even called from Antarctica to take place in the boyfriend-meeting activities. In any event, I left my laptop back at the apartment, and I've been working/schooling since then. I'm back, though!

So, for Halloween, I went as Number 13 from "House." I hope you know who that is, because no one else seemed to. Luckily, my roommate went as Dr. Allison Cameron, so we made a pretty dynamic duo. Here's the best picture of it from that night, in my opinion.What were you all for Halloween!?

Next, over the weekend, David McMahon from AuthorBlog was kind enough to choose me as his focus for The Sunday Roast. It was incredibly kind of him to interview me, and the comments I got as a result were quite sweet. Thank you to everyone who read and commented! And also, thank you to everyone who visited for the first time.

So, I applied for a Blogging Scholarship. I didn't even know there was such a thing as a scholarship for college students who blog, but wow! If I'm fortunate enough to be selected as a finalist (which will be announced here on the morning of the 6th), there will be a public vote. I'll keep you up to date, because I'd really appreciate your vote. Lord knows I could use the money for grad school, haha!

Lastly, EpiJunky gave me the Superior Scribbler award. I am incredibly flattered, and if I could give it right back to her, you know I would. So, here are the rules.

* Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
* Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
* Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.
* Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List. That way, we'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!
* Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

So, here comes the love.

First, I'd like to recognize Jeff at Building Common Ground. A new found friend, he writes an excellent blog about "building common ground between people on the autism spectrum and those who love, work with and play with them." I'm fortunate to count him as a friend, and really respect what he has to say.

Secondly, to my dear-old-dad at Medical Ice. Yeah, I'm his daughter, so I'm a little bit biased. But he writes a wonderful blog about an experience very few people will get to experience. And I seriously love the pictures he posts!

Michael Morse at Rescuing Providence is one of my new favorite bloggers. He writes some seriously powerful stuff, and I hope to one day be as successful as he. If you haven't checked his blog out, do it immediately.

Just Keep Breathing has quickly become one of my roommate's and my favorite blogs. Compelling stories, wonderful posters, and humorous anecdotes. I just love it when a new entry pops up on my google reader!

Finally, EMS Haiku. The posters he makes are seriously funny, and I look forward to seeing a new one every time I check. It's obvious this man is a talented, intelligent, and humorous blogger. Go give him a read.

So there are something like 25 other blogs I'd like to mention, but I'll stop at five like the rules state. Just know that you're all fantastic.

I have a few stories rolling around in my head right now, and as soon as I get them sorted out, I'll be sure to write them down immediately! Thank you all again for the sweet comments.

Take care out there,
Sam

Edited to add: I voted absentee a few weeks ago. Mom went to vote today, saw my name under hers, and saw that my vote had been counted! Yay for doing my civic duty from afar! I do hope you all got out and voted; it's so vitally important. I am happy to say I was watching when history was made, and that I was able to see both candidates give eloquent speeches. I refuse to make this a partisan thing, so suffice it to say that I'm just always so proud when I see Americans turning out to take part in the democratic process.

Coming Home

2008-10-30T08:47:00.003-04:00

It seems that we can't make a successful trip to the hospital and back to quarters without something happening. We're sort of like a black cloud for the police department, because we always end up sending them to check things out.

One night after a particularly lengthy trip out to Clearview Regional, we finally make it back across the water. As we hit the last bump of the bridge, I feel the medic slow a little bit.

"Did you see that," Drew asks me as he looks in his side mirrors frantically.
"Uh...see what?"
"Some guy was beating the shit out of a girl!"
"While they were driving?"
"No, no...the car was pulled over and he was hitting this girl or something!"
"Really?"
"Yeah. Medic 1 to central; be advised..." As he calls it in, I inspect my mirror closely but see nothing.
"10-4, Medic 1, we'll send an officer out there."

We've had a few other times where we see a car behaving strangely and call it in. Tonight, however, was exceptionally odd.

"We've got a drunk one," Eric and I say in unison.
"Really? It's a Wednesday night..." Drew peeks his head up from the back and observes.
"Definitely not right," I chime in as the car nearly hits the median.
"You calling it in?"
"Yeah, I'll get it," Eric says as he picks up the radio.
"Kay!"
"Medic 1 to central; be advised we're westbound on Main, headed into town behind a vehicle that's having a bit of trouble staying in its own lane. Virginia plates. Dark 4-door sedan. We'll stay behind them."
"10-4, Medic 1, we'll have an officer en route."

We follow the car for a while and observe. Driving slowly and often crossing lanes, this seems to be a driver who's under the influence. We listen to the police dispatch as they approach. Moving over, three police cars fly past us. I watch for a moment and see the blue lights come on.

"Unit 218 to central; traffic stop." Drew, Eric and I high five as we head back to quarters.
"Nice," we say as we walk back to the day room.

We find out later in the night that while the driver wasn't drunk, he was driving on a suspended license.

Us-1, Drivers-0.

On the way back from the hospital again that night, Drew and I are chatting sleepily. The car in front of us flashes its lights a few times, and I look up. An old car is smoking from the hood, hazard lights flashing ominously in the haze.

"Medic 1 to central; be advised that there's a possible car fire in the westbound lane of Main and 1st. North Carolina plates."
"10-4, Medic 1; we'll send fire out there."

Drew and I laugh a little, knowing the firefighters are going to be so happy about being awoken at 0400.

We listen to the dispatch all the way home and once we crawl back into bed.

"Central, appears the driver hit a deer and fluids are draining out of her car. Will advise."

Us-2, Drivers-0, Unfortunate Deer of Clearview...well, 0

Turning the radio down, I hear Drew sigh.
"We always bring out the crazies, don't we?"
"Yeah, but we're young; we can still handle it."
"Mmm, here's to that," he murmurs into his pillow as we try to get a few final (futile) minutes of sleep.

Close to Home, pt.2

2008-10-29T21:19:00.002-04:00

I can see the concern on our nurse's face when he hears my report. I sound less like a family member, and more like an EMT.

"Seventy nine year old female presented with sudden slurred speech. Cincinnati Stroke Scale wasn't exactly passed, but wasn't exactly failed either. No other complaints, other than excessive thirst. No history of diabetes. Some left sided facial droop. She's just acting...strangely."
"Good catch," he says as he puts his hand on my shoulder.
"Thanks."
"Whatever happens, you did a good job."

I just nod as I go into my grandma's room. I watch the tech start a great IV, and sit down in the corner. The doctor comes in, starts talking, and before I know it, she's in the CT scan. I am exceedingly tired, and I try not to take a little nap.

"When can we go," I hear my grandma say as she's wheeled back in the room.
"I don't know, Grandma. We have to get you checked out and make sure you're okay."
"Then we can go to New York?"

I look to my mom and she just sighs.

"I don't know, Grandma," I say again.
"What do you mean?"
"Well we'll just have to see what happens, okay?"
"Okay."

Time passes and my vision starts to blur. I work so hard to keep my eyes open, but every now and again I let them shut. I drift off for a few minutes, but when I open my eyes, I see the doctor.

"Everything looks fine, Mrs. Montgomery. I think you had a TIA, but I feel comfortable discharging you with a prescription for Plavix. Now if you need anything don't hesitate to come back here, okay?"
"Okay," she says, "now how about New York?"
"G...grandma," I pause, "I don't think we're going to New York."
"What? Why? Of course we are."
"I just don't feel comfortable driving all the way up there with you having just had a TIA."
"But we have to go! Let's just go now and we an get there early in the morning, okay?"
"No, we're going to get something to eat and then go back home."
"Fine," she sighs, "whatever you think is best."

I feel so bad, but I know it's what's best for her. I help her to the bathroom one more time, and on the way she stumbles over nothing, catching my arm. Once in the bathroom, she falls and I catch her before she can hit the ground.

"Hey, Doc, I don't know about taking her home. She just fell in the bathroom and tripped in the hall...I just don't know."
"I say just take her home, and then have her see her doc there. Maybe he can direct admit her to the hospital there."
"Yeah...uhhh...okay."

We find a place to eat in this military school town, and I eat quickly. I just want to get home so we can get her taken care of, but time seems to be moving so slowly. I get up to take her to the bathroom again, and two military guys eye me hungrily. I sigh heavily and help her into the bathroom.

"I don't feel so good," she says.
"How so?"
"Just don't feel so good."
"Okay, let's get you out of here, alright?"
"Okay."

We go back to the table to get the check, and she reiterates this sentiment to my mom. Mom looks at me, I look at the car, and she nods.

"Pop-pop," I say sort of quietly, "we're going to go back to the hospital."
"Why?"
"She's not getting any better, and now she's saying that she feels bad. Mom and I just don't feel comfortable taking her home."
"Well okay then."

So we start the trip back.

An MRI and carotid doppler later, they decide to admit her--finally. Mom and I manage to snag the last available hotel room in the city and collapse onto the beds tiredly.

The phone rings.

"Hey honey," I hear my mom say, and I laugh as I realize Dad's calling from Antarctica.

I roll over sleepily, and mom starts the story.

"So you'll never believe what happened today."

Close to Home, pt.1

2008-10-22T13:42:00.002-04:00

"What should I make for dinner," she asks me.
"Grandma, it doesn't matter. Ben's a twenty-something member of the male population. He'll eat whatever you put in front of him."
"But, does he eat chicken?"
"Yes."
"What about beef?"
"Yes!"
"What's his favorite thing to eat?"
"Whatever's in front of him, Grandma."

She sighs and adjusts her jewelry. She's sitting behind me in the car. Mom's driving and laughing at the conversation taking place, and my grandfather is inspecting the GPS. I roll my eyes as I adjust my pillow. This is going to be a long roadtrip.

"I just want the dinner to be perfect when you bring your boyfriend home to meet us."
"Grandma, it will be, I promise."
"What about desserts?"
"You know you're the queen of desserts. He'll love whatever you make."
"Well maybe I could make..."

I turn around to look at her from the passenger's seat.

"What?"
"Are...the cookies...are the cookies too big?"

She's started slurring her words, and something inside me snaps. TIA. CVA. My mind is blank, except for the word "STROKE" flashing in big, red letters.

My mom locks eyes with me from her seat, and I reach over to the GPS. I click "Hospitals," and click the first one on the list. We're somewhere in the mountains of Virginia, and I silently thank God for the GPS.

"Do you think we should stop and call 911," Mom asks me quietly. I check my cell phone and see that I have no service.
"N...no, just drive to the hospital...quickly."

I turn back around to look at grandma. I see a little bit of facial droop, but it's nothing significant.
"Grandma?"
"Yeshh?"
"Could you do me a big favor and squeeze my hands really tight for me? Just squeeze them as hard as you can."
"Okay," she says as she obliges. Her grip is strong and equal.
"Now I want you to smile really big for me," I say as I demonstrate, "show me those pretty teeth!"
"Like thissh," she asks as she smiles.
"Perfect," I reply. I don't bother asking her to say a sentence for me; I already know she's slurring.
"Now put your arms out in front of you like a zombie. Okay, now close your eyes."
"Thisshis silly," she slurs as her left arm drifts away from the left. I try to chaulk it up to being in the car, but I keep it at the back of my mind.

I panic. The Cincinnatti Stroke Scale is great and everything, but what do I do for the next 10 miles until we get to the hospital? I have no equipment. I have no partners. I imagine the worst case scenario in my mind and prepare for that.

I check my cell phone again, and I have one little bar of service hanging on for dear life. I dial the number quickly and wait for it to ring.
"Ben? It's Sam. 70-something year old female, rapid onset slurred speech, no history of diabetes. Go." I'm not really breathing or thinking at this point, so I realize I've probably completely confused him.
"Uh...CVA, TIA, I'd check her blood sugar. When's the last time she had something to eat?"
"This morning."
"Yeah I'd think CVA or TIA."
"Okay, thank you."
"Are you driving to a hospital?"
"Yeah."
"When did it happen?"
"Like ten minutes ago."
"Everything's going to be okay."

I hang up the phone and sit in silence for a second.

"I'm soo thirshty," she says, and for some reason this triggers something in me.
"Hey Grandma, remember when I was little, and you used to tell me about Magic Mountain?"
"Ohh yessh," she says.
"Tell me about it again. I've forgotten."

She starts explaining it to me. Everything she says makes sense, it's just a little off. She smiles and giggles every now and then, but it's not the usual way she acts. I get chills every time I process what's happening, so I stop processing and just keep her talking.

Mom's driving with a purpose, and I try to use some hidden powers of telepathy to move the cars in front of us.

Move, move, move, move is the silent mantra I'm repeating in my head in time with the tattooed staccato the road beats out. I urge the car to become an ambulance, fitted with lights and siren. I close my eyes and assure myself that when I open them, the familiar controls will be inbetween my mother and me--not the two cup holders.

When my eyes open, I'm let down. Grasping for straws. My composure is slipping, my emotions creeping their way into my mission.

With teary eyes, I turn back to her. She's snoozing against my grandfather contentedly.

"Grandma, I need you to stay awake, okay? I know you're tired, but just keep talking to me."
"Wellll fine."
"Let me tell you about Ben."
"Oh tell me about him."
"He's a firefighter," I say as my voice waivers.
"Ooo very shtrong."
"Yes, and he's a medic. He's very caring and sweet, and really knows how to take care of his patients. He's smart, and funny, and you know what?"
"Whaat?"
"His hand is like...the size of five of yours." She giggles and I continue telling her about him, focusing on the dinner we'll all be having together soon. The dinner we'll be having when everything is okay, and no one is panicking.

As we pull into the emergency room parking lot, I turn back around.
"We're going to the hospital, Grandma, I'm afraid you could be having a transient ischemic episode."
"But whyy the hoshpital?"
"Because it's for my peace of mind. I'm sure you're okay, but if we keep driving to New York like this, I'm going to be freaking out the whole time. Is that okay?"
"You know I'd do anything for you."

Anonymous

2008-10-21T14:24:00.004-04:00

On my last post, I got a comment from an anonymous person.

Get another job, you're obviously over this one.
Patients don't have medical knowledge and can think they're very sick.
Nice ATTITUDE...

Now, I wasn't mad or mildly perturbed; I didn't even laugh it off. I was actually really hurt. I'm a very sensitive person, obviously, but let me explain.

I know that the things people say from an "anonymous" handle really shouldn't bother me. Obviously this person didn't have the chutzpah to say it to me face-to-face, in a private email, or even using his/her real name. That's fine. I don't allow anonymous commenting so that I can be attacked; I allow it so my friends, family, and other readers without accounts can comment. But whatever; it's a risk I take.

But to say that I'm "obviously over" this job? Wow. That couldn't be less true. I absolutely adore my job--both volunteer and paid. If I didn't love it, why would I give 18 hours of my heart, soul, and time to the rescue squad without pay? If I didn't love it, why would I forgo parties, plays, speakers, and other fun things on campus and with my friends so that I could try to help others? If I didn't love it, why would I want to do it for the rest of my life?

I curse because it is cathartic. I have seen too many things in my short time in EMS; I have to have a catharsis. And, anyone who knows me can tell you, I do not wake up easily. It is a miracle that I'm able to function on these calls. I can sleep for thirteen hours straight (easily) if I'm uninterrupted. When I wake up, I'm not happy about it. But like I said in the post, it's not about running the call, it's about waking up. I have to get myself ready to run the call, or else it's not going to go well.

My "b.s. flag" went up on that call because by now, I can tell when certain things aren't an emergency. I didn't mean to say that this woman wasn't in real pain. I'm sure she was; I'm a chronic migraine sufferer, and there have been headaches in my past where I literally thought I was dying. But what I do know is that this was not an emergency. The first call--the man with the chest pain--warranted an IV, an EKG, and lights and sirens all the way to the hospital. He needed immediate, emergent attention. The second woman did not need immediate attention, and could have driven herself to the hospital (or been driven by her boyfriend). At the very least, she could have called a taxi.

I treated her like I treat any patient. I asked the appropriate questions, did all the things I needed to do, and explained to her what would happen upon our arrival to the emergency room. Just because I think her complaint is not an emergency doesn't mean I'm going to risk her care and my license by not doing a full work-up.

And, in the words of EE, she who put it best,

Anonymous:

The patient wants some dope. It is painfully obvious. The patient is also impeding the care of a very sick man...

Feel free to give me advice, or suggest other ways I can go about it. Feel free to say whatever you want, really; it's a free country after all. But if you say that my attitude is wrong, or that I'm jaded to the profession...well, you just couldn't be more wrong.

Ask my partners, my coworkers in the emergency room, my boyfriend, or my family. Ask my mom about how I beam when I tell her about a call I ran where I had the chance to save someone's life. Ask my fellow lab-tech about the victory dance I do every time I get an important IV (it's a sight to see, really). Ask Drew about the way I held a patient's hand all the way to the hospital, or assured the woman with "radioactive urine" that she wasn't going to hurt me and that I took her complaint seriously. Ask Ben about how frustrated I am when my best efforts fail in the ER or the ambulance and I feel like a failure myself.

Hear what they have to say, and then tell me I need to find a new job.

To the rest of you who commented; thank you. Thank you for sticking up for me, for relating to me, and for supporting me. You guys rock.

Take care out there,
Sam

Cursed

2008-10-20T10:50:00.000-04:00

There's this thing I do when a call comes out in the middle of the night, waking me up. Well, let's be honest, it's usually Drew that wakes me up, after I sleep right through that annoying ringing in the hallway. I wake up, stick my feet in my boots, grab my glasses, and curse. I curse like a sailor all the way out to the medic. I usually stop long enough to mark up the radio, but that's about it.

It's one long string of profanity, punctuated by the occasional article or noun. It has more to do with being woken up than actually running the call, I think, but regardless, it happens every time.

So tonight is no different.
"Sam, let's go."
"Uggggh, but it's chest pain, that's ALS and buhhhh..."
"Yeah but the paramedic is sending us to check it out. We've got Eric; he's a medic."
"Fine...let's go."

And then starts the cursing. A heavy length of profanity leaves my mouth, and then I pause, breathing for a second before starting in again. Drew just laughs from the back, and Eric barely acknowledges anything as he drives. Nearly running us off the road, I curse louder, this time including his name.

"Is that really necessary," I sigh, "you have the medic pegged at 80, so you're probably going at least 90!"

Well, I say that, only with more color to it.

I see our destination approaching on the right, and take a deep breath. I close my eyes, rub my temples, and I'm ready.

"Hello," I say with a smile that doesn't betray me, "my name is Sam; I'm with the rescue squad."

But my smile fades quickly as I take in the situation. He's in his late fifties, and clutching his chest. He breathes heavily, about twice as fast as the normal man, and I see sweat dripping from his forehead. The cursing starts in again in my thoughts, but this time it's due to the man's condition.

Eric and Drew's concern shows in their face as well, and after getting a set of vital signs, I stay with our patient as they get the stretcher. I glance out the door and see Eric on the phone to the paramedic.

The radio interrupts my thoughts, cutting in with a prealert.

"Station 1," I hear, and my heart drops immediately, "headache." Three of us are tied up on this call, and the paramedic is the only one at the station, who we desperately need. Getting this sorted out is going to be more than difficult. I curse some more in my head.

We load our patient quickly and I set up an IV as Drew drives back to the station to swap out crews. I try to spike the bag while maintaining my balance, but I know that's hopeless. I'm thrown back into the IV box while yelping a bit. I finally manage to get it set up about the time we're pulling back into the station. Drew and I hop out as the paramedic gets in, and we run to a different ambulance.

"Medic 2 is en route," I pant into the radio as we pull back out of the driveway. I flip through the map book and find the address. It's way out there, and I let myself relax for a moment.

Dispatch comments on our rip-and-run saw that a 20 year old female heard something pop in her head. My b.s. flag shoots up immediately, and I relax a bit more, even though the cursing continues inside my mind.

We arrive on scene and I see a woman, two men, and a dog in the living room. The dog seems to have the main goal in life of tripping me. He almost succeeds twice.

"Ma'am, can you tell me what's going on today?"
"I've had a migraine all day long, and then I coughed and heard something pop in my head."
"Did it hurt any worse after that?"
"Well, no."
"Okay. How bad is your pain on a scale from one to ten?"
"Like a seven."
"Do you want to go to the hospital?"
"Yep."
"Do either of you want to follow behind us or ride up front," Drew asks the two men sitting sleepily on the couch.
"Oh hell naw," is the response her boyfriend offers up. Great.

She wants to go to Clearview regional, where I work, so I pull my ID out of my pocket and clip it to my shirt. I ask her some more questions, get her vital signs, and get her situated in the ambulance.

We take off, and she says nothing. She answers my questions, but sits in relative silence. She asks me once if I can give her anything for pain, but I tell her that at my level of certification, I can't. Something about her just isn't quite right, though. She never looks me in the eye when she answers a question, just when she asks for pain medicine. She picks at her nails and yawns.

Switching the radio over, I call in report.

"Good morning, Clearview, this is EMT Montgomery. I'm en route to your facility with a twenty year old female whose chief complaint is of a migraine. Patient is alert and oriented to person, time, and place, and appears in minor distress. Vitals are within normal limits, and patient has no other complaints, except for nausea. Interestingly enough, Clearview, patient states that she coughed a few hours ago and felt something pop in her head. There was no increase of her pain. Not requesting any orders as I'm sure you may have guessed; do you have any questions?"

There's a brief pause on the other line, and when they key up the microphone, I hear some laughing.

"Uh, negative Medic 2...wait...did you say she heard something pop?"
"That's affirmative, Clearview."

Another pause, some more laughter.

"10-4, Medic 2, see you when you get here!"

We pull into their bay and park next to Eric's ambulance. Unloading the patient, he and I exchange sighs. We move her to the hospital bed, I give my report to the nurse, and hand her my already-finished narrative.

"Hey, Montgomery," I hear from the EMS room, "you call in that report?"
"Oh, hey!" I see one of my favorite paramedics as I walk in.
"So that was you?"
"Yeah," I smile sheepishly.
"Loved it. Enough facts with enough sarcasm; I give it two thumbs up," he laughs.
"Aw, shucks, you're too sweet."
"Hey, I'm just telling it like it is."

I hear the prealert again, and I'm cursing more, praying it's not us. We climb into the medic, and I'm relieved to hear another station toned out. Finally, the cursing stops.

Face Down

2008-10-16T18:17:00.000-04:00

I always expect "ground level falls" to be nothing more than the life alert commercials we all know and love. The first call of this nature I went on, the woman on the floor actually called out to us as we knocked on the door, "help, I've fallen and I can't get up." I guess I've just gotten used to helping a little old lady up, getting a signature, and going about my day.

But when I walk in the room, I can tell this one's going to be a headache. She's lying face down with her head in the bedroom and her body in the bathroom. Christ, I think to myself as I see her pantyhose still bunched around her ankles. The bathroom is, of course, tiny. It's a wonder she managed to fit in there with a shower, sink, and toilet.

Her husband, obviously deep in the throes of dementia, sits on a portable bed pan/toilet contraption next to the door, with the cordless phone in his lap.

"Hi, my name is Sam, I'm with the rescue squad. Can you tell me what happened?"
"I fell," she replies with a mouth full of floor.
"Right," I sigh, "but what happened?"
"I stood up from the toilet, bent over, tripped over something, fell over the toilet, and here I am."

At this point, I have c-spine control. She denies hitting her head, but at this point, I'm not taking any risks.

Now we have a problem, I'm starting to realize. She's face down in a tiny room, and we have to backboard her. There's no possible way to log roll her or even fit the backboard in the same room independent of her.

"So...we'll get the board under her, bring her out, log roll her off of it, and then log roll her back onto it?" Drew scratches his head a bit as he makes his way into the bathroom without stepping on our patient.
"Yeah," I pause, "I uh...guess so."

My favorite police officer has shown up, and is offering to help. This is why he's my favorite. We start the tedious process of sliding the board under her, from head to toe, while maintaining c-spine control, and while trying to keep from hurting her.

Finally, we manage to finagle the board all the way under her, and start lifting the board out of the bathroom, over the portable bed pan thing, and onto a flat surface. This is not an easy task due to her weight and the obstacles, but it happens.

Tired and sweaty, I look at Drew and the officer from my position at her head. We're each wiping sweat off in some form or fashion--it's gross.

"Okay, let's roll her," Drew says. On my count, we roll her off the backboard, do a quick assessment of any injuries, and then roll her back onto the backboard. It's a bit cockamamie, but if it works, I'm happy.

Carefully, we carry the backboard out of the room and onto the waiting stretcher. Every move we make warrants another agonized yelp from our patient, but I can't tell why. She's got nothing more than a little swelling where her glasses hit her face, but nothing is apparently wrong.

"Ma'am, what hurts," I ask her.
"Nothing, really, but I get scared when you move me," she says.
"Oh okay," I reply, "we're going to buckle you into this stretcher, roll it out to the ambulance, and put it in the back. You'll feel some bumps, but don't worry, I haven't lost a patient off of one of these yet," I say with a wink.
"Okay," she says with a little smile.

"Which hospital," I hear Drew asking family.
"I want to go to St. Mary's," she says quietly.
"Ma'am, we can either go to Clearwater Regional or Sacred Heart."
"But...that's not where my doctors are!"
"I understand that, but if we took you to St. Mary's, we'd end up driving you for an hour, which means another hour back for us after getting you situated there. That's a good two and a half more hours from now that we'd be out of service, and we need to be able to go back to our station quickly in order to help other people."
"Oh. I really want to go to St. Mary's," she sighs.

I leave her side to go check with the family. I explain to them the choices they have. They decide to send her to Lakeview, a small ER only facility associated with St. Mary's. I doubt they'll take her since she's a trauma, but I'm eager to go. The winds are howling and the rain is coming down.

"Lakeview ER, this is Clearview Medic 1 contacting you on the HEAR, do you copy?" I hear static coming back at me, and I wait for a few seconds before repeating my traffic. I call again, and still I get no response. Frustrated, I check the medic's cell phone. Every ER's number is listed, save Lakeview. I call again on the HEAR, and get nothing. I call two more times, and no one answers. We're roughly five minutes away, and I have never shown up to an ER without calling report.

I call Eric, back at the station, and have him look up the landline number. I have no service on my phone, so I creep up to the driver's seat and take Drew's. I finish my report as we are pulling into the parking lot.

"Standby," the nurse says on the other end, "we may want to divert you to St. Mary's."
"That's a negative," I respond, "we are in your parking lot now."
She sighs before coming back with a simple, "10-4."

We can't figure out the doors. We've never been here before, and I'm not sure if it's a keycard, or a number I have to punch in. Frustrated and banging on the door, I try to control myself.

Finally, the one and only tech comes to let us in. He reminds me of someone who's taken speed; he simply cannot stop talking, moving, or twitching. He leads us to the bed and helps us move her over. There's one other patient here in this 10-bed facility, and I can spot possibly two nurses. I snag one to give report and find myself the EMS room.

The tech follows me in there and stands awkwardly beside me, as I begin to write my narrative.
"Um, so you look really familiar," he begins.
"Oh? Um...I...I don't know."
"Or maybe you just remind me of someone I know who's as pretty as you." I'm in no mood. I sigh as I push the hair out of my face.
"Maybe you've seen me around Waverly," I nod.
"Oh really? Do you work out there too?"
"No, but my boyfriend is a career firefighter medic out in Waverly."
"Oh," he says, "that's cool. I'm going to go get a drink."

As he slinks out, I mark myself a point on my imaginary scoreboard. Sam-928,327, Cliché members of the opposite sex-0.

I finish up my narrative, find Drew, and basically drag him out the door.
"Let's go, let's go, let's goooo!"
"Eager much?"
"I'm tired, sweaty, cranky, and just got hit on by Speedy McRaceRace back there. Let's get out of here!"
"Okay, okay," he says as he forces his door open against the wind.

A few minutes pass on our way home. We listen to the radio and sing "Nights in White Satin," really loudly and out of tune.

"'Cause I love youuuuu, ohhhhhhh how I love youuuuu!!!!" Drew's voice wavers, and mine follows suit. I can't stop laughing. This is why I love being Drew's partner.

After a boring song comes on, Drew sighs.
"If you had to explain that call in one word, what would it be?"
I think for a second, and reply with, "obnoxious."
"Oh."
"Why, what were you thinking?"
"Clusterfuck."

Um...

2008-10-07T10:40:00.003-04:00

Overheard while starting an IV last night:

Nurse: So what brought you to the ER today?
20 y/o female: I just can't catch my breath.
Nurse: Do you have a history of asthma or any breathing problems?
20 y/o female: No, not that I know of.
Nurse: Have you ever had anything like this before?
20 y/o female: Yeah.
Nurse: Why was that?
20 y/o female: Well you see, I smoke pot about every other day...

A real post coming hopefully tonight :) Thanks for putting up with my absence!

Take care out there,
Sam

Cute

2008-10-06T18:44:00.001-04:00

67 y/o drunk man: "Why are you poking me?"
Me: "We've got to give you an IV so we can give you some medications and fluid."
67 y/o drunk man: "Oh. You're cuuute."
Me: "Yes sir, I'm always cute when they're drunk."
67 y/o drunk man: *buuurp*

Tiny Rant

2008-10-01T22:23:00.003-04:00

Disclaimer: Anniforscia, dear, don't read this post. Please. No one should read this post with an intense fear of needles or IVs. Thanks.

Dear Paramedic Student who shall go unnamed,

There are several things I keep in my IV bucket. Let me tell you about them. I keep a latex and non-latex tourniquet. I keep a whole bunch of Vacutainer tubes to put the blood in. I keep gauze, alcohol swabs, saline locks, syringes, tape, and Tegaderm site dressings. I even keep a whole ton of saline flushes. There's a lot in there, I know.

But here's the important part. I carry two types of needles. One type of needle is for IVs. It's called an angiocath. It comes in gauges 14-24 for the IVs I use. It has a plastic catheter over the needle, and that part stays in the patient. Easy, right?

I also carry hypodermic needles that go on the END OF SYRINGES so that after I get the blood in the syringe, I can distribute it evenly into the vaccutainers. I only carry one size--18 gauge.

I keep them in SEPARATE parts of the IV bucket. You KNOW this. But yet, every single time I've started an IV, you hand me a regular needle when I need an IV needle. I've told you time and time again which is which, and even wasted supplies by opening countless needles to show you the difference. Let me see if I can clarify more.

This is an ANGIOCATH.

This is a HYPODERMIC SYRINGE NEEDLE.

Get it? No?

Angiocath...

Hypodermic needle for a syringe...

They do very different things. Please learn which is which before continuing in your paramedical education.

Sincerely,
Sam

p.s.--This rant brought to you by Sam's raging impatience with students who don't learn. I'm not being unfair, I've told him roughly fifteen times. I don't mind correcting him, but I do fear for his patients, when he sticks them, and then realizes that he's using a hypodermic needle, not an IV needle.

Busy, busy!

2008-09-29T11:33:00.002-04:00

It's been so crazy around here. Always working, schooling, volunteering, or...well, there's no good one-word gerund for it, but...hanging out with people. I have stories to write, and no time to write them! Hopefully tomorrow I'll have enough time to sit down and type out some thoughts. We'll see though; thanks for sticking with me.

Go check out Normal Sinus if you have the chance. We're finally up and rolling again; we had a little bit of a lapse in posting because of the fact that the world much prefers to keep us all busy than entertained :( But luckily, Epi has been kind enough to take on posting!

Oh, and when your significant other makes eyes at you from across the ER while holding fat flaps for a doc doing a central line, you know they're good for you. Either that or you're both totally dorky. Okay, maybe both.

Take care out there,
Sam

Socks

2008-09-24T18:33:00.002-04:00

I remember the first time I saw a dead body that I knew to be truly dead. I had seen my grandmother right after she died when I was five, but for some reason, I was pretty sure that she wasn't really dead; she was just tricking us all.

But when I was 14 years old, I had the opportunity to go to the National Youth Leadership Forum on Medicine in Houston, Texas. I was all about medicine. Either I was going to be a pediatric radiation oncologist, or a forensic scientist. I quickly realized that being a pediatric radiation oncologist wouldn't help me bring back the two I couldn't save, so I moved onto the goal of forensic science.

"Pick a field visit," our group leader said showing us the list of places we could go. M.D. Anderson and The Texas Heart Institute were just two of the places--big names. Everyone wanted to go to those and didn't care so much about the little hospitals or doctors' offices. One name leaped off the page to me. "Harris County Medical Examiner's Office," I read softly.

"You wanna go there," the leader asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh yeah, definitely, I want to be a forensic scientist."
"Alright. Anyone want to go with Sam to the coroner's office?" She looked around, and everyone stared at their feet.
"Guess it's just me," I sighed.

A few others from different groups decided to go, so there was a group of about seven of us. I was excited and nervous, not knowing what we'd see. We spent some time handling plasticized organs and learning about different diseases that they often saw in their office. We took our lunch break, and knew what was going to happen next.

We suited up in gowns and masks, tying our hair back under flimsy blue caps. Shuffling about, I always get pushed to the back. I'm the smallest, youngest member of the group, and it's very apparent.

We step into the first room, and they're just finishing an autopsy.
"Sorry kids, we're all done." There's a bit of a groan let out from some of the guys.
"Not to worry," our escort says, "we've got one just starting in room two."

We move over to the next room, and there's a black man in his forties lying on the cold steel. He looks like he's asleep--comfortable. I look him over from head to toe. His hair is a mess, a strange smirk dances across his unshaven face. He's not the right color, but I can't figure out what exactly is off about it. His fingernails are dirty and a yellowed towel lies over his groin. My gaze continues, and I see his ankles. Those sock marks that are always on my legs at the end of the day are still on his ankles. It looks like he just took them off a few minutes ago to take a nap.

"Whoa," I sigh.
"'Scuse me," the coroner says as he pushes through the crowd.

I watch intently as they make every incision, explain every organ and ask us some questions. Everything is fascinating to me, but I keep coming back to the sock marks. I wondered how he got them, and what color the socks were. I wondered where the socks were now, and who took them off of him.

"Any questions," the coroner asks looking up from the bone saw.
"I have one," I say as I raise my hand.
"Shoot."
"Do you ever wonder who they were? You know, like before they ended up on your table."
"I used to," he said, "but then it ate me up inside. I've stopped wondering. Sometimes I make up stories about them for myself, though. Happy stories, you know? It's easier when you don't know the truth."
"Yeah."

I still wonder where those socks are now.

Ben

2008-09-21T21:19:00.005-04:00

I promise I won't embarrass you, Ben, honestly. Oh, by the way, I've named you "Ben." I know you're reading this, which is...why I'm writing this. So everyone else who's reading it...just go along with my giddy stupidity for a while?

There are very few words, or strings of words, that can compel me to make some sort of involuntary noise. "There's been an accident," is an example. I will almost always gasp, cover my mouth, or say something intelligible.

"We need to talk," is another string of words that makes me sigh or groan. I dread unexpected, awful things like these.

So when you looked at me in the dark, and knitted your brow, pursing your lips, I expected the worst.

"Hey Sam?" Your tone was puzzled, anxious, and it scared me.
"This isn't going to work", or maybe the overused "We need to talk," is what I expected. I don't know why. Maybe I'm just gun shy, after hearing bad things come after that anxious tone.

That's why I bit my lip tentatively before answering you with a simple, "hmmph?"

But then you surprised me. After taking me out to the beach, walking for hours with me in the cold wind, and treating me to dinner, I thought you couldn't get much better. No one does those things anymore, do they? Opening car doors, walking between me and the curb; you do it all. I was surprised, flattered, and impressed.

"Too good to be true," comes to mind. I'm glad it's wrong, though. Ben, it's so wrong.

So when you took my hand and I could feel your radial pulse beating wildly in my arm, I was scared. Why would you hold my hand when you were about to tell me that you were seeing someone else and it was getting serious, or that you just didn't feel for me what you thought you did? I was prepared for it, though. It wouldn't be the first time I had heard it.

But what you said shocked me. I couldn't really speak. All I could do was make that involuntary noise, a little squeak in the back of my throat. I managed to force out the words "of course," before squeaking again.

It was dorky, adorable, heart-warming, and perfect, the way you asked me if I'd be your girlfriend. I wouldn't have it any other way; you know that.

Thank you, Ben, for showing me that they aren't all the same, or maybe that you're just different. Perhaps both. Regardless, I couldn't be happier to be your girlfriend. ...Officially.

And, uh, sorry if I'm embarrassing. It's what I do.

Sometimes I Guess They Do Live

2008-09-20T14:06:00.003-04:00

"Swear to God, she's in this tiny little back room, situated on this hospital bed," he continues.
"Isn't that always the case," I ponder, drinking some more pepsi.
"So we go back there, and she's like 'Oh, I don't feel so good,' and we're talking and whatever, and then swear to god, she just...like...dies."
"Well shit," Eric pipes up.
"Yeah. So I'm like dragging her out by her arms and trying to put the backboard behind her somewhere, and she's just doing crazy things on the monitor, y'know?"
"Ooo, what kinds of crazy things!?"
"Things I've never seen before in the field."
"Nice," I exclaim, "go on."
"So I'm doing CPR and while I compress, I'm perfusing her obviously, and she sort of grabs the stretcher and moves and stuff. It's weird. I've never had that happen."
"Happened to me once, but nothing significant," I say.
"Well she was straight up moving and her eyes were fluttering. So anyway, we get her in the back of the medic, and I've already called for Tom to meet us on scene. Well he shows up, and she's AWAKE," he almost yells.
"Wait, what?"
"Yes! Woman is straight up alive. I ask her what hurt, and she says 'nothing, if you'd stop pushing on my chest.'"
"Holy jesus!"
"I know, right? So Tom like...doesn't believe me that she was just in arrest. I ask him to ride it in with me because I'm afraid something's going to happen again, y'know?"
"Right, so did he?"
"Yeah! And sho'nuff, ol' girl goes back into arrest, and Tom is like 'shit!' Yeah, I told you man, she was in arrest. So when I compress, same thing happens. It's surreal. And we get her there, and she's alive again, and in the hospital's hands."
"That's some crazy, crazy stuff there."
"You wanna know what's craziest?"
"Um, sure."
"A few weeks later, I find out that not only did she survive to walk out of the hospital, but I'm EMS provider of the year."
"Whoa, nice job!"
"I'm like...it's not me, it's her and her weird heart stuff."

Eric and I giggle and snap off a little salute.
"To Paramedic Hall," he starts, "the greatest provider in all the lannnnd!"
I try not to choke on my drink as we get some random debris chucked at us.

"You're just mad it's not you!"
"Oh no, no, sir, we could never take that honor away from you, the greatest provider in all the lannnd," I say, echoing Eric.
"Well anyway, like I said, it's not me, it was her. Sometimes I guess they do live."

And Another Thing

2008-09-18T00:50:00.002-04:00

I wrote in my post, "Dead," about the way I dealt with a recent code. You all know me; you know how I deal with traumatic events in my life. I am stoic and collected during the crisis, and then break down later. When I'm done with my breakdown, I get my proverbial shit together, and move on with the things I need to do.

I don't really think about the burned children anymore. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, hearing that mother screaming her child's name when she finds out she's died. I look at the house where I run my first code every time I go to the station. I always remember the things I see, I just deal with them as they come and move on.

I got an influx of emails and comments and response posts from what I said in "Dead." I really do appreciate the kind words and the advice. I know that there are some of you out there who have been doing this longer than I've been alive. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me; I have so much to learn from people like you.

But when I was a young girl, I had many people who were close to me die in a relatively short amount of time. I learned that everybody dealt with tragedy different ways. Some laughed, recalling good times they had with the person. Some cried uncontrollably. Some wrote poems. Some didn't do or say anything. And what I find interesting is that not one email or comment seemed to agree on the "right" way to deal. It was actually this interesting pattern I noticed that has sparked me to do my ENGL 410 (Literature of the American South) research paper on the way in which Southern grieving differs from the rest of the nation. I hope to interview a few of you for this paper.

Again, thank you. Please don't think I'm not listening, but you have to know that I'm always going to deal with things my way. The next time I write about a code or a rough call, I'll probably talk about breaking down afterwards in some form or fashion. I'm a tender-hearted girl, and I can't see this kind of devastation without reeling from it later. I've never been one to bottle away my emotions; when I do, my parents and friends probably want to kill me. I'm a seething bottle of bitch. It's not nice.

So I'll always deal with things as they come, and I'll always be hurt by the events that should hurt. Hell, I'll always be hurt by the things that wouldn't affect most people (I cry at...well, everything).

But please, keep sharing the wisdom, experiences, and thoughts with me. I (always) love knowing what you think.

Take care out there,
Sam

Birthday

2008-09-17T23:35:00.002-04:00

"I don't think I'm ready for you to go," she says as she stands next to me in the dimly lit kitchen.
"Aw, you'll be okay," I say as I look at my feet.
"But what if you go to college, and some skanky girl tries to spread rumors about me or start a fight?"

I laugh and blink back some tears. I didn't like the idea of her being alone with no one to look after her. I knew she could take care of herself, but I had been there these past few years to make sure no one messed with her.

"You'll do great."
"Aren't you scared, Sam?"

And here I face my dilemma. Do I admit vulnerability for the sake of honesty, or do I bluff to stay strong in her eyes?

"Honestly...I'm terrified."
"I would be too."

She looks up at me with big, sad eyes. My heart breaks.

"Do you think you can come back for my birthday party?"
"I...I don't think I'll have a way to get back."
"Oh. It won't be the same without you."
"I know, I'm sorry."

And then I break down, my tears splashing down my shirt, exploding silently. She takes me in her arms, wrapping herself around me like some sort of comfort blanket.

"Oh, don't cry, Sam, don't cry," she says as her own tears splash into my hair.
"I don't want to go," I sniffle into her shoulder.
"You're going to do so great, you won't miss this at all."
"But I'll be so new and scared and what if no one likes me?"
"Who won't like you!? They're stupid."
"Come visit me?"
"Of course."

And standing there, holding me in my kitchen, she comforts me the way I used to comfort her, and makes me feel like everything is going to be okay, the way I've always tried to do for her.

Happy Birthday, Paula. Sorry I've missed it for the third year in a row. I love you.

Dead

2008-09-16T01:20:00.002-04:00

And so he died under my hands, right there on the table.

"Stop, just stop," the doctor said to me softly, pulling the leads off his chest.
"But, I..."
"Just stop, Sam, it's okay."

Twenty-one years old, with his whole life ahead of him, and he's dead. There's no word for how dead he is. Alive, shot, dead.

His memorial tattoo for some relative or friend looks up at me. Twinkling eyes, even in that tattoo, taunt me. "RIP," it says, but now it's for him.

Shot in the femur. Dead.

My compressions do nothing but circulate stale blood through tired veins. The bladder has given up too, and the muscles relax for the first time in twenty-one years.

Dead.

"Time of death, 2213." He was dead before that, but now he's dead in the eyes of the government.

"Good job, everyone." Yeah, right. If it were a good job, he wouldn't be so...dead.

His arm hangs, useless, to his side. Hitting me in the leg during CPR is its final act. I pick it up gently in my hands and put it on top of his stomach.

Dead.

"Somebody get this kid a blanket, extubate him, and call the family into the meditation room."

"This kid." A year and a half older than me, than this kid. I'm just one kid who tried to save another kid's life.

Dead.

I skid on some blood on my way out. Fuck it, I don't care and neither does he.

And then a funny thing happens. I go to the locker room, and call my mom. I've done this after every code I've run. I tell her what happened, feel a little sad, and usually cry.

But tonight, I shed two tiny little tears, hang up the phone, and go back to work. I don't spend the night thinking about him. I don't actively confront my own mortality. I just move on.

It's not that it doesn't hurt--it does. It's just that I don't have time for it to break me down.

And for some reason, this satisfies me. I'm getting stronger, getting better at this. I still feel it; I'm not jaded. I'm just less affected.

But he's no less...

Dead.

No Complaint

2008-09-14T20:38:00.005-04:00

A tiny dog with three legs rounds the corner nervously. I bend down to let it sniff me, and it cowers away from my hand. Drew shuts the clipboard noisily and the dog scampers away quickly, peering back at us from the safety of the hallway. It whimpers quietly and disappears back into the dark.

"So, let me get this right," I hear Eric say again, "you have no chest pain, no difficulty breathing, no complaints whatsoever." The man nods, and his wife weeps louder into her handkerchief.

"I...just...want...you to...get...check...out," she manages through sobs. I look at my partners and then back at our patient. Blood-speckled tissues line the table.

"Swear to god, Martha," he says under his breath.
"So no complaints at all?"
"Just my wife," he says sharply. She sobs harder and I get anxious.

"Sir, she says you have some gum bleeding?"
"Yuss."
"Why's that," I ask casually, nodding towards the bloody tissues.
"Cut my gum eating."
"How long ago was that?"
"Three hours."
"Been bleeding ever since?"
"Yuss."
"And no chest pain?" He pauses, looks around, and quickly tells me he's been feeling fine. He's a really bad liar.

I look at Drew's notes. Cardiac history: three heart attacks in six months. He's got some kind of "fluid on the lungs," most likely CHF; I see the Lasix on the table as well.

"Well if you don't want to go, we can't force you. Based on what your wife was telling us, we'd really like to take you. You have an extensive medical history, and even though you're seeing your doctor tomorrow, it'd be good to get checked out now."
"I'm not going."

Eric breaks out the patient refusal form and explains it. His wife is uncontrollable. I kneel to her level and put a hand on her knee.

"Martha," I say gently, "I know we're not taking him now, but if you think he gets any worse, please call us back. We're more than happy to come again; we're here all night. Okay?" She wipes some mascara off her cheeks and nods, trying out a little smile.

Our patient notices this little interaction, and she moves her gaze back to him.
"Please, John, please go. Please go, I don't ask you for anything, you know I don't. But I'm asking you to please go."

There's an uncomfortable pause smattered with "Jesus," and "oh hell."

"Fine, I'm going." She cries again, relieved now.

Drew and I head back for the stretcher and talk on the way.
"Sam, something's just not right here."
"Abuse," I offer.
"How do you figure?"
"Dog is terrified of humans, scared by loud noises. Wife is fearful of her husband, doesn't 'ask him for anything,' and he is pretty rude with her in front of us."
"Yeah. That's so messed up."

We get him situated on the stretcher and loaded into the back. Drew is teching this one, since it's been a while since he was on a BLS call that was his.

"Drew...do you see that blood?" I mouth to my partner over John's head. I'm not sure he'd hear us if we spoke; he's asleep.
"What blood?" I point to the non-rebreather. Blood and clots have collected in the bottom of the mask.
"That blood."
"Clean him up?" He looks puzzled, and I explain to our patient that I'm going to take the mask off for a moment so I can clean it.

"Mmph," is all he answers.

Moments after cleaning it, it's blood-filled again.

"What the--"
"I don't know," I cut Drew off. We break out a flashlight and check inside his mouth again. Blood clots fill his mouth.

"Hey John, could you spit in this gauze for me?"
"Mmph."
"John? Hey, buddy, you with us?"
"Mmph, yeah."
"Can you spit in this?"
"Mmph."
"Hey John. Do you know where you are?"
"Yuss."
"Where?"
"Ambulance."
"Okay, just checking."

We get to the hospital and tell the nurse what we've brought him. I look at Drew a little concerned. He's deteriorated since we've been with him, even though his vitals are textbook, and he has "no complaint."

"So what should I put down," the nurse remarks.
"Chest pain per wife?"
"Sure. He's definitely got something wrong with him."

"What do you think happened," I ask Drew.
"'Dunno," Eric interjects, "but I should have ALS'd it."

Where I Was

2008-09-11T20:48:00.004-04:00

I've finally gotten high school down. It's my third week of my ninth grade year, and I think I finally have it. I'm twelve years old--a young age for my grade. I've worked hard to get where I am, though, and I feel like I belong two years ahead. "You act so mature for twelve," they always say. I know I'm a mature girl, and I feel like I can handle anything, even high school.

After our long class of the day, we go to chapel to hear announcements. Then we go to our other classes, and depending on which class is fourth, we have first, second, or third lunch. I know who is in each lunch and which tables are friendly.

I know that when I get up, I will put on a black skirt that goes two inches past the end of my fingertips. I know that I'll wear a collared shirt, some stockings, and high heels. Maybe I'll change the color of my shirt, or wear something fun in my hair, but the basics are the same. I know that when I wake up, everything will be the same as the day before.

I know where my seat is. I don't get to sit in a pew because of the way my last name falls in the seating chart. Instead, I'm right up front, my face inches away from the minister. We breathe in the same stale air every day, and he always pats my shoulder before he gets up to give a prayer. Sometimes, another student gives the prayer. Today it's M.B., a girl I've sort of known for a while.

"M.B.," he begins, "don't worry about the prayer today. Two planes have struck the World Trade Center. I need to make an announcement." He stands up without patting my shoulder and looks around at the students milling about towards their pews.

Time stops momentarily. I'm the only one who knows. No one else in this world knows what I know, I think to myself. I see my classmates' smiling faces, my teachers laughing along with them. My heart feels heavy as my head spins. I process ideas in my head.

He said "cranes." Yes, two cranes hit the Trade Center. This sounds stupid even inside my own head. Okay, so they were planes. It was an accident. Student pilots. Yeah. I satisfy myself with this, and say a quick prayer for the pilots and any injured.

The world starts spinning again, though I don't acknowledge Meagan when she comes to take her seat on my left.

"Crabby, much?" She elbows me playfully, but I just watch the minister. He climbs the stairs to the pulpit slowly.

One. The wood creaks noisily underneath his foot.
Two. The stairs scream under him.
Three. They want him to hurry.
Four. Share this burden with someone else.

He clears his throat gently and his jaws open with the weight of the world trying to keep them shut.

"Students, teachers," he pauses as he looks down to his feet. People look around uncomfortably, not knowing what's keeping him.

"Forty-five minutes ago, a plane struck the World Trade Center. Shortly thereafter, another struck the tower next to it. We are unsure at this time whether or not this is terrorist related. We ask that you please carry on as usual today, however we will have CNN on in Ainsley Auditorium all day. We will keep you updated as we know more."

And with that, he steps down from the pulpit, the stairs and I both relieved. Some people gasp, delayed. Others are slack-jawed, and still others seem to be asleep. No one moves. No one says anything. Finally, he looks up from his feet.

"You can go, I have absolutely nothing else to say, except to say may God save us."

We stand up slowly, in little clumps of people. Some stay seated. Some pull out contraband cell phones and call their parents. Some cry.

I do what I do in crisis. I don't cry. I don't panic. I gather facts. I briskly walk to Ainsley Auditorium and park myself in front of that screen. I watch the planes hit over and over and feel my stomach drop a little further. I hear what they have to tell me. I see how the vertical lines of the towers look like prison bars, and how the people inside must think they are too.

And as I watch, the tower falls. It collapses in a pile, and I follow suit. I shake and cry and hold myself tight. My little legs jiggle wildly, and my sobs shake me violently.

Time passes as some friends join me to watch. We hold each others' hands, and tears soak my collared shirt. I hear about the Pentagon and about Pennsylvania. I become less of a human and more of an entity as I learn more.

The rest of the day is a blur. I remember and retain absolutely nothing. I climb in the car at the end of the day and say very little to my mother. I know we both cry, but it's in relative silence. I try to stay "strong" because I think that's what she would want me to do. I don't want her to see how vulnerable I am.

Yesterday, I was twelve years old. Today, I am twelve years old.

But today, nothing is the same.

-----

I never dreamed that on the same day seven years later, I'd be in an ambulance, sitting on the bench seat opposite Drew. I'm thinking these thoughts as he starts to say something.

"It's September 11th."
"Yeah."
"Did you ever think you'd be in an ambulance...not as a patient?"
"No, not really."
"I mean, fuck, Sam. We're in an ambulance, you know?"
"Yeah, I know."

I know that when I wake up every day, I'll put on some jeans and a t-shirt before making my way to class. I know that my dishwasher is broken, so things need to be hand-washed.

I know when I go on shift, there's a chance I could be called upon to help someone. Often times, I am. I know that something could happen where I will be asked to give everything I have in the effort to help other people.

I never imagined that I'd be holding my firefighter-pseudoboyfriend's hand in his fire department as Brian Wilson remembers this day on the air.

I never thought I would be in this position. I wouldn't change it for anything.

I'll always remember feeling so alone, so scared. I'll always remember that realization that maybe I'm not so mature after all. I'll always remember Father Phipps's words. "I have absolutely nothing else to say, except may God save us."

I will always remember.

Things and Stuff

2008-09-09T01:20:00.002-04:00

As you might have guessed, Hanna was a whole lot of nothing. We went to Rushmere, staged there for 8 hours, and I slept for about 7 of them. I managed to get a little situated on one of those military cots and pass out like nobody's business. Slept through the minimal wind and rain, and even slept through the radio chatter. It was great.

Then I got myself out of the EMS situation (60 hours was too much for me) and went on a date. Yes, I went on a post-hurricane date, complete with disheveled hair and probably-smeared makeup. I was a sight to see. Luckily, he seemed to like me anyway, and we had a great time. He was sweet enough to bring me coffee while I was on shift at the ER tonight.

I'm struggling with this internet connection problem. It's the third week of school; my IT department should be through with their annual suckage! I promise, though, as soon as I have a reliable connection, I'll be updating like crazy.

And finally, my Dad got to Antarctica okay! Go check out his most recent posts at his blog if you feel so inclined. :) He's got some great pictures up.

More later, I promise.

Take care out there,
Sam

Hanna (picture)

2008-09-05T18:42:00.003-04:00

No, not a picture of the storm or anything. Not a picture of mass destruction.

A picture of Sam and Eric, the people who will be taking care of Rushmere. The people with a combined age of 39 and a half.

Yes, people of Rushmere, here they are. Your knights in shining armor.

Good luck, and godspeed, people of Rushmere. Just kidding, you're safe with us.

Take care out there,
Sam

Hanna

2008-09-05T18:02:00.004-04:00

Well, Hanna is upon us. I've been at the rescue squad for 26 hours now, since my university decided to evacuate us (mandatory evac). It looks like I'm going to be sent to Rushmere, a nearby county, to hold down the fort there with Eric and some other providers. Drew is busy saving the world at his job with Emergency Management. I'm about to have no internet, little cell service.

Keep everyone in your thoughts, please. I don't expect much to happen, but it's still a little scary. I'll be in touch as much as possible, but it's already raining hard, and I have no clue when I'll be heading out there.

We've had 12 patients in the past two hours. It's been rough, but I'm just so thankful that I'm here to help.

Take care out there, please,
Sam

p.s.--If you want to listen to our dispatch, you can do so here. It should open in iTunes. I should be on M64 (or something).

edit:Going to Rushmere at 0600. Will be on Medic 65 all night. Wish us luck :P

Hole

2008-09-04T00:10:00.003-04:00

I hear them before I see them. Yelling over the squeak of Stryker wheels on linoleum floors; I wipe sweat from my brow and ready myself.

They didn't give us much time to get ready. Couldn't call in a report because things were going so haywire in the back. I hear the chatter of police scanners and grip the IV catheter a little tighter.

They wheel him in and I wonder whether or not he's awake. He has a tube in his throat so he can breathe, but his eyes are open, moving around. I peer down at him and see his eyes going back and forth slowly.

"Is he..." I start to ask.
"No. His eyes have been tracking back and forth like that for a few minutes. ETOH on board, we got an 18 in his upper arm, but that's all we could do." The paramedic nods at me.
"Got it."

I see his arm is bandaged, so I go to the other arm. He's freezing cold, so his veins are small. I manage to get a 20 gauge IV in his left hand, but it's not good enough for this trauma. I let everyone know about the new IV and go back to the other arm.

"I need you to cut this bandage off."
"Sir?"
"Yeah, you. Can you cut this off?"
"Sure," I say to the doctor as I grab my trauma shears.

I cut it off gingerly, and while I don't gasp, I stop breathing momentarily.

"Oh, God," I hear the doctor say, and my breathing resumes. I look down again and see a hole. There's a hole in this man's cubital fossa, no distal pulse. He's severed the major artery in his right arm, and lost a lot of blood.

"Just hold pressure, okay?"
"Okay."

"Tell me what happened," I hear one police officer ask another outside the door.
"Drunk kid wanted to leave, couldn't go out through the front door. Went upstairs, punched a window, and when he pulled his arm out, cut a hole in his arm. Looked like a pig got slaughtered. Don't know much, though; no one spoke English."
"What'd they speak?"
"Spanish."

The doctors take note of this and look around.

"Does anyone speak Spanish?"
"I do," I say looking up.
"Talk to this kid."

The doctors start working on two femoral lines, and I hold pressure. I hold like I've never held before. My fingers tingle and wrist aches, but I hold.

"Chico, estas en el hospital. Si puedas oirme, por favor mueva un dedo." He moves no fingers, but as I hold pressure, I speak softly in his ear. I figure it can't hurt.

The trauma surgeon comes in and looks to the doctors to tell him what's going on. Lost in their focus, they don't even acknowledge his presence.

"Someone, please, I need to know what's going on."
"Male in his early twenties," I say as I clear my throat, "ETOH on board. Put his arm through a window trying to leave the house. He's got a veritable hole in the cubital fossa, and his eyes are tracking back and forth. Dr. Sykes thinks he may have some seizure activity, but there might be a closed head wound as well. PD says the room was covered in blood. We've got two femoral lines, and we're on the fourth unit of blood. 20 in the right hand, 18 in the left upper arm."

I catch my breath and look at him through my mask and faceshield while my arm trembles from the pressure I hold.

"Christ. Thank you, Dr..."
"Oh...me? No, I'm just a lab girl."
"Really? Hell, you're the most eloquent lab girl I've ever met."
"Thank you, sir. Would it be okay with you if we put a BP cuff on this guy for hemostasis control?"
"Yeah...why didn't somebody think of that before?"
"No clue, sir. Could you hand me that?"

He rolls the manual bp cuff my way, and I pump it up until the bleeding stops again.

"Well, let's get this guy to OR."

The doctors finish securing their femoral lines and he's wheeled off. I stretch my aching fingers and glance down. My shoe covers are red. They're bright red, and I see my gown is speckled with the same. Blood surrounds me, and I try not to slip on my way out. My nostrils fill with the heavy scent of iron, and I peel my shoe covers off as I leave.

"Get the line?" My eager coworker looks up at me, smiling.
"Yeah, and then some."
"Jesus you're bloody. Let's get you some peroxide."
"Thanks, but no time," I laugh as the trauma pager goes off again.

Long Story

2008-09-01T01:53:00.005-04:00

It's a very long story, but I have the internet right now. I need to go to bed, but I was dying to update.

1. Epi wrote a post about a conversation she and I had earlier. It's pretty classic. Check it out here if you're interested.

2. A football story through pictures:
My Daddy (PolarDoc) is a USC alum, so I am, by default, a fan. Mom, Dad and I drive to Charlottesville to the Scott Stadium, home of the UVA Cavaliers. We sit in a private box with friends of ours, and I watch as a sea of orange gets splattered with some maroon and gold.

Dad talked to Howie Long and got an autograph. His son, Chris, was there as well. He's a UVA football alum, so I felt sort of bad sitting next to him, but then I felt better remembering that I was rooting for a winning team. ;)

USC demolished the home team. I felt a little bad, but then realized that it's a game that doesn't matter since neither is in the other's conference. So then I just reveled in the victory.

3. Dad leaves for Antarctica on Tuesday morning. We had a going away party for him today, and it was tons of fun. I'm pretty bummed out that I'm not going to see him until March, but I know he's going to have a great time.

4. I really want to go to Louisiana to help, but unless my professors would excuse my absence, I couldn't do it. Are any of you going? My thoughts and prayers are with all those affected.

5. The Apple Store still has my stupid MacBook, so I'm a little upset about that. Hopefully I'll get it back soon!

6. I promise a real post about an intense trauma we got in the ED as soon as I possibly can. I miss writing.

Take care out there,
Sam

Junior Year Day 1

2008-08-25T15:18:00.001-04:00

Welcome, Junior Year.

You have greeted me with a broken computer, a banged up foot, and a construction crew working outside my window at 0700. It would be nice if this trend did not continue.

Yours truly,
Sam

p.s.--I go to the Apple Store today to try and get my computer fixed. Send me working-computer-vibes?

Surprise!

2008-08-22T16:48:00.002-04:00

I've managed to get hurt, again. Once again, not my fault, but involving a stretcher. This is what happens when a 220 pound man on a 60 pound stretcher collapse onto your foot. Not very pleasant.

It's not broken, luckily, but I bruised the bones. So I get to hobble about like this for a few days. To top it all off, it happened on my last day of work at the transport company. Lame!

Also, my internet isn't working here. I'm picking up some wireless network from my school, but my ethernet connection is doing nothing. My entries may be few and far between while I wait for IT to help again.

Blog Award

2008-08-20T05:38:00.004-04:00

Jeff, from Building Common Ground was kind enough to give me a blog award! It is now my distinct honor to pass it on!

The rules are as follows:
1.You have to pick five blogs that you consider deserve this award in terms of creativity, design, interesting material, and general contributions to the blogger community, no matter what language.

2. Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.

3. Each winner has to show the award and give the name and link to the blog that has given him or her the award itself.

4. Each winner and each giver of the prize has to show the link of “Arte y pico” blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award.

5. To show these rules.

And now, on to the good part.

1.Hands down, EpiJunky. This woman is absolutely amazing. She's a mother, a student, an EMT, and a fantastic friend. She's a great writer, and never ceases to make me laugh. She's like a big sister to me, and her posts are rich with detail.

2.Second goes to Kim. I love reading a medblog from a different point of view (not just ER/ambulance blogs). Kim is a great, touching writer who has reduced me to tears on more than one occasion. If you haven't already read some of her stuff, definitely head over there right now to check her out.

3.Bernice is another one of my favorites. I'm not sure what to call it, but her posts have this quality to them that keep me coming back. I vividly remember some of the posts while I'm at work, and her strength shines through her words. I really enjoy reading what she has to say!

4.Okay, now for a male blogger! Rogue Medic is absolutely fantastic. He gives a different perspective on EMS, and offers a great style of writing. His entries are always informative, and I come back every time having learned something new. Definitely add him to your "must read" blogs if you're interested in the field!

5.Lastly, "Virginia EMT", aka Eric. What can I say? I love my partners.

There are about 60 other blogs I'd like to give this to, but that'd be breaking the rules, and my fingers can't type all the laudatory things I'd say! So, in essence, you all get one. But those are the first five that came to mind.

We had a super-massive trauma in the ER this past shift, so I'll be writing about that as soon as I get some "free time."

Take care out there,
Sam

One Year

2008-08-19T14:58:00.002-04:00

It's been a year since I started writing here. I can't say that I've ever seen a year go by so quickly! And, beyond that, so much has changed.

When I started writing here, I was a brand-spanking-new EMT (not that I'm a veteran now). I had literally gotten my license in the mail five days before I started writing. Now, I had been a driver for about a year before that, so I wasn't completely green.

I was entering my sophomore year of college with high expectations that would later be let down, but hey, that's okay! I was 18 years old, and I was looking to save some lives.

Now, I'm nineteen, entering my junior year, and I have even higher expectations. I've saved some lives. It's been amazing. But, I've seen some lives lost, some lives made difficult, and had some lives truly touch mine. I've been angry, I've been hurt, I've been really depressed. I've laughed, I've felt the high that comes with a great call. I've held patients' hands, sung to them, held them in my arms, and fought back tears while with them.

In this year, I've realized that my life's calling is in EMS. I am meant to be a firefighter and a paramedic, and I plan on doing a damned good job. I've decided to pursue a career in creative writing as well, hoping that the two will mesh well. I'm picking out grad schools that have the degree I hope to attain, and I've planned my life out more clearly that I thought was possible. I know that man plans and God laughs, but it doesn't hurt to be as prepared as one can be.

In this year, I've gone from being this brand-new EMT to an ER employee. I've started IVs, been asked if I'll teach others how to start them, gone in on traumas I never thought I'd see, and held way too many screaming children. I've left that hospital feeling like I've made a difference, or feeling like nothing I do will ever be enough.

In this year, I've learned a lot about humanity. I've learned about cruelty, honesty, love. I've changed lives, and I've had mine changed.

It wasn't just patients that changed me. Coworkers taught me more about myself. Drew and Eric...wow. I don't even know where to start with them. They mean so much to me; I am not sure that I can properly put it into words. I'd be cheating them if I tried.

Chris, and all the other paid staff who helped precept me taught me what I know about EMS. Obviously, my amazing EMT instructor taught me a lot, but they taught me "the street," if you will. I realize I work in ruraltown, USA, but we still have a "street!" Regardless, they taught me what it was to provide care. Splinting an ankle? You don't have to break out the frac-pack...just get a pillow and some cravats! Calling in a report? Don't let it freak you out; just breathe and tell them what you see and what you've done. I've picked up nuances from them, pet-peeves, and idiosyncrasies that I'll have for the rest of my EMS career.

My life has been really changed, however odd this may sound, by those of you who read my blog. I have had the opportunity to become friends with some truly amazing people. Epi, Witness, Kyle...thank you. Thank you for being there to talk to. Thank you for laughing with me, for understanding, for reminding me that I'm human when emotions hit me the hardest. You may not be in my life forever (I hope you are!), but I will never forget the kindness you have shown me.

Sam has become less of an idea and more of a reality. Writing about her has become less of an experiment in my major and more of an undeniable part of my life--a part of me. I've find myself become more of a Sam and less of a Samantha this past year, which I love so much.

It sounds silly for me to be writing all of this, but I don't think I can really explain what this blog, the people I've come to know through it, and the people in my EMS family mean. I've done the best I can, but I know it's not enough.

So, case in point. Thank you so much for reading, commenting, emailing, IMing. You're amazing. I didn't know how long I'd do this when I started, because I didn't think anyone would read. But you all...wow. You encourage me to write like it's your job.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Here's to another year.

Take care out there,
Sam

One Word Contest

2008-08-18T17:24:00.004-04:00

I got a ton of entries for my favorite word contest (23 to be exact). I had so much fun reading them, but (of course), picking my favorite was so hard!

So, without further ado, I present to you the winner of my One Word Contest!

Bernice is the "grand prize" winner (haha!), with her entry for the word "choose."

My favorite word? I have been sitting at my computer staring at the screen rolling over all the words in my head. Which is my favorite? A big word? A small word? And then, there it was. Choose.

It is kind of silly to think that two letters would have such a great impact on me, but if you think about it, it is a powerful word. In life we are faced with challenges, decisions and roadblocks. With each of these we have to choose exactly what we have to accomplish to come out on the other side, whether it be the way we planned or with just a lesson learned.

You can plan, you can form strategies and you can have ten gazillion great ideas, but when it comes down to it, you have to choose something. You have to choose your path and act on it. Sometimes this is a rather simple feat - chicken or beef? Sometimes it isn't so easy - tell them how I feel and lose them or stay silent and stay friends in agony. No matter the situation you have to do something, even if it is just stepping back and living in agony.

Every day of our lives we make decisions and we shape our destiny. It takes more courage to choose than we give people credit for.

This entry made a lot of sense to me, and means a lot to me as well. So, Bernice, you get to pick your prize! Something hand-made, an entry revolving around the word, a ride-along (if you're ever in my neck of the woods), a guest entry...you get to pick!

"First Prize" goes to J. A. Coppinger for "Integrity."

"Second Prize" goes to Loth for her entry of "boytritus."

It's the six inch deep layer of plastic, lego and crap left lying by my two boys.

And "third prize" goes to Chris for this entry:

I'm going to go for 'Thanks' and variants thereof (see, came up with one eventually!). Thanks is one word which is not used nearly enough, but it has such power - it can make someone's day, and regularly using it means people enjoy working with/for you that much more.

That one word can make the difference between people enjoying their life and hating it. What else can you say that about?

I'd be more than happy to let you guys pick a prize, too. I'm in a giving mood!

Now, for the honorable mentions!

First goes to Nikki for "kumquat".

J gets one for his entry of "douchecanoe". It's a word I made up, so uh...thanks for letting me know it's your favorite :P

Medicx311 gets one for "fucktard," simply because I literally laughed so hard it hurt.

This girl gets one for "lovie."

And finally, Tracy gets one for "kindness."

Aw, hell, you guys can have something too. I'm just so excited so many people participated! But Bernice, you get in touch with me and let me know what "grand" prize you'd like!

An annoying long entry celebrating a year of blogging coming tonight or tomorrow (my actual blogo-versary!). Thanks again, ladies and gents :)

Take care out there,
Sam

Things!

2008-08-17T02:02:00.002-04:00

Thank you all so much for the emails, IMs, comments, texts, phone calls, etc. You are all fantastic, and your concern means the world to me. I'm doing much better now, and every day I feel a bit more healed.

Because everyone is doing it:

Yeah, I gave into the peer pressure. What of it!?

Also. We got five (count 'em, five) gunshot wounds today in the ER. Here's my favorite.

Nurse: "Sir, have you been drinking tonight?"
Man: "HELL YES I'VE BEEN DRINKING, I'M DRUNK AS SHIT! I GOTSTA PEE!"
Nurse: "Okay, sir, we're going to put this tube in your bladder so you can pee and we can get some urine."

*Later*

Nurse: "Sir, can you rate your pain on a scale of zero to ten, zero being no pain, ten being the worst you've--"
Man: "A TEN, A TEN, OH GOD A TEN!"
Nurse: "Where?"
Man: "MY PENIS HURTS, MY PENIS HURTS!"
Nurse: "Yes, sir, you've got a tube in your penis right now. What about your bottom, where you got shot?"
Man: "I GOT SHOT!?"
Nurse: "Yes, sir, that's why you're here."
Man: "MY PENIS HURTS OH GOD MY PENIS HURTS!"
Nurse: "And your bottom, sir?"
Man: "ZERO PAIN ON MY ASS, BUT OH GOD MY PENIS HURTS!"
Nurse/Me/Everyone Else: *stifles laughter*

Take care out there,
Sam

Burn

2008-08-15T03:29:00.002-04:00

I write because it is one of the few things that makes me feel better. It makes me feel human, complete, sane again.

This entry is graphic. It's probably disturbing. I'm so sorry for that. I wish it weren't. I wish I weren't writing it. I wish my shift had been uneventful, that I had come home and been the same person I was when I went to work. But none of that is true. And so I write.

It's been slow all day. I've done maybe 3 IVs, and a handful more blood draws. I sit with my chin in my hand, tapping my foot against the cabinet lazily. I refresh the screen to see yet another list of completed orders.

"Come on," I whine to no one in particular, "can't someone order something on somebody!?"
"Eh, you've only got 10 minutes left!" Amanda smiles at me and snaps her gum. I yawn in reply.

I hear the squeak of sneakers as an ED tech comes running towards us. He's out of breath, and gets his sentence out in pieces.
"Guys...we have...two trauma codes...coming in."
"What?" I'm trying to figure out what the odds are of two separate traumas happening at the same time.
"Two little boys...badly burned...apartment fire."

I look at Amanda and she stares back with wide eyes. We grab our lab buckets and head to the trauma rooms to suit up.

I start from the bottom and make my way up systematically. Booties, lead coat, apron, gloves, mask and face-shield, and finally a hair cover. I start overheating immediately as we wait for the first to arrive.

Amanda goes to the second trauma room as I wait in the first. My hands are sweating as I set up the IV equipment and get the blood tubes out. I'm not sure if it's from the gloves or my own nerves, but little sweat beads form on my brow.

As my patient arrives, Amanda comes running in. I try to figure out what's going on, but I'm overstimulated. Amanda is crying and so is the little boy, but only one makes sense.

He's two years old with soot around his nose, his body dark and his hair singed. He looks up at me with confused eyes, and sniffles a few times.

"Oh god, Sam, I can't do it, I can't do it?"
"Do what, Amanada?" Tears are running down her face, and she just stares at me in horror.
"Sam, please go to the other trauma room. I'll do this one. Please, I can't do it."
"Okay." I'm confused, but I grab my bucket and head out.

I don't know what the smell is, but it makes me almost stop in my tracks. I quickly realize that it's the smell of burnt flesh. I push this out of my mind as I approach this boy.

My eyes widen and I feel my heart beat out of rhythm. His whole tiny body is burned. Skin is peeling off in sheets, and he turns to look at me. His eyes are as wide as mine, but glazed over slightly. I see them shut, and before I know it he's being intubated.

I pick a tourniquet out of my things and tie it around his forearm. I try not to think about what that will do to the skin after I remove it. I pick up his arm and look down. His tiny little fingertips are falling off. My stomach turns and I don't think, I just act.

As soon as I'm done, I leave the room, blood tubes in hand. Amanda looks at me as we walk back to the lab. She starts to say something, but stops as soon as she realizes I'm not paying any attention to her.

The third child, a girl, was flown to a bigger Trauma Level 1 center on the coast. We didn't have the resources to take care of him, but from what I hear, she wasn't doing very well at all.

Then it hits me. Three little children, all seven and under were in an apartment fire. Why weren't the parents in the beds next to them?

"Amanda?"
"Yeah?"
"Where are the parents?"
"In the waiting room."
"Why?"
"Um...because they're waiting?"
"No, I mean...why aren't they hurt?"
"You didn't hear?"
"No." I know what's coming, though.
"The mother wasn't in the apartment."

I try not to think, again. I see that I have another patient to get before I go, so I push everything out of my head like always.

"I need pain medicine," my patient moans.
"I don't do meds. I just stick." I know I'm being curt, but I can't manage to say anything else.
"Ohhhh, it hurts so bad. I need some demerol!"
"Your nurse is coming soon."
"Oh the pain! Can't you give me anything?"

I just stare at his arm as I secure the IV, saying nothing. I don't look him in the eye. I know that if I were to meet his gaze, I'd be unable to keep my composure. I'd yell at him. I'd scream, I'd cry.

Get the fuck out of my ER, I'd say. Stop wasting everyone's time so you can get high. Don't you know that there are children who are close to death? Don't you know that I don't have the time or energy to waste helping you get your fix?

But I can't. I have to treat him the same as I treat everyone else. I have to give him great care, and I have to manage not to piss him off. I succeed and leave before I can do any damage.

I clock out. I grab my things and just leave. I pass the mother of the children on my way out and I try not to ball my fists. I keep my face blank as I pass a few police officers as well. I hear some talk about the fire and just keep on walking.

I make it to my car before I break down. I call my mom and just cry. Sitting in the dark, all I can see is that little boy. All I can picture is those three children burning in their home, surrounded by smoke and flames. I can imagine the terror on their faces, the cries that no one hears. I avoid thinking about their pain, about what they were thinking. I just cry and cry to my mom.

I'm not quite sure how I made it home. I don't live but a quarter of a mile from the ER, but it's the longest drive of my life. Before I realize it, I'm back in my apartment, curling up in my bed, wrapping myself around a pillow.

It's going to be all over the news tomorrow, I think to myself. It's going to be popping up on websites and the various TV channels, but I don't want to think about it. I don't want to remember what I saw.

But every time I close my eyes, it's the only thing I can see.

CISM

2008-08-12T16:30:00.002-04:00

Okay, I did it. I called the 24 hour dispatch, got in touch with the right people, and had the debriefing today.

It was interesting. I'm stopping short of beneficial, because I'm not entirely sure if it was yet. But it was interesting.

I got to talk, though. And talking is sometimes all you have to do.

I've written about it, but I'm going to re-write it. And when I'm good and satisfied with it, I'll post it here.

Thank you so much for the emails, IMs and comments. I really appreciate the good wishes coming my way.

Take care out there,
Sam

Gone

2008-08-11T05:51:00.000-04:00

I wrote an entry earlier. It's gone now (as you can tell).

I'll put it back up later, I'm sure. I'm just not ready yet. I do hope you understand.

I've scheduled a CISM debriefing. I really hope it helps because this not sleeping thing isn't okay. I suppose you've got to use the resources that are available, so that's what I'm doing.

Please, just send good thoughts this way.

Take care out there,
Sam

Lights and Siren

2008-08-10T14:55:00.002-04:00

This is an entry for Normal Sinus Rhythm. Go check out this week's entries and leave some comments if you have the time!

I love driving with my lights and siren going. There's nothing quite like the rush I get from seeing the lights bounce back at me, ricocheting off of an infinite number of facades. The sirens scream higher as we drive under a bridge, wailing, urging me forward. Children standing with their parents look at me with smiles plastered on their faces, waving as they jump up and down.

Lights turn green. People move. But I learned early on that this doesn't mean much. Everyone moves except for that one person. Everyone stops at their new red light except for the guy on his cell phone.

People don't hear us. They don't know where we're going. They think that they can make it across before we come through the intersection. It doesn't matter why; our lights and sirens aren't going to save us from the exception to the rule.

Which is why when I heard that a dear, dear friend of mine was in an accident in the ambulance today while going lights and sirens, my heart sank. He, his partner, and his patient are all okay, along with the other car. But all I can think about is how much worse it could have been, how many lives were involved. And so I pray that this is it, and that he never goes through that again.

And I pray that for the rest of my EMS family, even those I don't know exist. Please, be careful. Please, be aware.

Please, be safe.

A Conversation

2008-08-08T23:08:00.003-04:00

Via phone, with Witness.

Me: "Ugh, my throat hurts."
Him: "Why?"
Me: "Well, we had this patient with bilateral decubital ulcers on her feet, so I spent the time breathing through my mouth and wearing a surgical mask."
Him: "So now your mouth feels like it has decubital feet ulcers in it?"
Me: "Yeah, I'm paranoid that I have decubital feet ulcer bacteria growing in my throat."
Him: "Yeah, you probably do."
Me: "EW, WHAT!?"
Him: *giggles* "You know smells are just little particles of things."
Me: "EW YOU'RE SO GROSS."
Him: *laughing harder* "And really strong smells are LOTS OF PARTICLES!"
Me: "You sadistic sonuva!"
Him: "Haha, yeah, I know. Decubital feet ulcers in your mouth."
Me: "Oh God, that's so disgusting."
Him: *pauses* "Yeah...ew, it is."
Me: "Haha, at least it got you, too! But you gave me an idea for a story, so I'll forgive you some."
Him: "Oh, thank goodness!"

Yeah, thought you guys would appreciate that. And what I really mean is that I'm hoping to share my misery with you.

Also:
Partner of the Day: "Your hair smells like shampoo."

I suppose it's better than many of the alternatives...?

Take care out there,
Sam

p.s.--FAVORITE WORD CONTEST! That is all.

Scrambling

2008-08-07T23:20:00.002-04:00

I'm really sorry about not finishing the story of Janice. I got an email today asking me to write more about her; I wish I could. When I figure out what I want to do with her, I promise I'll write the rest of the story!

Also, what is it with stubborn EMS motorcycle riders? I'm not calling you out, friend, but really. You worry me.

And lastly, can someone please give me a prompt here? I'm struggling. Just give me a word or a sentence or a type of call to write about--please!

Take care out there,
Sam

Okay, so I lied. This is the last thing. Please don't forget to submit your entries about your favorite word! Learn more about the contest here and here. I swear I'll stop bugging you about this soon, but it's super important to me! Thanks; you all are the best :)

Random Things!

2008-08-06T21:28:00.003-04:00

Is anyone surprised by this? Tell me that you've read my blog, EE's Blog, or AD's Blog, and then tell me you're surprised. It's disgusting.

In other, happier news, I have something like 17 entries for favorite word. Go check out the original contest idea here and then the sam-pleading-with-you entry here. Suggested prizes have been something homemade, an entry revolving around the word, a ride-along with me, an entry based on what the winner would like (a theme they choose, essentially), and a letter (hand-written) from me. Any other thoughts? Just 13 more days! You have tons of time to enter and make my blog-oversary spectacular!

On yet another note, I successfully started every IV I attempted last night. It was fantastic, and I'd walk out of a room doing my victory dance. One of my new favorite ED techs would join me in post-success dance, say "work it, girl!" and bump hips with me. It was fantastic. Let's hope I can keep this streak up :)

Take care out there,
Sam

Gracie

2008-08-04T23:45:00.002-04:00

This is my late submission to NSR. The theme this week is "kids." I'm sure you all know what that NSR is by now, but if not, go check it out!

The pager beeps loudly as it vibrates across the table. I pick it up and check it, knowing full well I'm about to be on my way to whatever it is.

"CRITICAL ALERT, TRAUMA 1," it says, as if the capital letters are begging me to hurry. I grab my bucket and check it quickly.
IV needles gauges 16-24? Got them. Syringes, tubes, needles, gauze, alcohol, tourniquet, saline locks, and saline flushes? Got it all. I grab an extra pair of small gloves and stick them in my pocket as I make my way through the supply closet toward the first trauma suite.

A tech is carrying her in. She's seizing in his giant arms, her little hands hitting his chest, her tiny feet kicking towards his neck. She can't be more than 3. He puts her down as gingerly as he can, and I realize that other than the doctor, I'm the first one in.

"She's in status, I need to get some meds in, get me an IV." He's nearly bumping his head against mine as he leans over her. He's trying not to yell, but his voice cracks.

"I...I don't do IVs!"
"What?"
"I haven't done an IV yet!"
"Oh for the love of--DAVID!"

David looks up from whatever he's doing and pushes me out of the way. People are slowly filing in, taking what seems like a lifetime. I watch impatiently as David starts the IV and hands me two syringes of blood. Obligingly, I fill the 8 tubes with it, trying to ration it evenly.

She stops moving. Her eyes are glassy and rolled back, and she's taking on a bluish tint. I don't really hear much, I just let myself get pushed out of the room like a rag doll. I'm not quite sure how I managed to hang on to my bucket, the vials of blood, and 8 name labels, but I find myself back in the lab, sitting on the stool with wheels.

"Sam?" I hear something coming from somewhere around me, but I don't focus on it.
"Sam? Sam, you're so pale, are you okay?" The backside of a warm hand against my forehead brings me back to reality.
"What?"
"Are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah, yeah, I just...yeah."
"Um, okay. Want me to label that blood for you?"
"Sure."

I look down at the labels as a voice comes on the intercom. Grace Perez. "Code Blue, Trauma 1."
Grace Perez.
"Code Blue, Trauma 1."

I don't listen. I just watch. I go to the computer and order all the labs. I don't listen. I won't listen.

The doctor takes her mother into the consultation room. The heavy wooden door closes. A second later, I hear it.
"Gracie! Oh God, not my Gracie!" I sit back down and clutch at my scrub top. It feels too tight; everything feels too tight.

Her sobs choke out from behind that solid door, ringing around the ER. Guttural and real, they wrench my heart.

It's not until later that I hear the whole story. Her mother found her seizing in her room, and panics. She didn't call 911, but instead loads her Gracie into the car and drives her to the ER. I don't know how long she'd been seizing, not breathing.

All I know is that when I leave, my ears ring "Gracie."

Contest

2008-08-02T16:56:00.004-04:00

Guys and gals...come on! I've only had 4 entries! I'm dying here.

So, to recap. This post explains to you what the contest is. It's very simple. Just tell me what your favorite word is, and why! It doesn't have to be profound, and it doesn't have to be an essay. I'm just curious!

So if you're a first time reader, of if you've been reading from day one *cough*, *cough*, please enter! Maybe you've been reading for a long time but never commented. Here's your chance.

Please. I'm begging. Blogger/reader interaction.

You can email me (it's in my profile)
You can reply to this entry or this one with a comment.
You can even send me an Instant Message (IM...also in the profile)

Just somehow get me your favorite word with an explanation of why. 17 days and counting!

And if you're feeling super nice and you'd like to link to the contest in your own blog (with the hopes that this would get more entries), I'd be eternally grateful. I'll even mail you a thank you card :)

I'm off to see Lewis Black do his thing.

Take care out there,
Sam

Daddy

2008-08-01T02:39:00.005-04:00

I can finally make this public knowledge! I'm so excited!

My dad, aka PolarDoc, is going to Antarctica for 6 months come early September! He's gone to great lengths to become a physician at McMurdo, one of the research stations down there, and I couldn't be happier for him. From taking ATLS and ACLS to filling out pages and pages of forms, he's done a lot for this.

I sort of prodded him to start a blog, too. I want to be able to see what he's up to, and I know that as large as the med-blog community is, you all might want to read as well! Please go visit and leave him a comment or two? Tell him Sam sent you! ;)

Congrats, Daddy. You're going to have the experience of a lifetime, and I'm going to be the girl whose Dad is busy being super-awesome in the South Pole.

At least we still get to go to the USC v. UVA game before he leaves! Go Trojans!

Take care out there,
Sam

p.s.--Don't forget about the Blog-oversary Contest! And yes, this p.s. will be at the end of every entry until the day it's over!

Blog-oversary part 2!

2008-08-01T01:59:00.003-04:00

Okay, so it's officially 19 days away and I haven't done anything further for my pending blog-oversary! I'm scrambling here.

So uh...here's my lame attempt at a contest. In all honesty, this has nothing to do with my blog-oversary, but I really want more interaction with those of you who read my blog. I get emails and comments, but it's all very cursory for the most part. Other than a few that I do keep in close contact with, I never really get to know you all! I'd love to get to know you all a lot better. I've already made some amazing friendships from this blog, and I'd like to further that if at all possible!

So I want you to either leave me a comment here or send me an email or even shoot me an IM with your favorite word. And then explain to me why it's your favorite word. And then also tell me what your ideal contest prize would be. I'm thinking like...a blog post centered around the word, or a ride-along (if you live locally) or some sort of stuff from my rescue squad? Whatever. You let me know, and if it's reasonable, I'll do it!

So quick recap:
Comment. Email. IM.
Favorite Word.
Why?
Ideal Contest Prize?

I'll decide the winner the night before my blog-oversary! Hooray!

Also, I promise to have a post of substance coming soon...hopefully for Normal Sinus!

Until then...

Take care out there,
Sam

From the ER

2008-07-29T13:34:00.003-04:00

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while. That last entry sort of took it out of me, if you will. It's hard to write something that has that sort of emotion and then just go back to "regular" stuff.

Also, my campus has decided that it is time for us residential students to be ~~royally screwed~~ re-installing the needed software on our computers. Until we do so, the internet doesn't work. Every. Single. Year, I get screwed by this. I don't change anything, and they're like OH GOD OH GOD UPDATE YOUR ANTIVIRUS SOFTWARE! I use a Macintosh, n00b, I don't need your antivirus...

Okay, I'm done with my nerdy little rant. Case in point, until the unhelpdesk decides to show up at my door to complete my work order (which may not be until Friday), I've got nothing. And it just so happens to be my few days off. So I'm left wanting to cry.

In any event, I bring you some recent happenings from the ER.

Me: "Hello, sir, my name is Sam, I've come to get some blood from you for labwork."
Man (veritably covered in tattoos and piercings): "Oh, hi. This isn't going to hurt, is it?"
Me (kidding with him): "Maybe a little, but you look like an old pro!"
Man: *chuckles*
Me (after setting up and finding a beautiful vein): "Alright, quick pinch."
Man: "OH GOD, THAT HURTS SO MUCH! OH I THINK I'M GOING TO PASS OUT!"
Me (removing needle): "All done."
Man: "That wasn't so bad."

Man: "Oh, hell, you've come to get blood from me, huh?"
Me: "Yes, sir, but it won't hurt nearly as bad as that IV they started in the ambulance did."
Man: "This? Naw, this didn't hurt."
Me: "Well good, then!"
Man: "Alright, do whatcha gotta do."
Me: "Little pinch."
Man: "OH, SHIT!"
ED Tech I love: "Watch your language, there's a lady present."
Man: "I don't give a SHIT! Oh shit oh shit that hurts that hurts."
Me: "All done."
Man: "About friggin time."
ED Tech I love: *eyes man angrily*

Me: "Hi, ma'am? My name is Sam, I'm here to start an IV on you."
Lady (about 85, tiny as can be, little spider-like veins): "Okay, sweetheart, you just do whatever you need to do."
Me: "Now, since they want to take you back to CT and put some contrast in your veins, I have to start an 18 gauge IV in the crook of your arm. It's a little bit bigger than the one I'd like to start, but they really need it to be that big for the contrast."
Lady (smiling happily): "No problem. I understand."
Me: *selects biggest of the tiny veins*
Lady: "I have really small veins, I'm so sorry."
Me: "Don't even worry about it, I can get one right here."
Lady (after I stick her): "Oh, you're so good! I barely felt that at all."
Me: "Good, after the people I've stuck today, I was beginning to think it was me."

Repeat that last scenario with a little 8 year old boy.

Tell me, what is up with manly men wimping out with teeny tiny needles. I draw blood with a 22, usually. If they're crying about it, or have small veins, I'll use a 23 (butterfly). I mean, really, people. After that 12ga in your ear that you worked to stretch, my 22 should be no big shake.

Me: "Hello, my name is Sam I'm here to get some blood from you."
Lady: "Oh, Sam, what a beautiful name. You have beautiful skin. You're just so beautiful!"
Me: *blushes* "Oh, well thank you very much, you just made my day."
Lady: "I used to do what you're doing. It's fun for a while, but don't do it for life."
Me: "Oh, I don't plan to."
Lady: "Good." *stage whisper* "Get out while you still can! Go...be a model or something!"
Me: *laughs* "I have something a little more exciting planned."
Lady: "What?"
Me: "Finish school, get my master's in Emergency Management, become a firefighter and a paramedic, do that for a while, bridge to RN, become a flight nurse, and eventually try to fix what's wrong with EMS."
Lady: "Can I come with?"
Me: "Absolutely."

Me (with a paramedic student in tow): "Hi, ma'am, how are you doing today?"
Lady: "Just fine, thanks."
Me: "Great! I'm Sam, I'm from the lab, and this is Barnaby" (side note: his real name is quite ridiculous, so he gets a ridiculous name for the blog) "who is a paramedic student here."
Lady: "Very nice. Are you two married?"
Me: I...uh...whaaa?
Barnaby: *turns red, tries to hold in laughter*
Lady: "You two just look so perfect together! Are you dating?"
Me: "No."
Lady: "Well, you should be. Barnaby, you should really get your priorities straight. You need to ask her out before you lose a good one."
Barnaby: "Will do, ma'am."
Lady: "And you, missy. You need to make sure that you don't marry a bad one. You're too pretty to marry a bad one. You should marry Barnaby."
Me: "I'll keep that in mind. Now, let me see this arm."

Working in the ER has certainly been an experience. From gunshot wounds to stubbed toes, STEMIS to pimples, I've seen a lot in the month I've been there. I've been grabbed to hold chest tubes during insertion, do compressions, and assist in foleys. I've also cleaned up vomit, blood, and done bed-changes. I've done a lot, and it's only been a few weeks! I really can't wait to see what is going to happen the longer I stay.

I have another post in the back of my mind, but it's kind of tragic as well. I'll keep working on it, and when I have internet, I'll post it. Also, I'm going to be working on a writing project with my favorite blogger and another with a good local friend.

Take care out there,
Sam

Falling Softly

2008-07-23T23:52:00.002-04:00

The rain always seems to fall harder when you're in the ambulance than when you're outside. Maybe it's just because there's little noise when it hits your skin, compared to when it hits the hood. It's falling harder now. The heavy stacatto of the rain beats in time with my heart, which is going crazy.

"Assault, possible rape," the radio had murmured in the dark. I swear my pulse spiked before I even awoke.

"Sam, we need you." Drew's face is only barely visible through the fog in my mind and the darkness of the room.
"I don't want to go."
"We need you. You're the only woman on duty in a 20 mile radius. Let's go."
"I'm scared," I had whispered in the dark.
"Me too."

But here we were now, waiting for the police to clear us to go on scene. It's the first thing you learn; if the scene isn't safe, neither are you. If you aren't safe, what can you possibly do for your patient? The scene isn't safe. There's a criminal somewhere in Clearview, and he might still be around. I shudder as I think of a girl huddling in the corner of this dark alley, wondering why the ambulance hasn't come for her.

After what feels like an eternity, we get the go-ahead to approach. What I had pictured is almost the exact reality.

She's tiny. Five-foot-four with sopping wet hair, she holds her knees in close to her chest, shaking from the cold. Her sobs shake her, too, and as I come closer, she raises her head. Big blue eyes stare up at me, horrified and confused. I want to cry right then, but I push it away.

I am stoic, I am calm. I cannot let emotion overcome me when this girl needs me the most.

Handprint bruises are forming on her arms. I see marks on her face, and her clothing is torn. Her lip is bleeding onto the knee of her jeans, and the water is running out of her blond hair onto the shoulders of her green shirt.

Her name is Vicki, the police tell me as I get nearer. The rain falls softly on my arms, and I shiver from the cold, or so I tell myself.

"Vicki? Hi, Vicki, my name is Sam, I'm with the rescue squad."
"Hi Sam," she says as she manages a little smile. She's trying to be brave, and this display grabs my heart a little tighter, wrenching it a little more.
"Vicki, can you tell me what happened? I know it's difficult, but I need to know if he--er, how he hurt you." I catch myself, feeling stupid. Obviously, he hurt her. Obviously she isn't the same girl she was earlier.

She tells me what happened, and I nod and say stupid things like "uh huh," and "okay." I don't quite know what I feel. I'm angry, nauseated, sad, and hurt. I see Drew standing a few feet back, his eyes lowered to the ground. I feel so stupid and insignificant when I ask her more questions. She's going to have to answer questions for a lot of people soon, and I hate being one of them.

"How old are you, Vicki?"
"I'm sixteen," she says as she fiddles with her high school class ring. In big, bold numbers it proudly proclaims "2010." I fight the nausea a little harder as I look at my own ring.
"Sam?"
"Yeah, Vicki?"
"How old are you?"
"I'm nineteen," I say.
"Can I see your ring?"
"Of course."

She takes it from me gingerly and examines it.
"2006," she says softly, "I was in eighth grade."
Innocence flashes in her eyes, followed quickly by maturity. I don't know which makes me feel better. She hands me my ring back, and I slip it on my finger quickly.

I don't realize it's happening, but she's crawled into my lap. I don't stop her, I don't make any noise, I just let her find her fit in my arms. We sit there for a while under the dim light in the alley. The officers have turned their backs on us, not wanting to interfere in this. Drew and Eric face away as well, and answer the radio when dispatch checks to see if we're okay.

I hold her as she cries, her tears mixing with rain on my shoulder. Her fingers grip me tightly and I rock her softly as I hold her head with my hand.

After a little while of this, I pick her up and carry her to the ambulance. Drew wraps us in a blanket and squeezes some water out of my hair.

"Do you want me up front with Eric," he asks.
"That'd be fine."

Together as one, immovable, we ride to the hospital. I have strapped myself onto the stretcher with her, and asked Drew to call in the report. Her breathing slows, and her heart beats in synch with mine.

"Vicki," I whisper to her.
"Yeah, Sam?"
"I have to go now." I've placed her on the cold exam table in our SANE room. The forensic nurse is standing next to me, ready to go.
"Okay, it's okay." She forces that little smile again. I feel awkard saying goodbye. What do you say? "Feel better," or maybe "take care?" She speaks instead.
"Thank you, Sam."
"You're welcome."
"I mean, thank you for like...you know, just being there."
"I'm glad I could help some."
"I think you're the most helpful person I've ever met." She squeezes my hand as the forensic nurse pushes me out of the way. I take the hint and leave, my heart sinking.

We drive back in silence, save the rain falling heavy on our ambulance.
"So what happened?"
"He beat her, raped her, and left." I'm a little short with them, but if I go into any detail, I'll break down.
"Oh. Wow."
"Yeah."

-----

The sound of the rain is replaced by the shower water. Steam rises up, disappearing as it makes its way further into the bathroom.
"I'm going to take a shower," I announce to no one in particular.
"10-4," is the generic response I get.

I make my way into the humid room and carefully take off my clothes, folding them neatly in the corner. I step into the hot water and slide the curtain closed behind me. The hot water replaces the cold water that had made its way into my bones, and I seem to melt right onto the floor of the shower. The teal tiles wash my already-pale skin out even further, making me look like some sort of living ghost. I remind myself of Vicki.

I'm not sure how much time has passed. I'm not sure if they could hear my sobs or feel my pain from the other room. I'm not sure if they could picture the way my teeth were bared tragically in some sort of twisted smile as I bawled. All I know is that the water has become tepid, and I am shivering. I think I've stopped crying, but I can't be too sure.

The water stops running, and I raise my eyes to see why. Drew is standing over me with a towel. He covers me, and gently picks me up off of the shower floor. My fetal position remains the same as he carries me to my bunk. He wraps another towel around my body, and puts one in my hair.

"I..." My attempts at verbal expression fail, and I don't try again.
"Sam, I don't know what she said to you. I don't know what happened in the SANE room. I don't know anything, really. But what I do know is that you're hurting, and I want to do whatever I can to help ease that pain. You don't have to explain anything or tell me what happened. All you have to do is tell me how I can help."

And staring into those big, blue eyes of his, I put my head in his lap as the rain falls softly at the window.

Stolen Meme

2008-07-23T11:41:00.003-04:00

Stolen from Epi, Bernice, and Kim. So sue me, I've got nothing better to write about, so I'll answer questions. Got any questions of your own for me? Leave them in the comments and I'll see if I can answer them :P

WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Sort of? My middle name is after someone for sure, but my first name is a...conglomeration of namings-after?

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
A few weeks ago? I can't really remember.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
My cursive is okay, but my print sucks.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Turkey or salami. Salami's a lunch meat, right?

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Nope, but hopefully in the future.

IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Man, I hope so!

DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
Have you met me?

DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Yeah, but they give me far too much grief!

WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Yes, please!

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Frosted flakes, or perhaps Crispix. I do enjoy Honey Nut Cheerios, though, as well as Lucky Charms...

DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Workboots, yes. Tennis Shoes, no.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
I'm a little stronger-than-average for someone of my height/weight, but I'm not very strong in the grand scheme of things.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Phish Food (Ben and Jerry's), Cinnamon Buns (Ben and Jerry's), or any of that Dove ice cream in a pint with solid chocolate across the top. Yum.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Usually their eyes, but if they have a nice smile, I see that first.

RED OR PINK?
Red. If you had asked me 13 years ago, while I was sitting in my pink room, though...

WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Insecurity about decisions. That, or spreading myself too thin on a constant basis.

WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Sean.

WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Purple pajama pants right now, and no shoes.

WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
A Shorti from Wawa. It was seriously amazing.

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
An HP commercial.

IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Burnt Sienna.

FAVORITE SMELLS?
Fresh air, ambulance, post-shower smell, and new (or really old) book. Oh, and saddle soap.

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Witness

FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Football (go Redskins!), college football (hooray CNU, CU, USC!), and basketball (:D Spurs!)

HAIR COLOR[S]?
Red. I mean, naturally brown, but I (obviously) dye it.

EYE COLOR?
Brown.

DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No, I love my glasses!

FAVORITE FOOD?
Sushi? I'm not sure. I love a lot of food.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
If the happy ending isn't cliché, then I'll take that. But I'll take a poorly done horror over a sappy ending any day!

LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
The Dark Knight. Now I'm dying to see it in IMAX!

WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Purple...it matches my pajama pants.

SUMMER OR WINTER?
Fall.

HUGS OR KISSES?
I'll take a good hug over a good kiss any day.

FAVORITE DESSERT?
Brownies? I'm not sure, but it's not any sort of dairy product.

MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Well, I'm not tagging anyone (unless you want to be tagged!)

WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
Well, I finished the Twilight series (that is, until 8/2/08, because Breaking Dawn is coming out!), I'm working on Bringing Out The Dead, and I have about 5 other books staring at me from the bookshelf that need to be read.

WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
Nothing. I have a track-pad.

WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
I fell asleep to a repeat of "Reality Bites Back" on comedy central.

FAVORITE SOUND[S]?
Drummers absent-mindedly tapping out rhythms with their fingers, the sirens as we go under a bridge, genuine laughter

ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Depends on my mood, but most likely The Beatles

WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
New Zealand, I believe.

DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Umm, I'm really good at calming children and animals down, and people open up to me regardless of how long I've known them.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Houston, Texas :)

Okay, so anyway, hope you tolerated that diversion. I don't really have much to write about as of this moment, but when I go to the station tonight, I'll try to think of something!

Take care out there,
Sam

Blog-oversary

2008-07-22T14:24:00.002-04:00

In just a few days, I will have been blogging for a year (a year!?). I want to do something to mark this momentous occasion, as well as thank you, dear readers, for your loyalty and support. You all keep me sane.

So I was thinking that I could do a contest sort of thing like TS. I mean, his was for 100,000 visits, but you know, still a milestone sort of thing.

Would you be interested in this, or is it super dumb? If so, what kind of contest should it be (the first visitor on the blog-oversary, a submission contest, etc.)? And, what should the prize be?

Just some thoughts, but I know you guys will tell me if it sounds too stupid.

Hope things are well with you all! Tell me, what made you smile today?

Take care out there,
Sam

Bleed, Everyone's Doing It

2008-07-20T11:20:00.002-04:00

This is an entry for Normal Sinus Rhythm. Go check out this week's entries and leave some comments if you have the time!

I'm trying to be nice. His constant stream of expletives makes it hard, but I'm trying. Calmly, I ask him what's wrong. The deputy standing at the foot of the stretcher answers for him, since he won't answer for himself.
"He's hearing voices again, but that's no surprise since he hasn't taken his meds in a few weeks."
"Oh. Any idea what the voices want him to do?"
"Unsure, but they're certainly causing him distress."
"Violent?"
"Not as of now. Just...angry." She pauses, staring down at our patient, looking as if she's trying to predict the future.
"I don't think he'll be any trouble for you, just loud," she says nodding towards him, "but I'll be more than happy to ride with if you want."
Drew lifts his head up from taking our patient's pulse.
"I think we're good, Deputy," he says with that ridiculous smile of his that causes most everyone to forget their train of thought.
"Y...yeah, okay," she stammers. I giggle to myself as she leaves, obviously still thinking about that smile. I'm immune now, but boy I remember when...

"FUCK YOU!" interrupts my train of thought and--SMACK!
I don't really know what's going on, but Drew is on him in an instant, and I follow his lead. My eyes are stinging, and my nose is throbbing, but I haven't put it together yet.
Eric is in the back in seconds flat, and he sits on a shoulder as he calls for ALS. We need something to put this guy out, but we can't do it.
The deputy runs back to the medic, jumping in with handcuffs ready in hand. She restrains him somehow, but I'm not really paying attention.
I look down at our patient. He's bleeding. I don't know where from, but there's blood on his face.
"Drew, he's bleeding."
"What?"
"Look at his face, he's bleeding."
"Sam," he pauses, "Sam, that's your blood." His eyes flash with intense hatred as he pushes his elbow harder into our patient. It looks like he could spit, he's so angry.
"What?" I touch my hand to my face and it feels warm. I pull it away and my hand is covered in deep red. My lips start to taste like metal, and the smell of iron makes me dizzy.
"Who the hell do you think you are, hitting a woman, hitting my partner!?" Drew's voice cracks from anger.
"Fuck you," is all the response he gets.
Eric is off the radio now, joining the party more fully.
"ALS is in route," he says as he gently pushes our patient's head to the side.

Suddenly he goes limp beneath us. He's unconscious, but he's...not. I look at him a little puzzled, and tell Eric to move. My bloodied hand picks up his arm, holds it in front of his face, and lets it go. It falls down awkwardly, avoiding the inevitable smack to the face. Drew catches on.
"Oh, wow, he's unconscious," he says heavily.
"Yeah, I wonder what happened," Eric echoes.
"Wow, poor thing, we should really get going. At least he's not dangerous anymore." It's a little muffled through the gauze I've got coddling my nose, but I chime in as well.
I think I see a self satisfied smirk flash across his face as 500 collective pounds of human rise off of him, only to be replaced by some new silver bracelets.

The deputy rides with us all the way to the hospital, asking me every few seconds if I'm okay, and if I want to press charges. I'm too tired to think about legality, so instead I just tell her that I'll think about it.

When we leave the patient's room, Drew and Eric turn around simultaneously. They tell the deputy thanks and goodnight, and then shoot a look that could kill at the man in the bed. He spits their way, and Drew puts a protective arm around my shoulder.

"Asshole," he says as he squeezes my arm.

Goodness!

2008-07-19T11:38:00.003-04:00

It's been forever and a day since I've written. So sorry, guys, but this "work" thing has consumed my life.

So, yesterday, I broke my thumb. Well, let's be honest here, I didn't break it, my partner did. We're taking a man from the doctor's office back to his house. He's a pretty big guy--"husky," as he says. Partner pushes the stretcher up to the lip of the ambulance, but it doesn't latch.
"Whoa, whoa, wait a second it hasn't--OWWWW!"
Yeah, partner didn't hear me and lifted the stretcher while pushing it over my poor little thumb.
Then ensues the obligatory "oh god, oh god," from my partner and the, "geez man, way to ruin your girl here," from our patient.
"Nope, it's all good," I say as partner cracks open an ice pack and grabs a band-aid for me, "let's just go and we can deal with this later."
So we buy a finger splint at rite aide, and I've been looking ridiculous ever since :)

Like the shirt, by the way?

I've been moving between my old place and my new one, so that's been eating up all my time, too. Luckily, though, I won't have to commute so far to and from my jobs, nor will I have to deal with the heinous tunnel traffic.

Work is good. I love my hospital job a whole lot; it's always new and exciting, and it definitely keeps me on my toes. I don't like the sad parts of the job, but who does?

Well, in any event, I have two stories in mind. Hopefully I'll be able to write one soon!

And, not giving anything away, but you know how I talked about wanting to see Sam, not just read/write about her? That might be happening in the near future. I'll keep you posted...

Take care out there!
Sam

Overheard

2008-07-12T19:21:00.002-04:00

We did a transfer from a hospital to nursing home rehab. This is a hospital with nuns, for context. Each room has a picture of Jesus mounted on the wall right next to the "Good Morning, today is _________. Your nurse is _________." sign.

While we were in our patient's room, waiting for the nurse, I could hear the conversation taking place in the room across the hall.

Nurse: "Mr. Smith?"
Mr. Smith: "Hrmmm?"
Nurse: "I need to check your pupils."
Mr. Smith: "Hrmmm."
Nurse: "Can you look at Jesus for me? Come on, look at Jesus."

In my line of work, if my patients start seeing Jesus, I tend to discourage it. Just sayin' ;)

Busy couple of days here, but we have another Normal Sinus Rhythm coming up tomorrow and I have a few more ideas for what to do with Janice. She's not gone, I promise!

Take care out there,
Sam

How You Know

2008-07-08T12:24:00.004-04:00

This post is for Normal Sinus Rhythm, a collection of blog entries from EMS bloggers from all over. This week's theme was "You know you're a _____ if..." Everyone did an amazing job with their entries, go check them out!

I was going to write a list of things like my fellow NSR bloggers did. I had some in mind.
"You know you're in EMS when you can't decide between 'oh, shit' and 'hell yes' on the way to a call."
Whatever, no one said I was going to write a GOOD list.

In any event, I'm not going to write a list anymore. I'm going to be different, because it seems I can't ever be happy satisfying the norm. I'm sure you've come to know that trait in me. Oh, and also, my list sucked so I figured I'd do something else.

So, I present to you, "how you know."

She died. Right there on the floor, no warning, she just fell over, dead. That was her final act, really--falling. Maybe she clutched her chest, and maybe she made a noise, but her last act was falling.

Those around her panicked, calling 911 as they screamed for help, their sobs sticking in their throats desperately.

And then we showed up. And very calmly, we did our job.
"Hey Matt, could you pass me that epi over there?"
"Sure thing."
"Could someone take over compressions?"
"I've got you."
We smiled at one another with compassion, taking time to say "please," and "thank you." And I hummed "Sweetness" in my head as I pushed on her chest again and again, the sweat forming on my brow, the glasses slipping down my nose. I thought of the beat of the song matching the beating of her heart that my hands were creating as I watched the flat line on the monitor move with me.

"Well-oiled machine" is what I hear a lot, but that's not really it. We're just a few people who know what to do, and act. We're just a few people who don't let our emotions get in the way of our jobs.

And when we're done, away from patient and family, that's when I think. That's when the emotions hit me, the thoughts of my parents and my friends. That's when I sigh deeply and get a little misty eyed and I'm silent; that's when it hits me, fully sinking in.

And all of that? That's how I know. That's how I know I'm an EMS provider--and a good one at that. That's how I know I'm meant for this job. That's how I know that I'm still human, still normal, even though throngs of people would beg to disagree; any person who willingly signs up for a stressful, taxing, vomit and death-filled job must be certifiable, or cold and unfeeling, right?

So I go home from another call both questioning and confirming my desire to do this again. And that's how I know.

NSR and the suchlike

2008-07-07T21:21:00.003-04:00

NSR Week 3 is up. Go check it out!

I haven't written my post yet. I just got off a shift at the ED that made me want to cry. A guy un-sedatable with 15 of Haldol and some Ativan, an unresponsive lady, a couple of AMS, and about a billion and a half "I don't want to go to work on Monday" patients.

I learned a ton, but my feet hurt more than anything. I can't even see straight, so putting together that NSR post was sort of interesting. I'll have mine up just as soon as I can...I have a day off tomorrow :D

And thanks for all the exciting comments on my last post! You all are the best :)

Hooray!

2008-07-06T22:57:00.003-04:00

Guess who started her first IV today...

Okay, to all you ALS people...don't laugh. Be excited for me.
And to all you non-EMS people...be very, very impressed.

So I'm kidding on that last bit. There's nothing impressive about it. But holy hell I did it! And then I went on to do blood culture after blood culture, INT draws, assist in a foley, and be hit on by a 15 year old and a married guy.

Okay, so the last two don't take skill, just fiesty people. But I'll add it to my list of accomplishments for the day.

In any event, I didn't get to put up today's post for Normal Sinus because I ended up working 11-7:30, going for dinner, and then coming home. It'll be up tomorrow, I promise. In the meantime, go check out the following bloggers' posts if you haven't already (links in my sidebar):
Peter Canning (Streetwatch: Notes of a Paramedic)
Gertrude (Ridin' the Bus)
Witness (ALS Not Available)
Epi (Pink, Warm, Dry)
Stretcher Jockey (Confessions of a Stretcher Jockey)
Lucid (LucidResq)

If I've forgotten any, I seriously apologize...it's been a long couple of days.

Until tomorrow,
Sam

Help Needed

2008-07-05T00:55:00.004-04:00

I don't ask for stuff like this a lot. In fact, I don't think I ever have. But your help is needed, and it won't take but a few moments of your time; no money, I promise.

If you're from Virginia, or even if you're from elsewhere in the world, it would mean a lot to me and a lot of people locally if you could take a few minutes to read this and respond if you are so inclined.

An email from my mother regarding the changes:

Dear [Sam],

Please read the proposed revisions to the state regulations for the gifted. If you are so inclined, post a comment. From my perspective, if passed, they will be incredibly damaging to the progress that has been made on behalf of gifted students. It will be like going back in time.

There is a link below where you can post a comment. You can read the others that have been written. Sadly, the last time there was a public forum regarding the gifted, less than 50 people statewide, responded. The government took that as a "go ahead" to do what they wanted, as there was no outcry to the contrary. The same will be true with this, as well. I'm trying to get a grass-roots movement of folks to respond so the state will have to listen to our concerns.

I would greatly appreciate it if you could pass this on any other students or people you think might be pro-active.

And when I think pro-active, I think of my readers ;) Moving on...

Here are the specifics:

8VAC20-40-70. Funding

Department of Education officials have informed us that the funding portion of the regulations, 8VAC20-40-70, was repealed because the language was redundant and gifted funding is covered in the Appropriations Act. How many of us know where to find the specific language in the Appropriations Act? Why not have this same language repeated in the regulations where parents and educators can more easily find the information? If we don't know it exists, how can we monitor it? We still believe the funding language should be included in the regulations.

8VAC20-40-60. Local plan, local advisory committee, and annual report

The repeal of the language stating "Each school division shall submit to the Department of Education for approval a plan for the education of gifted students" would result in a loss of the peer review process which is likely to result in more discrepancy of gifted program services across the Commonwealth. Educators will lose a valuable learning process. Parents will no longer be able to check with the Department to see if their local school division's plan for education of gifted students officially complies with the state regulations.

Essentially, the changes (if approved) would put the control of the Gifted Program (which helps teach advanced students in the public school system) with the School Board. As a teacher within this program, my mom has worked hard to keep this from happening. The school board is made up of good people, but these people are not educators, and it would remove the peer review process that my mom relies on so heavily.

Please, if you could please take a look and post a comment, it would mean the world to me and my mom. As a graduate of this program, I would hate to see anything negative happen to it. And no, you don't have to live in VA to comment on this...in fact, input from those who aren't directly affected by it would probably mean more.

If our gifted students don't get the challenge, education and attention that they need to excel, we may never see their potential realized.

Thanks again,
Sam

Of Hospital Things

2008-07-04T23:25:00.003-04:00

I really want to write something of consequence, but I'm a bit too drained to think correctly.

Things that get me through sitting in a hospital room all day:
A journal where I write little phrases, sentences, or story ideas
The Twilight Series (Seriously amazing. Read them if you haven't already.)
Amazing people who visit and bring me dinner and such
Amazing people who keep checking on me from afar
Getting out to see some fireworks with my mom

And so I leave you with something non-depressing. This is from my aforementioned journal. It's a paragraph that is from a story I want to write:
It was strange, living across from a building where people were born and people died every day. It was like the circle of life, nicely encapsulated within a few walls. My own private microcosm, tucked neatly in my backyard. I loved it, but I knew it would drive any ordinary person insane if they thought about it the way I did. Too many ghosts--too many stories.

H'anyway, I'll be heading back to my other home Saturday night so I can make it to work at the ED for Sunday. Thanks again for everything, you guys.

And happy Independence Day :)

Thank You, Again

2008-07-02T19:45:00.002-04:00

And, once again, you all never cease to amaze me. Thank you for the comments, the IMs, the emails, and phone calls.

I have to make a pretty urgent trip home tomorrow morning, so I'm not sure when I'll be back. But, as you all remind me, I need to make sure that me and mine are okay before I worry about the rest of you all (who are all very near and dear to my heart).

To those of you that I speak to regularly, thank you once again for all your love and support, and I'll keep you updated the best that I can.

I know I keep saying this, but thank you. The support is incredible, and it means more than you can know.

Witness, Epi, etc: You mean the world to me.

Yours,
Sam

Please

2008-07-02T10:41:00.001-04:00

Tell me something happy, something that made you smile today, or something you're looking forward to.

I could use some good, happy thoughts right now.

Thanks guys,
Sam

Nursing Homes

2008-07-01T23:52:00.003-04:00

I used to walk through nursing homes with a smile on my face. I'd look all the residents in the eyes, grin a little wider and say hello cheerfully. I'd flirt with the old men playfully and chat up the nurses while getting some signatures.

"Help me, please, somebody help me," I heard from room 23. I imagine a little old lady who has fallen and hurt herself, or perhaps needs help getting to the bathroom. A nurse stands outside the door, looking at a chart as she picks her nails. I hear the woman again, begging for someone to help her.

"What can I do for you," I ask as I peek my head in the room. She's straining to reach her cup of water that's just out of her reach.
"Oh, I just want some of that water from the cup right there." I step outside and ask the nurse if she's allowed to have the water--I just want to make sure she's not NPO. I get the go ahead, so I step back inside.
"Let me get that for you," I say as I fill it up a bit before giving it to her.
"Oh thank you so much," she says, "thank you, thank you."

I walk back out of the room and stare at the CNA with disgust.
"She just wanted water," I say as I leave, although I'm not sure she cares.

My partner finds me and we start to head out. A man in a walker approaches me and reaches his hand out for my face.
"Molly? Molly I've missed you so much."
"Oh, I'm..."
"Oh Molly, I'm so glad you're here."

I evade his touch as I try to keep up with the gurney, my stomach twisting in knots. My partner makes a joke about what just happen, but I don't laugh--I just keep walking.

We get in the ambulance and he asks me what's bugging me.
"Water," I say curtly.
"What?"
"Water. All she wanted was a fucking cup of water."
"Oh. Well I'm sure her nurse was getting to it."
"You don't understand. She just wanted some fucking water." I spit the words out with disgust, the t's and f's hitting harshly as they escape my mouth.
"Yeah. I hate nursing homes."

I don't smile anymore. I don't look at the patients, their mouths hanging open and their eyes staring at nothing. I don't talk to the nurses except to get a signature or two. I just stare at my feet as I walk by. I breathe through my mouth to escape the smell and I think about the books I want to read or the movies I want to see.

I don't think about my mom or my dad in one of those beds in a room occupied by a vacant stranger. I don't think about the families that never visit. I don't think about my children saying, "Mom, we just can't take care of you anymore. We want to put you in a home."

I think about writing my book, about where I'd like to go on a date, about my junior year in college. I think young thoughts and it hurts me inside.

"I could never do it," I say to my partner the next day.
"Do what?"
"Be in a home."
"Well, you probably won't have much say in it if you lose your mind."
"Nope. I'm offing myself. If I'm ever enough of a burden to someone that they would put me in a home, I just want someone to put a gun in my hand, point it at my temple and say, 'shoot.'"
"I made my wife promise me that a long time ago."
"Are we sick?"
"No. We just see it every day and we know it a little bit," he pauses, "differently."
"I guess."

My first patient in the ER is groaning as the nurse keeps him on his side.
"That's the biggest decube I've ever seen," my preceptor whispers to me.
"Where did that come from?" She looks at the chart and nods.
"Nursing home neglect. They left the temporary foley in for two-ish weeks."
"And the decube...they didn't turn him?"
"Lazy."

I want to vomit. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to drive to the nursing home, find his "nurse," and beat the shit out of her. I want her to feel the pain that he feels every day, but I know it won't be the same. She can take care of herself, even beaten all to hell. He can't even turn himself in bed, let alone tend to his wounds.

And so I swallow back another set of feelings as I go off to find my next patient.

ER!

2008-07-01T10:19:00.004-04:00

Well, it's true, I'm a real-live-hospital-employee! I wear colorful scrubs and have an ID with a goofy picture on it, and I run around ~~saving the world~~ drawing blood and starting IVs.

Hooray!

Yesterday was my first day, and it was terribly boring. I kept saying the q-word in an effort to try and tempt the ER-Gods into sending us something to do, but no, the ER-Gods saw through my rouse.

So, I work again tomorrow...maybe we'll actually get to do something. We did get to do a heel-stick on a baby in an attempt to get a bili, but the little bugger wouldn't bleed.

I also saw the most blatant case of nursing home neglect. Gigantic decubital ulcer on his bottom (tunneling, black/purple/green, etc.), thrush in his mouth (tongue was hard as a rock), and a temporary foley left in for 2+ weeks. That's the closest I've ever come to wanting to legitimately hurt someone, I think.

As a side note...why can't I work with the Monkey Girls and Guitar Girls of the world!? I mean, my coworkers are great but...we spent the day talking about how girls with small breasts get mammograms. *sigh*

Yours,
Sam

p.s.--Thanks for all the comments on my last post (you too, Mom and Dad). They sort of helped remind me why I'm writing in the first place. Sam is coming back soon...but perhaps now as an ED Tech...? Hehe, take care out there!

When I Write

2008-06-30T00:13:00.003-04:00

I see it in my head like a movie. This is a very frustrating thing.

It started out that I would think of a word or a sentence. I would obsess over that until I could form a story around it. When I took my EVOC class, this rattled around in my head for a long time: "One light flickers incessantly in the corner, giving the already dim room lighting worthy of a B-list horror flick." I liked the way it sounded, so I knew I wanted to use it in a story. It had to do with the sound, with the images it provoked.

But now, as Sam develops, it has to do with the image and the words that provokes. It's really difficult, because I feel like I'm failing her, and I'm failing myself.

Sam stands shivering in the scalding hot shower, sobbing uncontrollably as she scrubs her body over and over. She's just taken a girl to the hospital her own age who was raped. I can't write this the way I see it. The noise of the water hitting the tiles in the bathroom of the bunk room in comparison to its muted sound outside...I can't write it. The way her mouth stretches into a tragic smile as she sobs because she feels as she is about to burst. The seafoam green tiles that wash her fair skin out even more, making her seem like a ghost as her frail body shakes. I can see it, but I can't write it.

Sam has a vein in her forehead that pops out whenever she smiles legitimately. She smiles a lot, but when that vein makes an appearance is when she really means it, when she's truly happy. I can come up with some dialogue about it, but I can't make it happen the way I see it in my head.

Sam sits in the passenger's seat on the way home from the hospital after a code. Her partner prattles on about it, about how well it went, and he makes some gallows humor sort of jokes. But she doesn't listen, she just stares out the window and tunes him out as she watches the houses fly by the window.

Sam calls her mom after a bad call. I want you to hear it in her voice...the message behind her words. I want you to see the way she hesitates when she dials the number, unsure of whether to bring her burdens to someone else, or if she should just deal with her demons herself.

I want you to see the way Sam sits up in bed, soaked in sweat, fear in her eyes. She's having that nightmare again, and she rocks herself back and forth as she slams her eyes shut. I want you to see the hair matted to her face, the blood rushing to her cheeks. I can write it all I want, but it never comes out the way I see it.

I want to see the pain in her eyes. I want to see the physical interaction between Sam and Drew that I can't write, the inflection in the voices I can't verbalize. When Sam corrects people that call her Samantha, I can hear how she says it. "It's Sam," she says as she holds out her hand as if to stop them. I can hear it, and you can too, but you can't hear it the way I do.

It's frustrating.

I see an image in my head, now, I don't think of words. I'm writing the image, and it's not going the way I want.

Maybe that's why I don't have so many Sam posts as of late. Janice is easy for me to write. I feel a part of myself in Janice, but she is easy to disconnect from; she isn't much like me.

Sam is my hero. Sam is the girl I wish I could be. She impresses me, she humbles me, and she aggravates the shit out of me. I want to shake her sometimes for various reasons, none of them I can really verbalize here.

But the thought of letting Sam down kills me. It doesn't have to do with letting myself down, really, it has to do with the idea of not doing the character of Sam justice.

I want to film Sam. I want to have dramatic lighting, and I want sound to play a huge part in it. I want you to be able to see the way the red lights get trapped in the fog, and I want you to be able to see it bouncing back off her face, bringing color to her pale skin.

But I can't.

So I apologize if Sam is a little absent right now. I need to drop this visual obsession and focus on the words. Maybe she'll come back to me. No, she will come back to me. She's too strong of a character not to.

So that's a little glimpse into my ridiculous mind that you didn't ask for or really need. But I felt the need to explain myself a bit? I may have just needed to explain that to myself, actually.

Thoughts?

--The Author.
[I feel weird signing it "Sam," tonight, haha.]

My Brain is Following Me

2008-06-29T20:21:00.003-04:00

Epi and I always have the best conversations online. We crack each other up, and we probably shouldn't be allowed to talk to one another for more than ten minutes at a time. This is why:

Epi: I dont talk to him, no worries.
Me: haha that's probably for the better
Me: damn
Me: I almost typed butter
Me: my fingers are failing me haha
Epi: my brain is following me.
Epi: failing
Epi: LMAO
Me: hahahaaa awwww!
Me: I'm sorry, can i PLEASE put that in my blog!?
Me: I literally snort laughed
Epi: by all means.
Epi: LOL

We are seriously wrong in the head.

EMS Couples

2008-06-29T14:33:00.003-04:00

The theme of this week's NSR is about relationships EMS providers have with those who are either other types of healthcare workers, family, friends, etc. I've sort of written a post about it before when I wrote a letter to my Favorite ER Nurse. I thought about what I was going to write for a long time, and couldn't think of anything. So, without further ado, I present you with a deviation from the topic.

I have three jobs. I get paid for two of them, but I have three jobs. I'm a private transport EMT, I'm an ER tech, and I'm a 911 EMT. At the present time in my life, I am surrounded by more EMS providers than I am anyone else. It's a blessing: EMS workers understand each other better than most, and our sick senses of humor keep me incredibly entertained. It's a curse: I'm a nineteen year old college girl; I date.

And, who do people date? Coworkers, classmates, friends, etc. When you're surrounded by a certain type of people more than a different type of people...well, put two and two together.

I've dated a lot of EMS types. I haven't been in relationships with a lot, but I've definitely dated more than my fair share. And the relationships between EMS personnel are very...interesting.

So I suppose my question is this: Why do people who understand one another so well do so terribly as a couple?

I have theories. Are you surprised?

There are good things. There are lots of good things, actually, but here are my top two.

If I'm dating an EMT, he's going to understand when I get called in for an extra shift. It's normal, it happens, and it's my duty to go in if I can. Dates be damned, I've got lives to save.

EMTs understand my feelings (for the most part) about certain things. If I come back from a tough call, he's not going to question why I'm so upset or why it bothers me so much. When I tell other friends, I have to explain things in detail before I can get to the "why I'm so upset" part.

But why don't we work, then?

Drama. There is SO much drama, I've found, within EMS organizations. At my private job, there are probably five or six couples. Everyone knows their business, everyone knows their relationships. I don't know about you, but I don't like coming to work and hearing about what I did last night, with whom, where, etc.

Time. You see each other all the time. You have no time to yourself if you see them at work and after work. I love spending time with people I care about. But sometimes, I need to be able to just come home, take a nap, read a book, spend some time with myself. Especially since I love to write and I need to be able to sit down for some extended periods of time to think and write.

Feelings. If I come off of a tough call, and I feel bad, most times they're going to understand. But if for some reason it bothers me more than it "should," they aren't going to make me feel very good when they question said feelings. It's happened more times than I'd like to admit.

Protocol. This is especially true if you work at different stations. I come off of a call, I talk to my boyfriend, tell him about it.
"And then we backboarded him and he was complaining about his arm, so I cut his clothes off and..."
"You didn't cut them off before you put him on the board?"
"No, we were..."
"Well that was dumb. If I had been there, I would have cut them off first."
"You don't understand, you weren't there."
"I'm just saying."
OR
"So then we did XYZ..."
"Why did you do it like that!?"
"It's protocol here."
"That's ridiculous. At my station, we do ABC."
Gah! You can't help but compare yourself and your skills to your partner, but sometimes those comparisons are better left in your own head...

I haven't made it work with a firefighter, EMT, or any other medical provider for that matter. Inevitably, it is something from our jobs that interferes with the relationship (even though there's usually more to it than that). And then you're stuck with them at work, and all you can think about is the stuff from the past. If you're lucky, you can both work past it and go back to being friends, but good GOD it's difficult.

While this has all been the case for me in the past, I have this terribly fear that an EMS provider is the only one I can ever be happy with, because I've had a worse time not being understood by "normal" people. It's this terrible cycle that I don't know what to do with at all.

What are your thoughts on the subject? Have you had a similar experience either as an EMS provider or otherwise? Advice? Words of wisdom?

Sorry that this entry is a bit scattered...very long day at two of the three jobs yesterday!

Take care out there!
Sam

Janice (pt. 4)

2008-06-27T22:33:00.003-04:00

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Taco Bell was glorious. It was in the middle of downtown, and at 9pm, it was a little strange to see a woman walking in to eat by herself in an evening gown. But then again, the patrons of this town had seen stranger for sure.

She sat down, ate her steak quesadilla with cinnamon twists, stood up, and left. The whole affair took little more than ten minutes, but in those ten minutes, she felt more alive than she ever had. All eyes were on her, and even though it was because she was so out of place, it was the first time she had really been the center of attention at all.

She had that plain beauty that doesn't dazzle but doesn't disappoint. Her smile could brighten a room, but you had to be paying attention to notice it at all. Throughout college she had been that girl that everyone knew of but nobody really knew. She guessed it was only Marcus, her former husband, who had ever noticed her.

As she drove home, she thought about how they met. It was a crowed party with a couple of kegs, and she had only come along because her friends needed a designated driver. She didn't drink, so she agreed, but she felt so awkward standing in this stranger's house in the middle of winter.

She wore jeans and a turtleneck while her friends wore mini-skirts and tank tops. She didn't dress for style or beauty, she dressed for practicality. It was cold, so she dressed warmly. It made sense to her, but she thought that somehow the rest of the female population had missed that memo.

His eyes had that sparkle where he didn't have to say a word and she felt beautiful. She hadn't even spoken to him, but she already felt like she knew him for years. Catching him staring, she glanced at her feet as a heavy blush danced its way across her face.

"I really like your sweater," he had said as he approached smoothly; she had barely noticed his presence.
"Oh, um, thank you," she muttered as she stared at her friends and their outfits.
"Don't worry," he said as if he read her mind, "you look far more beautiful than they do."
"What?"
"That skirt screams, 'I'm easy.' Your sweater whispers, 'I'm smart, interesting and beautiful; talk to me.'"

Already, she was taken. He didn't drink either; he was a biology major as well, and he loved animals. They spoke extensively about religion and music, and when he spoke, she listened to every intonation of his voice.

"'Tis man's perdition to be safe,
When for the truth he ought to die," he said as he spoke of religion.
"Emerson?"
"Well, yes," he replied a bit stunned, "how did you know?"
"I love poetry."

It went from there. They went out to dinner the next night, and less than a week later, they were an item. She loved the way being with him got her noticed. He was significantly more attractive than she was (or so she thought), and he was outgoing and influential on the campus. She met new people when she was with him--new people that actually listened when she joined the conversation.

They had been dating for months, when she called him one day.
"I need you to come over now."
"Why?"
"Just do it."

And with that, their relationship would be forever changed.

In her hand, she held three pregnancy tests. Dark pink lines taunted them from each one, and he didn't say anything other than "are you sure."

She laughed, but he didn't understand why. Was she sure!? It wasn't like she woke up, thought "hm, I'm pregnant," put her hand on her stomach and said, "yep, sure am." She hadn't made the discovery, the tests had. Each one of the tests was sure. It didn't matter if she was.

He was surprisingly excited about it. He brought her flowers one day while she was on her way to class. The next week, he took her out to dinner just for fun. He'd sit on the couch watching TV with her, and he'd put his head on her stomach, and talk to the baby inside.

One day, he came to her with a very concerned look on his face.
"Marcus, what is it?"
"I've been thinking."
"Well shit," she said, although she had meant to think it.
"I love you very much."
"I know, I love you too."
"I love this baby."
"I um," she stuttered, "me too."
"And I can't be content with this situation the way it is."
"Me t--wait, what?"
"Janice," he said grabbing her hands passionately, "will you marry me?"

She didn't have to think. The "yes" flew out of her mouth as the tears ran down her cheeks.

And the next weekend, they eloped.

She stopped going to college in the middle of her Junior year's Spring term. She was only 3 months pregnant, but she was too sick to make it out of bed most days. Marcus stayed enrolled because they figured one of them would need a degree and a real job once the baby was born.

They moved into a small apartment, and he took care of her as if she were a sick puppy he had found on the side of the road. Always thinking ahead, anticipating her needs, buying her nausea medication, or running out late at night for some food. He was the perfect husband, the perfect father-to-be.

Perfect, that is, until the bleeding started.

"I'm fine," she'd say as he paced around panicking.
"No, you're not."
"It's just a little blood."
"We're going," he glared at her, "now."

So at 3 in the morning, he took her to the emergency room, where the first year resident tripped over his words as he said, "miscarriage."

Janice (pt. 3)

2008-06-26T20:23:00.002-04:00

Part 1
Part 2

When Janice came home, she took her shoes off at the door like she always did. She glanced over at the rack where she neatly placed them every day for the past numberless years. She looked at the shoes she held in her hands, glanced back at the rack and smiled as she tossed them carelessly on the floor. Their heels smacked together satisfyingly as they fell, and she paid them little mind as her cat trotted into the room.

"Sanka," she cooed as she petted him gently, "things are about to change around here, sweetie. Yes they are!" She thought back to her former husband and how he laughed at her when she named the cat.
"Sanka? Like the coffee?"
"Yes, I think it has a nice ring to it."
"I think you're bat-shit insane for naming a cat after a coffee, but whatever, it's your cat."
She scratched him behind the ears an extra time, the sting of the memory manifesting itself as a burning pressure in her eyes.

She looked at the clock, and saw it flashing back at her; the house had lost power earlier, apparently. She started to reset it, but then hesitated. Instead, she reached behind it and yanked the cord from the wall. She took off her wristwatch and put it in one of the many drawers in the kitchen.
"There," she said to herself, "who needs to be kept on schedule by a tiny machine? Not me."

She trudged up the stairs and carefully peeled off the layers of her work day, hanging them up in the color coordinated closet. Standing in her Playtex 18-hour bra and half-slip, she sighed. She thought for a moment, and her face lifted as she remembered the back of her closet. She dug deep and pulled out a low-cut black dress. It was heavily padded in the shoulders and had a few too many sequins dating it to the mid 1980s, but she knew it would fit. She had always been built pretty big, but she hadn't gained more than 5 pounds in the past 30 years. She prided herself on that.

Finding her scissors, she cut out the shoulder pads and slid it on gracefully. Her sturdy work bra stuck up from the neckline like a sore thumb. She went to the back of her bottom drawer and pulled out a black push-up that she hadn't worn since the day she interviewed for her promotion. She chuckled a bit as she wrapped it around her chest and smiled, admiring her figure in the mirror.

A figure. She had forgotten she had one.

She was pulled from her trance by Sanka, mewing up at her while pawing at the dress in her hand.
"I told you there'd be changes," she said as she slipped it over her head.
Looking at the zipper in the back, she sighed as her mind flashed back to her first anniversary dinner.

"Honey?"
"Mmhmm?"
"Can you help me zip this?"
"Do I have to," he asked with a playful grin, "Can't we just stay in?"
"Noooo," she giggled as she wriggled free from his arms.
"Fine, fine, I'll get it."

She slid the zipper up easily and looked at herself from all angles. Perfect.

Pulling on her best heels, she grabbed the phone. She was about to dial the 909 Club, one of the fanciest restaurants in town, but then she set it back down in its cradle. She headed for the door, petting Sanka one more time as she jingled her keys happily.

She started the car, put it in first, and headed for Taco Bell.

Miscellaneous Stuff, per usual

2008-06-25T19:02:00.002-04:00

I have a lot more to do with Janice. She's definitely not done yet.

On a side note, to he who suggested that Janice is me in some way, yeah, sure. Every character I create has parts of me, every situation I describe somehow has to do with one I've been in (even in the most cursory ways, or perhaps only in a dream). Obviously, if it comes from my head, it has a part of me in it. For instance, I drive stick-shift. But every character I write (even Sam) isn't me. If I were to write about myself, it would most likely be a diary. I guess I just get a little upset when people automatically assume that a main character is me, or a disguised version of me.

Wow, rant much?

I started writing this entry to say that although I have a lot more to do for Janice, and I need to finish "Magic Touch," I cannot possibly do it right now. Final day of orientation was today (did I really need 4 hours of instruction on how to do glucoses, hemoccults, gastroccults, and urine pregs? No. I've worked in a doctor's office for a long time now, it's all gravy. Incidentally the iStat machine is probably the coolest thing ever. Bedside lab results in <2 minutes!), and I start for real on Monday. I'm back to the transport job tomorrow (and Friday), and...yeah.

So as soon as I get enough time to breathe a little, I'll finish up these stories :) Thanks so much for your feedback and support. As always, you all never cease to amaze me in your kindness.

Take care out there,
Sam

p.s.--Just because you don't put your name on an anonymous comment doesn't mean it's anonymous. Keep that in mind.

p.p.s.--Drew is coming back one weekend in early July to run with us at the station. Yay! I can't wait to have some canon characters back in my posts :P

Janice (pt. 2)

2008-06-24T16:06:00.003-04:00

Thanks a lot guys for commenting on the last post! I spent all day thinking about Janice, and decided what I'm going to do with her. I hope it doesn't let you down!"

On her way home from work, Janice thought about her cat. She liked to think about going home rather than the work she had to do tomorrow, because she had decided at an early age that she wouldn't bring work home with her.

She passed the same buildings she had passed for years, and as she shifted out of gear to stop for the red light, she noticed something new. Far in the distance, something reflected the sun back in her eyes. She peered at it curiously but couldn't quite make it out. Changing lanes to approach it faster, she realized it was just some graffiti written in silver spray paint.

But before she could write it off, she saw that it wasn't the usual "TITS!" or "Steve Wuz Here!" that she normally saw. The building was covered in colorful writings, but this one stood out. She didn't know why, though, there was nothing special about it. In simple, plain print, someone had written, "Nothing is as I planned it."

She laughed and nodded her head in agreement. "You and me both," she said aloud and switched on the radio. Singing along loudly to "Wanted Dead or Alive," she put it out of her mind. It was back to her cat and his upcoming vet appointment.

For the next few days on her way to and from work, she passed the scrawled message. She looked at it each time, and each time she gripped the wheel tighter as she thought about her own life. But after she'd pass it, her mind would go back to whatever it was on before, and she went on with her day at work or her evening at home.

Thursday night, as she made her late commute home, there was an addendum to the message. "Take this as a sign," was added underneath the original thought, only this one was bright orange. It leaped from the wall into the forefront of her mind and refused to leave. The wall seemed to be speaking to her. This was her wall with her sign, and although she felt silly for thinking it, she knew something had to happen.

It was that Thursday night that Janice decided to change her life.

Janice

2008-06-23T22:59:00.003-04:00

This is something I started working on during orientation today. I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with it, but please let me know if you like it and if I should develop it further?

Her originality was store bought. She was one of those women who wore styles straight off the mannequins, hanging them accordingly in her closet. Her body didn't look particularly good in any of it, but she didn't have the time to shop for her shape.

She had big southern hair. When she moved, it didn't, and that telltale smell of hairspray became part of her signature scent. A Walmart version of Chanel No.5 with an overwhelming top note of AquaNet--a southern staple.

Her cheekbones were highlighted intensely by makeup every day so she didn't have to smile so hard every day. It was a trick she learned years ago in an effort to save her skin from the wrinkles that threatened her every day. She thought it made her stand out, but really, all it did was make her blend in with the rest of the once southern belles at the office.

She tried to be different. She didn't listen to country or Christian rock, gossip about her colleagues or even go to church. She didn't have children, but she knew that if she did, she wouldn't push them to be in pageants or to be the most popular. She was prom queen, but she thinks it was because of pity, not of merit.

But she did things that were all too normal. She drank sweet tea, talked in a thick Carolina accent, called people "sugar," or "honey," and could never help herself from the cakes and treats in the break room.

Try as she might, she couldn't be who she wanted. She wanted to be Janice the singer, Janice the woman everyone came to, Janice the beauty that men couldn't resist. But she wasn't. She was Janice from corporate who went home at five in the afternoon to an empty house. She was Janice the nobody, except to her cat who depended on her for life. She figured that was something at least.

This part of the story is the worst and kind of depresses me. It gets happier, I promise, but for now I can't write any more of it. What do you think? Is it intriguing, boring, interesting, write-off-able? Please let me know!

--Sam

Orientation Day 1

2008-06-23T18:35:00.003-04:00

Well, somehow or another, I managed to make it through Office Space-style orientation hell (complete with icebreakers, slideshows, cutesie sayings and slogans, and .gif animations) at the hospital.

Best quote of the day would have to be:
"Now I know that some of this may seem repetitive. It's not. We just need to repeat it to get a point across."
Last time I checked, that fit the definition of "repetitive" pretty darn well.

And, via text:
Me: "If someone tells me that the pt comes first one more time...god"
Witness: "Oh, patients come first?!"
Me: "I mean, i guess...news to me!"
Witness: "Sheesh, I thought lunch and whatever I wanted was number one."
Me: "Nah, that's EMS ;)"
Witness: "Fire."
Me: "Oo yeah"

Thank goodness for friends who keep me entertained during breaks :P It was especially good because I was sitting next to a firefighter who leaned over to me and said, "I'm not used to this 'patients come first' stuff...I'm a firefighter." Love it.

Next I get to learn how to lift and move patients! Yipee! At least I know now that I'm not cut out for the corporate world.

H'anyway. I'm currently wrapped up in Twilight. It's awesome. I seriously have a hard time putting it down. So I apologize if my posts are a little scattered between now and the time I finish it!

And if you haven't looked already, please check out Normal Sinus! There are two late additions to this week's post as of an hour ago :) Let us know if you have any ideas for themes!

Take care out there,
Sam

NSR

2008-06-23T01:42:00.002-04:00

This is a shameless promotion of the new blogging project that is slowly taking shape, Normal Sinus Rhythm.

There is Change of Shift for nurses, Grand Rounds for doctors, and now there's Normal Sinus for EMS personnel.

This is the first week that it's been done, and it's been quite a project. As of right now, we have several writers who have agreed to be a part of it, and we look forward to a week where all are able to contribute. Some weeks will have themes, whereas others (such as this week) will not.

Please, go give it a look, leave a comment, and check out the entries if you have the time. If you have any theme suggestions, please feel free to leave a comment on the entry and we'll work to make sure they happen one week!

Thanks so much to Epi, who is amazing even if she denies it, and to all the writers who have contributed this week and will in weeks to come. Look for an email in your inboxes soon with this week's theme, guys!

Take care out there,
Sam

p.s.--Thank you all so much for the well-wishes, prayers, and generally good vibes you've sent my way. I feel much better, and I'm prepared for the working week ahead of me! It means so much to me, though, that you all stopped by to wish me good luck and a speedy recovery. Thanks again, guys!

Tongues

2008-06-22T13:03:00.002-04:00

This post is part of this week's Normal Sinus Rhythm, a blog similar to Change of Shift or Grand Rounds. Go check out the other bloggers and leave a comment if you have the time!

She tries to speak, but she's slurring her words. What she wants to tell me is that she took the sleeping pills on purpose because her husband doesn't love her anymore. She told me this earlier, when her speech was clearer, but she feels the need to reiterate, even though her mouth can't shape the vowels and her tongue can't add the necessary staccato to the consonants. They stick in her mouth and I'm reminded of myself as a toddler, my own mouth heavy with impediment.

Sitting next to her on the bench seat, I watch her tongue. It flaps pathetically in her mouth, trying to remember the form it should take, but failing. It flickers up and down like a tiny flame in the breeze. I get lost in its movements, willing it to take shape and tell me she's okay, that it was all just a big joke, that she could run a marathon now.

But instead, I look on helplessly as her tongue gives up, making one final movement. It slips back into her cavernous mouth for the last time, and she closes her eyes.

His tongue is lying on his cheek when we arrive, his eyes glassy and pointed at the ceiling. He's not breathing and he has no pulse.
"One and two and three and four and," I hear my partner say as he starts CPR. The tongue moves with each life-saving thump he receives. Moving his tongue, I insert an oral adjunct to keep his airway open as I breathe for him.

An ALS provider comes up behind me with laryngoscope in hand. He bends the stylet to his preference, and I move as he attempts the tube. He sweeps the man's tongue out of the way, as it has become nothing but a hindrance to him. After the tube is secured, no one thinks of his tongue any more.

We load our dialysis patient into the back carefully, making sure her arms are secured to each other to keep them from falling off the stretcher. She has had dementia for years now, and I wonder if she even knows of her own existence anymore.

Her mouth stays open, her tongue pushed perpetually forward. I always talk to her on these runs. She might not be able to hear me, but it's her tongue that compels me to do so. I watch it as I speak, thinking that maybe if it twitches just a bit, somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind she's trying to answer me. It falls out of her mouth a little bit more, and I pause, waiting for a response. It never comes, so I sigh and push myself back further on the bench like I always do. That stupid tongue.

He can't be more than three months old. As he wails, his tongue stays perfectly in the middle of his mouth, flapping as the pitch of his screams change. His mother looks panicked, but I explain to her that crying is a good sign. A screaming baby is the only kind I like on my ambulance. I watch that little tongue form its perfect shapes and smile as I get him a teddy bear.

His eyes shift into a look of curiosity, and he licks his lips, cooing as he paws at it. His mouth falls open and his tongue sits motionless within his mouth as he explores the feel of the bear's fur as compared to its beady glass eyes. His tongue contorts as he pulls on the tiny ears, and the screaming returns.

Hiatus (pt. 2)

2008-06-22T02:43:00.002-04:00

Turns out I have a concussion and the doc expects me to be post-concussive for at least a week, if not two. I didn't get a CT the first time around in the ED, so when I spent the day vomiting, feeling nauseated, sleepy and dizzy, Dr. Dad had me report straight back there.

I'll be writing for sure, but I apologize if parts of it don't make very good sense. Feel free to point those bits out to me (like when Anni noticed that I called "Magic Touch" "Magic Fingers" by accident...I rule!).

Take care out there,
Sam

p.s.--We managed to get hit twice in one night because a car hit us from behind and then a car hit them, hitting us again in turn. Or at least, that's how I understand it to have happened. Anni said she'd get me some pictures of the car to post...but don't be disappointed if it's not the large-scale decimation we all have come to know (and love?) at MVAs ;)

(Very, Very Brief) Hiatus

2008-06-20T10:10:00.003-04:00

Anni and I were hit from behind twice last night in the pouring rain while driving back to my place. My smart self turned around after the first collision, and when we were hit again, I smacked my head on the plastic seat-belt holder thing and then the passenger's side window.

Everyone is fine, but I have a script for Vicodin and Flexoril, so I'm pretty sure that anything I have to say is going to be ridiculous.

I'm going to finish up the second part to "Magic Touch," (especially since it's the exciting part!), but it might not be until tomorrow or maybe (maaaaybe) Sunday.

In the mean time, you can tell me how suuuuper attractive c-collars make a girl.

Stay safe out there,
Sam

Magic Touch (pt. 1)

2008-06-19T01:48:00.004-04:00

"We're not going to get anything life changing, like a cardiac arrest," I say to Anni as we get in the car.
"You never know. I haven't done any of this stuff before, so basically anything I get to see will be cool."
"No, I know, but it would be really neat to show you something intense."
"Really, anything will be awesome."

We drive to the rescue squad, rocking out to Panic! At the Disco and The Spill Canvas on our way. When we get there, we start checking off a medic, and I show her everything.
"This is a combitube," I say as I point out the various parts, "and this is suction tubing."
"Uh-huh."
"Ooo, these are the IV boxes, and these are the drug boxes," I announce as I pull them out respectively.
"Oh cool."
"And this is the jump bag!"
"Oh...what's it do?"
"Um...we just kinda carry it inside with us and use the stuff inside of it."
"Awesome."

As we finish checking it off, the tones drop. It's abdominal pain, and it's our all time favorite frequent flier. I don't try to conceal my hatred for her blatant abuse of the system, and I can see Anni trying to hold back some laughter as I say, "so let me get this straight: nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, chest pain, shortness of breath, and dizzyness?" Anni and I both scoff when the patient says, "if I say I have chest pain, they won't put me in the waiting room, right?" I make sure to tell the hospital that this one can go straight to triage when I call.

We come back to the station, and eat dinner, fully expecting to sit around doing nothing for the rest of the night. For the most part, we're right.

There are a few uneventful fire alarms, but I shrug them off.

We watch a show about crime scene cleaners, and a woman who works at the body farm.
"I could never do that job," Anni says.
"Why?"
"Dead bodies in advanced decomposition? No thanks."
"Doesn't seem too bad to me," Steve says laughing.
"Yeah, but that's like...what you guys do."
"True."

The tones drop, jerking me from my half-hearted attempt at sleep.
"Station 1, possible DOA."
"No," Anni says shaking her head before I can even say anything, "this is all you."

In the medic, we hear that a member from another station is first responding. Soon, we hear that CPR is in progress and that this is a full arrest. I remind myself of our protocols, and crack my knuckles weakly. I'm ready.

How Does It Feel?

2008-06-18T02:19:00.001-04:00

Hundreds of bodies tap out their own unique rhythm, a hundred different beats that each match up perfectly with the original. Heat rises up from my bare shoulders and joins that from the rest of the crowd. The girl next to me has never heard this band before, but she moves as energetically as I do, and I've loved them for years.

The guitarist pauses and looks me right in the eyes.
"How does it feel to know you're everything I need?
The butterflies in my stomach
They could bring me to my knees."

He harmonizes perfectly, his gaze never leaving mine. The same girl beside me screams obnoxiously, reaching her hands out to him. He acknowledges her briefly and catches my eye again.
"How does it feel when we get locked into a stare?"

There's no one else around me. I'm all alone, caught in his gaze. My hair is blown back from my shoulders by some invisible wind, and goosebumps race down my arms. His hands leave the guitar, and the music stops. My heart beats loudly in my ears and my hands feel heavy.
"If I had to choose a way to die,
It'd be with you
In a goosebump infested embrace
With my overanxious hands cupping your face."

The vocalist starting in again seems to shock us both, and I stare at my feet, a bit embarrassed.

"How does it feel?"

Amazing.

Terrified

2008-06-14T19:19:00.003-04:00

I step out on to the balcony with Joe Connelly's Bringing Out The Dead and a can of diet coke in hand. The sky is hazy and the air is thick. For a moment I think it's because it's hot outside, but I inhale and realize what's wrong.

The smoke from the wildfire in North Carolina which is burning 40,000 acres is hanging heavy in the air. I look across the street and realize I can't see much. It's as if there is fog, only the smell permeates everything around it. I'm brought back to my first structure fire, as the smell surrounds me.

I close my eyes and think of the firefighters, the flames leaping high above the tree line. I hear the noise as trees buckle and fall, as fire eats away at the land. People are screaming orders through the dark skies punctuated by orange light.

I open my eyes and look inside through the glass door. Images of the wildfires in California flash across the TV screen in the living room and I sigh, even though I can't hear the commentary.

I take a deep breath and cough, my eyes burning from the smoke. Sirens sound all around me, bouncing off of the buildings and echoing as they lose volume. A child screams, and dogs bark. A car alarm goes off below me, and another starts a few blocks away.

I wrap my arms around myself and close my eyes tightly. I breathe slowly and close my book, tucking it under an arm. I come back inside and the smell lingers in my clothes. I shut the door and press my back against the glass.

The world is coming apart at the seams and I can't blame it. I slam my eyes shut again. As another siren carries on angrily, I lower the blinds. I am absolutely terrified.

Attached

2008-06-14T13:52:00.003-04:00

I show up to my first day of work wearing a tank top, my BDUs and work boots. My hair is pulled back in a tight bun and I keep dropping my keys as I walk up to the door.
"Chill the hell out," I remind myself quietly.

As soon as I show up, I'm handed a shirt.
"Sorry it's a little big," the dispatcher says, "we haven't gotten new ones in yet."
"Oh, no worries, it's just a medium, I'm sure it'll fit."
I pull it over my head and it hits me somewhere at mid-thigh level.
"Oh," I say softly as I look down at myself. I look ridiculous.

I'm taken to meet my coworkers, and I feel the eyes on me. It's like the first day of school; I want to disappear into the cracks of the floor. The girls I'll be running with introduce themselves, and I recognize one of them from an EMT class that was taught at my station.

"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"It's me, Alyssa, from the EMT class! I took it with Olivia." I remember her very well, and I smile, feeling a little better.
"Guys," she announces to the room, "this is Sam, she basically taught my EMT class." She's not kidding; one of their two teachers was a little...interesting, and wasn't much of a teacher. I came in a lot to help out with practicals, but I didn't realize what an impact I had made. I blush and look down at my feet sheepishly.

They show me the medic and how they check it off and then it's off to our first run of the day. We walk into the dialysis center and I'm aware of how absolutely horrid I look. I stare at the ground the entire time and only look up when we're lifting our patient.

A nurse approaches and looks at me.
"Do you guys take Vinny?"
"Uh...I'm..."
"Yeah, we take him, why?" I'm so glad to see Alyssa has stepped in and saved me from having to answer.
"During surgery yesterday he coded on the table. They brought him back, but he died last night." There's a palpable silence; it's stifling and the awkwardness I had been feeling is increased tenfold.
"Oh," she says.

We leave with our patient, and after dropping her off, the two girls sit on the back of the ambulance.
"I can't believe he died."
"Yeah, he was so young. Sam, this guy was 30, full of life. He didn't even go in for some life-changing surgery, he just had to get his shoulder worked on."
"Wow, that's really rough," I say strangely.
"He was just so funny," the other girl says.
"I remember last time I took him, he rode up front with me and made my partner sit in the back. He was such a riot."

The girls continue to reminisce, and they even cry a little bit. I panic slightly. I am an incredibly emotional girl, and knowing that most of my patients are terminal scares me, because the thought of losing them on a constant basis is something I can't deal with.

We make it back to the office, and there's a flier posted about Vinny's funeral. Anyone who wanted to go was going to be allowed to go and take an ambulance. There was a murmur amongst everyone, heads bent to the ground in mock prayer as they shared stories about him.

One of the more attractive guys walks my way and I check out the carpet once again.
"Hey Sam," he says, and I nod sheepishly. He puts his arm around me, shakes his head and says as he motions to our colleagues, "One word of advice--don't get attached."

I already know that's impossible.

Best Company Ever

2008-06-13T07:22:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, I was paired with a big ol' Vietnam Veteran as my partner, who could probably bench press me with ease. He was really funny and a generally great guy to work with.

Then we got an End Stage Renal Disease patient who had an extensive list of previous history: CVA, HTN, DVT, acute chronic cholecystitus, possible asbestos, dyslipidemia, mental disability, etc. Nicest guy in the world, I love taking him. Only problem is that he's pretty big. The only other time I've taken him, I was riding as a third, so we were able to get him no problem.

Well, yesterday VVP and I had to do it alone, which is usually okay. He was surprisingly able to make it over to the stretcher without being sheeted over, but we obviously had to raise the stretcher back up. VVP sort of jumped the gun and started lifting before he said "three," so I had to catch up and strain to keep him from falling.

I didn't really think much of it until last night when I was going to bed. I couldn't get comfortable because of my right shoulder, but I thought it was just tired.

Today, I can't move my arm more than a few degrees up, while my other arm has complete range of motion. So, I call in to work and say, "Hey, it's Sam, I just wanted to let you know that I pulled or strained a muscle in my shoulder. I'm more than happy to come in, I just want to know if I can be put on as a third so I don't have to lift today."

I'm a little nervous, thinking about MedicMarch's experience with his company after hurting himself. But no, my company is fabulous.

His response is, "Don't come in today or tomorrow, we'll replace you both days. All you're going to do is irritate it if you keep working before it's healed. If you keep hurting yourself, then we'll never get you back! In fact, I know you're scheduled to work Wednesday, but I don't want you back here until Thursday at 6, okay? Now go lie down, put some heat on it, and we'll see you next week."

Then the dispatcher picked up the phone and asked if I had pulled a muscle during a "hot date." Oh boy, this company is fabulous.

Now to go find some moist heat to apply...

Take care out there,
Sam

Quote of the Day

2008-06-11T19:07:00.002-04:00

Random EMT: "Man, we picked up this guy today, he was a straight up gangsta."

Me: "How so?"

Random EMT: "HIV, Hep A and B, Shot SIX TIMES in the spine, gang tattoos everywhere, history of heroin and cocaine use, crazy stuff."

Me: "That's pretty intense."

Random EMT: "Yeah, I wanted to like ask him for a war story and write it down in a book or something."

Me: "So why didn't you?"

Random EMT: "Oh, because he couldn't talk. Probably has to do with being shot in the spine six times."

It's official. I love my job, I love [most of] the people that work there, and I love the workout I get every day. Not to mention that the battle wounds I get are pretty sexy (they so get me the guys...) and I get a lot to write about (soon, I promise).

Take care out there,
Sam

Second Day

2008-06-09T21:27:00.002-04:00

By day 2, I am a warrior. I got this hugenormous bruise thanks to a combative diabetic patient with a blood glucose of 37.

Okay, so I actually just slammed it into the corner of a shelving unit while trying to close the door. But doesn't it sound cooler the first time around?

In other news, I work 60 hours this week, so it'll be pretty interesting to see what it's like going from not working at all to working super heavy hours. Yay productivity!

First Day

2008-06-07T20:03:00.003-04:00

I started my job at the podunk transport company today. I was late, because I set my alarm for 4:30pm, not am. I am a winner, clearly.

I have a whole post planned about today, but I am just WAY too tired to even process words correctly.

Negatives:
My GIGANTIC uniform shirt (no, like...this "medium" is eating me whole).
It's 40 minutes away from where I am now, 30 from my future apartment.
Ghetto units. Mismatched equipment, etc.

Positives:
Good pay
Good people
I'm learning a lot already
Weekly paycheck (yessss)
Very forgiving
Good perks (not benefits)
Good workout every day I'm on shift
Flexible company
Easy paperwork

Sooo yeah, I'll have those two other posts up soon I hope. I'm just so wiped right now; I'm too tired to sleep. My body just won't relax. It was a billion and one degrees today; I probably sweat out half my body weight. The AC broke on one of the units, and another had messed up brakes. I had a great partner today, though, and I go back on Monday.

I still need to hear back from the ER as to when they want me to start...

Take care out there,
Sam

p.s.--Thanks for your comments on the pictures post! You all flatter me. Oh, and Eric, you actually do look presentable in that picture ;) See, aren't you glad I forced you into it?

p.s.s--Keep in mind that this is after I shrunk it. This thing is gigantic, and until they get some smalls or extra smalls, this is what I'm stuck with. And in 90+ degree weather and navy BDUs, this is not exactly the best shirt to be in...not to mention that I look ridiculous.

The Party

2008-06-06T12:36:00.002-04:00

Scott asked if I could post the story I wrote on here. I haven't reread it in years, so it's still a little rough.
Thanks, Mr.Mirabella for encouraging me even years after I was out of your class.
Anyway, here it is, "The Party."

They sat on the couch uncomfortably while the party carried on around them. Cake was being cut, presents unwrapped, but the two just sat, removed from the whole ordeal. She sat on his left, nervously stroking his arm, looking into his wandering eyes for some semblance of emotion. All she found was him looking at other girls who walked by. She was mad but didn’t know why—they weren’t even dating. He caught her staring and kissed her lightly, letting out a little sigh of obligation. He didn’t even close his eyes. She knew it was a half-hearted attempt to please her, but she accepted it like usual—at least he noticed.

A few minutes passed and the enormous silence between them grew despite the loud, raging party. He stood up and she followed him closely, eager to satisfy in her subservient way. He pushed open the door, letting the cold rush in the cheerful house as he possessively wrapped his arm around her, letting his nails dig into her skin slightly. As he unlocked the car door she shivered, but she wasn’t cold. He opened the door for her and it was almost chivalrous—except for the way that he pushed her in.

The leather was cold, the windows were foggy and the air was silent. He knew that she didn’t want this, but she knew that he did. So she appeased him in a last-ditch effort to salvage what she thought was a relationship.

A few minutes later he pushed open the door and told her to go back inside. He said he’d come in after he had smoked a cigarette. Her weak smile showed him that she believed what he said, but as she disappeared, her face fell.

Thirty minutes passed with no sign of him. She looked outside and saw that his car was gone. Suddenly she understood and felt utterly alone, despite the number of party guests with her.

In Memory

2008-06-05T21:54:00.002-04:00

Stephen Mirabella (who will always be Mr. Mirabella to me), you will be missed more than I think you could ever understand. In fifth grade, you changed my life. In fact, I am certain that if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be a creative writing major, I wouldn't be writing a book, and I wouldn't have made it through middle school alive. You are one of the few people I can say truly changed me in a real, tangible way, and for that I am grateful beyond belief.

You taught me more than English. Although I remember vividly your lectures on Richard Cory and The Lord of the Flies, there was always more to your classes. You taught me about life and the lessons we learn all throughout it. You were one of my biggest sources of comfort all those years, and one of the few people outside my family I felt comfortable talking to.

You told us in 6th grade that you were writing a book that would be dedicated to our class. I don't know if you ever did, but the first book I publish will be in your memory. It only seems right, even though you won't know.

You read the first short story I ever wrote, "The Party." I was 17 years old, and we were talking at my graduation party. Even with all my friends and family around, I ran out to the car to get a copy of the story. You were glowing after you read it, and you said, "You write that book." I kind of blushed, but you stopped smiling, looked me square in the eyes and said, "you write that book. You're going to change the world with your writing, and I'll be able to say that 'I knew you when...'"

Thank you, Mr. Mirabella, for everything you have done for me and everyone else who was fortunate enough to know you. I hope one day I can pass on what you taught me.

Pictures

2008-06-04T17:51:00.009-04:00

We get bored, Jeremie has a camera, fun ensues. The following pictures are all (c)Jeremie Gibbs.

Eric and Me in the bay

My hair suffering from the humidity.

Hamming it up, per usual.

This is the ambulance, folks.

I'm really bad at doing posed radio reports :P

It is seriously too hot to have my hair down.

Oh Jeremie, you always catch me at my...finest.

Hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into our boredom. We've had a lift-assist for a 400+ lbs. woman, and two back to back MVAs (one with minor injuries and one with none). We'll see...I'm still predicting that COPD later tonight. And thanks Gertrude for that wonderful prediction.

Take care,
Sam

Attention All EMS Writers

2008-06-04T15:17:00.002-04:00

Halifax EMS in Halifax, Vermont, is sponsoring a Short Story Contest. There are great prizes for the top three winners.

Go give it a look and submit your story! Entries are due by September 1, 2008. Half the proceeds will go to Halifax's fundraising efforts for equipment and other expenses.

I know a lot of great EMS writers out there, and it would be wonderful to see them published!

Take care out there,
Sam

p.s.--Today, a partner predicts an MVA or a shooting. I predict some sort of COPD issue. Epi has graced us with a prediction of a breach set of twins. Anyone else have any thoughts on the matter?

Things I've Learned

2008-06-03T16:25:00.002-04:00

I've learned a lot on the ambulance that has translated into my daily life. Hell, it probably goes the other way around as well. But in the parking lot of Walmart today, it sort of dawned on me that I should write about them. I don't know who to thank, but I'm grateful for everything I learn and continue to learn.

1.Take Some Time.

You have to take some time to listen. Sometimes, what you hear when you listen gives you clues about what a person is really thinking or feeling (a la "Jill Tracy" from that episode of Scrubs). Sometimes listening is all a person needs to make them feel better. I've found that with geriatric patients, "loneliness" is often their chief complaint, whether they'll admit it or not.

In my real life, I've learned to be more patient as well. Today in the parking lot I was approached by a man collecting money for his church's ministry which is helping put drug addicts in programs. It was legit, and I listened to his spiel. When he was done, I thanked him for what they were doing and said that I didn't have anything I could contribute. He was simply happy that I had taken 15 seconds out of my life to listen to him and take him seriously. It made him feel good, it made me feel good.

2.Everybody Lies.

Okay, so this one isn't as optimistic. I also learned this from House, but didn't really believe him until I got exposure as well. Regardless.
Patients do not tell you the truth. They omit things, they flat out lie, they tell half-truths, etc. I don't think I've ever had a patient be 100% up front and honest about their stuff. People lie for different reasons, and if you can find out why, it can help a lot.

People lie because they are embarrassed. Diarrhea is not something people like to admit they have. Neither is herpes. Letting them know that you're not going to think what they have to say is weird or gross helps a lot.

People lie because they don't want to be treated differently. HIV+ patients often don't admit that they are because they don't want to be thought of as a lesser person. Once again, the whole "I'm a medical professional and I need to know this information so I can take better care of you and protect myself" thing works, along with gently letting them know that their answer won't change how you think of them.
People lie because "you didn't ask." This annoys me to no end. Oh, you're 12 weeks pregnant? Thanks for telling me right as we arrive to the hospital. Glad you didn't need any meds. I've learned to ask the "right" questions. My preceptors told me to ask "story questions," ones that have to be answered with detail, not just "yes" or "no." Lies of omission are the worst, though.

And the last reason I feel like getting into on why people lie is because they are trying to be considerate. On the ambulance, this is white-lies-gone-bad. Yes, my dress looks pretty even though you think it's repulsive. Yes, my new haircut is great. But when I ask you if you're finding any relief from the nitro I just gave you, don't say you are just because you want me to feel like I'm doing you some good. When I ask if you're dizzy after falling and hitting your head, don't say you aren't just because it's 3am and you feel bad that someone called the ambulance. This is my job, this is what I do. You call, we haul. I'll never forget a pregnant patient we had who had lacerated an artery in her right arm while working in the packing plant. I applied pressure and held it over her head the entire way to the hospital. The EMT in charge of that call would ask if she felt better and she'd nod and try to take her hand from me. Finally, she says "I'm so sorry, your arms must be so tired from holding mine." Yeah, they were burning from pain, but I smiled and told her that this was my job, and she shouldn't worry about me.

3.Don't Treat the Machine, Treat the Patient.

You have got to touch your patient to know what's going on with them. For the love of God do not get every pulse from the Pulse Oximeter. Are their pulses equal? Bounding, thready, strong and equal will not show up on the Pulse Ox, just a number. So your patient is satting at 92. Is this normal for them? COPD? Elderly? Not all low readings require oxygen. Likewise, if they're satting at 100 but they're struggling to breathe, why the hell don't you put them on some oxygen?

In my daily life, this has helped too. Just because someone is smiling and saying they are fine doesn't mean that they are. Consider what they've been going through recently. Refer back to point 1 and take time to listen to what they're saying behind the smile.

4.Parents Are Crazy.

And rightfully so. Their child is hurt, sick, etc., and you have shown up to take care of them. Suddenly they look to you to be the one to take their child and become responsible for their wellbeing. But at the same time, they won't relinquish that duty. It's usually a power struggle all the way to the hospital, and sometimes the parents are the ones that need to be taken care of more than the child. Realizing this ahead of time can prepare you for the stress, and save you some of it.

On the other hand, some parents aren't crazy enough. Your child had a seizure for no apparent reason and you sort of just hand him over to us when we show up as you continue watching The Price Is Right? Something's not right here. Your kid was just involved in a high-speed collision, and when you arrive on scene you tell her to "stop crying about it." There are times when I want to take these parents and physically shake them. Then again, I often want to do that with the crazy ones too.

I don't think I have a real-life application for this, other than that I'm sure when I have kids I'll be the same way. But as my family always says when someone mentions me having children, "Not for a long time, God willing."

5.It's All About Respect.

Aretha Franklin wasn't kidding. Respect is something that I want as a medical professional, and it is something I give to my colleagues. Mom always told me that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. I always wondered why you'd want to catch flies in the first place, but that's beside the point. My Partners, my patients, ER Nurses, Doctors, family members--you all get my respect. Yes, even you Favorite ER Nurse get my respect. I hope that in return I will have yours. But once you lose my respect (and it takes a lot to do so), it's probably not coming back anytime soon. But that doesn't mean common courtesy goes out the window; I will still be as polite as I can be; just because I don't respect you doesn't mean I want to piss you off.

Real life? Be nice to the people that serve your food, clean the buildings, and issue tickets. Don't assume one person to be more deserving of your respect than another. Perhaps this is just a personal belief, but I think that every human being has inherent worth and dignity. Every person is basically good, and by looking for the good in a person I can see what is respectable about them. Mom was right about the honey; I've caught a lot of flies thanks to it. But now I'm not really sure what to do with them. (Read: unexpected discounts, free food, verbal warnings [not tickets], and lots of favors that I can call in. I definitely know what to do with all that.)

Okay, so I've written a lot more than I had originally planned. I thought I'd spend one to two sentences on each point, but that's obviously not the case. I'm way too superfluous for my own good. So that's it for now, but I have a few more I'd like to post at a later date. So expect more of Sam's Ramblings on this.

I'd love to hear what you've learned from your life/job/interactions with other people. Leave me a comment or feel free to email me (whygomad@yahoo.com)

Take care out there,
Sam

Baking!?

2008-06-03T06:12:00.003-04:00

Dear Mom, Dad, and everyone else who knows anything about me,
This is just to say that I, Sam Montgomery, made orange cinnamon rolls at 5:30 in the morning. You all know that I usually look like this when I bake:
Well, this morning without prompting, I made myself some rolls. I feel a little bad because I don't have anyone to share them with, but then again, I don't know how much I'd want to share. In any event, feast your eyes on these babies:
That's basically all I have to say about that.

Sincerely,
Sam

p.s.--Sunrise on the balcony is beautiful. Now, I'm not saying I'm becoming a morning person, but I am enjoying being awake in the morning. But I still don't like waking up.

In other news, I have my second interview at a local hospital today for a tech position within their ER. Yesterday, I went to middle-sized transport company for an interview and it went really well. The director said he's making a case to "corporate" to get me on as a driver even though I just recently turned 19. My supposed lift test (150 lbs. on a stretcher, in and out of the ambulance) never happened. So I don't really know what's going on there, but needless to say, I didn't remind him.
In his words, "you got your stuff together, girl!" Best compliment ever, haha!

Dream-Sam

2008-06-01T21:06:00.006-04:00

Even if this Sam is the one who needs saving in her dreams, she shows up a lot cooler in other people's dreams. It's good to know that her dream-Sam is a lot more collected (and has more backup) than my dream-Sam.
(By the way, you should definitely check out her blog. She's a talented girl with some great stories to share. And she's the girl I took under my wing during high school. Check her out and tell her I sent you!)

For those of you who have already commented on that post from earlier this morning, thank you so much for all your kind words. I'm doing okay, but I keep having to remind myself that it didn't actually happen. But it really means a lot to me that you all are here supporting a girl you don't even really know--thank you.

Also, Eric (oh yes, he has a blog), if you wear this for an entire shift I'll buy you dinner. Maybe even two dinners.

Stay safe,
Sam

edit: Epi says "If he wears it for an entire shift and we get photographic proof I'll chip in a dinner as well." You've got at least three dinners here, bud.

This Is Unit 322

2008-06-01T06:24:00.004-04:00

[I know, two posts in such short succession? Forgive me. But after having this dream Friday night(or Saturday afternoon...), I called a good friend of mine to talk about it, and even though he doesn't know it, he inspired me to write this post in order to kind of...sort things out. I woke up from this dream crying, and I was seriously disturbed. I guess there are some things that can really get to you sometimes.
Be forewarned, there is gratuitous use of the word "blood," and some pretty nasty images (even though I edited out some of the really graphic stuff). Just so you know.]

I stand in the wings of the theater with Olivia. It's the black-box, the one I haven't performed in since my first junior year. The audience is level with the stage, and as we head out to perform, I realize I'm in the wrong costume. Olivia looks at me in horror as she notices her own costume, and the director stands up from the crowd.

"Get out of here. Go back home and get your proper costumes. Then I'll let you back on stage," he says angrily, throwing the dog-eared script at his feet.

The disappointment is palpable. I haven't forgotten a line or missed a costume change in so long, but I obviously messed up here. The audience laughs as we walk out the door, and I hope it's at something in the play--not us.

We run home and change, and before I know it, we're biking back to the building on the same bike, the tires having gone flat. Olivia sits strangely on the back of the seat as I try to pedal through flat tires.

The building is massive, one I've never seen in real life. It stands there with marble columns and matching stairs; it reminds me of something from my ancient history text book of sixth grade. "Virginia Institute of Fine Arts and Performance," the placard out front reads, and my subconscious knows no such place exists.

I hear sirens and radio chatter. I look around and see police everywhere.
"Unit 302, central, we need ambulances," one of them says. I look down and see that I'm in uniform for some reason.
"Unit 393, central, there are at least two dead, don't know much else right now."

I jump off the bike which promptly disappears. Gloves appear in my hand, and I pull them on as I run up the stairs. I motion for Liv to follow me, but I never look back.
"I can help, let me help," I say frantically as I turn into the first room I see.

Paintings lay in disarray around the room. Some are ripped and some are simply tipped over. A statue stands stoic in the middle of the room, splattered in blood which runs down to the base. The walls are covered as well, and I move my focus back to the floor. I see two girls slumped over some paintings, staring at me with the same empty gaze. Their deaths are artistic, their hands posed in matching attempts at self-defense, their mouths twisted in horror.

These must be the two they were talking about, I think to myself, watching blood run down the walls.

I turn and run into another room, desperate to help someone. I see no one there, just more blood-covered artwork and walls.

"Unit 322, don't look behind the painting."
I look at the radio in my hand and realize that I am unit 322. No one tells me why I shouldn't look, and I don't bother. I already know it's a girl I went to grade school with, staring at me blankly just like the others.

In another room I find another girl, her eyes pleading for me to help. She's alive, and gasping for air.
"It's okay, I'm here," I say more to myself than her as I turn for my jump bag. I realize I have nothing. No partner, no equipment, nothing. I can't help her like this, and as she goes into arrest, I pathetically try to do compressions, hoping back-up will arrive. When nothing happens, I give up and run back into the hall.

I look for Olivia to help. She's gone. The officers, too, have left. There are no bystanders, no sirens, no noise. There is nothing but me standing in the grand hall, looking into the rooms without doors, seeing nothing but destruction.

"This is Unit 322," I scream into the radio.
There is no response, just radio static playing back at me.

"This is Unit 322, please, somebody help me!" I break into sobs as I collapse on the floor. I can see blood pooling in little puddles, making their way into the hall. I press the button on the radio, and I can't say anything. I cry into the open mic.

The blood reaches me, and the smell of iron is heavy. I try again, desperate. "This is Unit 322." I pause and take in a deep breath.

There is nothing. "This is Unit 322," I say calmly, "over and out."

Structure Fire

2008-06-01T04:27:00.002-04:00

We never seem to get a call at a good time, one where I'm not sleeping. I contemplate this phenomenon as I stumble into the hallway trailing my boots behind me. I come to the conclusion that this might be doable if I weren't always sleeping.

"Hey Sam," the medic greets me, "ready to go save the world?"
"Like always," I reply with a smirk.
On the way, I realize that I've never been to a real structure fire. I went to a fire on the kill floor of the pork packing plant once, but I didn't go inside.
"So uh, what do we do at structure fires?"
"Well, we stand around and look pretty," he winks, "or at least you do."
"No, come on, what do we do," I ask laughing.
"Seriously, all we do is stand there, ask if we can help, help if we can, and then check vitals of the firefighters after they come back out."
"Oh."
"That is," he pauses, "unless there's a patient."

I scrunch my eyes tight and sigh. I forgot that there could be people inside burning buildings.

"This is Engine 2, central, can you expedite the medic unit responding?"
My heart sinks and flashes to terrible images.

We arrive on scene and I can see flames from down the street. The smoke spirals into the sky and I realize I'm holding my breath in quasi-excitement. The fire apparatus is parked neatly in a line, lights flashing in chaotic disorganization. I love it.

"No patient," the chief yells at us from down the street. I glance at the radio on my hip and the one in his hand, and I laugh, saluting him from afar.

I stand awkwardly against the fire SUV and watch it all unfold. A man in a Dominion truck shows up to cut off the power to the downed line. I laugh to myself a little bit, remembering my run in with them before.

Flames lick at the siding from out the window, and pieces of the roof slide off as the fire eats away its support. I can see firefighters standing in the doorway and water shooting out of the holes made by the fire.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. I put myself in the house. It's dark, since there is no power. The only light is that of the fire and I can feel the oppressive heat.

"Hey, Sam." My name pulls me from my daydream and I look around.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"We've got three firefighters out. I'm going to go get some water for them, can you check them out?"
"Yeah, I've got it."

I kneel down next to the first one. I blush a little bit, as he's taken me out on a date before and never heard back.
"Samantha, how's it going?"
"Actually, it's Sam. I'm fine, you?"
"A little tired."
His pulse races and he's breathing heavy. I nod as I put the stethoscope in my ears, pumping up the blood pressure cuff. I lean in to read the meter, and I breathe in. He smells heavily of fire. I'm reminded of my days at Girl Scout camps, or roasting marshmallows with my family during the fall. It smells warm and familiar; I get lost in it.
His blood pressure is through the roof, but he shrugs it off when I tell him.

"Your name is Sam," the next firefighter asks me.
"Yeah, why's that?"
"It's actually what I want to name my daughter," he laughs.
"Oh wow, really?"
"Yeah. I like Sam, but my wife insists on calling her Samantha."
"When are you expecting?" I watch him breathe as I check my watch.
"September."
"Is this your first?"
"Yeah, we're pretty excited."
"That's really awesome, congratulations."

The blaze goes out, and I make my way to more tired firefighters. Each new one learns my name and I make some small talk, learning a bit about each of them.

We get canceled from the scene soon after, and head back to the station. I smell my clothes and that thick smell lingers. I really like it, and I imagine myself coming home smelling of fire on a more consistent basis, soot smeared on my face.

A few hours and a hamburger later, the tones drop again.
"Station 1, Station 2, Station 5, structure fire. Smoke and flames showing." The medics look around figuring out the crew, and I hop out of my seat, finishing the last bite.
"Can I tag along," I ask, realizing that trying to swallow and speak at the same time doesn't work out too well.
"Sure thing, kid, let's go."

This one's nothing much, it's out in no time at all. I stand under a stop sign and watch the ones inside and the ones at the engines. It really fascinates me, and I inspect the gauges more closely.

"Oh hey, Sam," I hear from my right. I turn and see one of the firefighters I met earlier in the day.
"Andy, right?"
"Yeah, good to see you again!"
"You too. So tell me about these knobs and dials," I laugh.
"Oh, sure!"
He tells me what each one does and why the hose diameter matters. I'm drawn in to his world, and I don't want to leave.

Carrying some water bottles in my arms, the firefighters approach me.
"Sam, what's up?" I smile and extend my hand with a bottle.
"Sam, it's good to see you again." I nod and offer him one too.
"It's Sam, right? How's it going?" I look around and another one tips his helmet at me. I smile to myself and revel in the glory that is being remembered.

I see the medics waving me back to the ambulance. I trot back out there, and as I do, yet another firefighter waves at me.
"Thanks, Sam, we appreciate it!"

I pull out my phone in the back and call home.
"Mom?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"I am so ready to be a firefighter."

This Week's Bruises

2008-05-29T18:47:00.004-04:00

These are the bruises from this week that I find myself with. They don't show up too well, but the particularly nasty one is from an unknown source. The one higher up on the leg is courtesy of the jump bag, and the scar healing above my ankle is thanks to cutting it on the stretcher.

It's a labor of love, I suppose!

p.s.--I love how pants-lines from the BDUs tend to stick around for hours. It's really sexy.

p.p.s.--I also managed to pull a muscle in my hip region while sneezing. I am a girl of many, many talents.

Addict

2008-05-29T18:24:00.002-04:00

Every time I come off shift, I wonder if it will be like this for the rest of my life. Every part of me aches, every part of me screams for relief.

My feet beg me to take off the work boots I've been in for so long. They ask me why I haven't gotten some good insoles yet, and remind me of my double novicular bones. "Sam," they say, "have you forgotten that you already have two extra bones working against your comfort?" I remind myself to buy some gel insoles, but I never do.

My legs are covered in bruises. If it's not because I bump them against the stretcher, it's because the jump bag slaps against them as I head inside. Often I use them as furniture-finders when I groggily make my way from the bunk room to the radio to answer a call in the dark. My shins and my thighs hate me.

My hips and my back are by far the worst. My scoliosis is bad enough on its own, cocking my hips permanently to compensate for the curve. But every night I spend on the second-rate mattresses that have occupied our bunk room for god knows how long is another night my back will never be the same.

My shoulders scream from the stress. I carry it all there, and it is obvious from the way they are almost always shrugged up. The knots are palpable. My partners pat my on the back or take me by the shoulder, and I wince.

And after almost every shift, my head pounds from the alarm ringing in the hall or the sirens sounding out from our medic. I take Advil in preparation, but I know it won't help much.

I am tired. I want nothing more than to sleep in my own bed after a long shift. I change into a loose shirt and some shorts immediately. Smells of the ambulance and the hospital linger in my clothes long after I've left.

It is so difficult to come off of an 18 or 24 hour shift, especially if there is something I have to do right after. So why do I do it? If I hurt so much and if I am so tired, why do I keep subjecting myself to it?

When I come home, I am happy. I know that what I have done has had purpose, even if I never hear a word of thanks. If we don't run a single call, I am happy, because I know that I was there, ready. I go back to the station every week, looking forward to the ache that I have come to associate with it.

My name is Sam, and I am an addict.

Yay Interviews!

2008-05-28T00:10:00.003-04:00

It went so well. As soon as my background check clears (man I hope those late-night antics from last week don't interfere...), I'll be hearing back from them.

Paid holidays, annual bonuses, annual raises, safety bonuses, benefits...these people sound wonderful. They're a real family type of company.

After I got out of the interview, I got emails from some other companies that want me to come in an interview. I sure hope I figure out something soon, because I'm definitely wanting to start working soon!

Thank you for all your support and well-wishes! They made me feel super confident today!

I've got to get some sleep, but I'll most likely post something tomorrow night during my shift at the station :)

Take care out there,
Sam

Interview #2

2008-05-26T19:41:00.002-04:00

Well, tomorrow I have an interview at way-more-podunk-than-the-first transport company. When I called, they said "we're hurtin' real bad for EMTs. Some of us are working 80-90 hours a week to make up for it." So I'm pretty optimistic that I'll get the job. I'm interviewing and filling out an application tomorrow, so we'll see!

I have to get up "early" (0745), but I have a good breakfast planned out. And I get to wear my awesome green skirt suit!

If I get the job, I'll get to work out of "vambulances," but that's alright. It's not quite as exciting as the first job, but at this point, I just need a job.

So please wish me good luck! And of course, you can expect an update about it.

I'll figure out something good to write about soon :) But for now, I'm off to have some ice cream and watch the Andromeda Strain.

--Sam

Run Board

2008-05-25T01:37:00.005-04:00

The people who work at my station are quite interesting. Funny, anal-retentive, caring, super-relaxed, experienced, etc. They run the gamut of qualities.

So that's why when my roommate, Olivia, showed me a picture she took, I couldn't contain myself.

My crew? We'd have to have each medic figured out. Drew, Sam and Eric are on this medic. And then we write it out very carefully and decide which medic is first run and which is second...but if it's BLS, who is first due for that? We're very intense about our run board.

Olivia's crew? Not so much.

If you can't read it, it says "When tones go off." Love it.

Be safe out there,
Sam