About three years ago, I carefully stepped down this short hallway, not all too certain what to expect. The hallway opened into a small, practically empty room. A dusty mammoth of a photocopier sat in the corner beside stacks of office paper. A few framed photographs adorned the otherwise blank white walls. The new summer sunlight streamed through a small window near the ceiling. An open door in front of me led into an even smaller room, lined with cluttered desks. To my right was an open door with a sign saying “PERSONNEL ONLY”.  I froze up, awkwardly standing in the middle of this room in a place I clearly didn’t belong.  What was I doing here anyway? Just as I turned to look at the now very alluring front door behind me, a voice asked, “Can I help you?”

I snapped my head back from over my shoulder, suddenly very aware of how out of place I seemed. I swallowed. A man with salt & pepper hair stood in the doorway, a quizzical but friendly expression on his face? Was he always there? How did I miss him before? He must think I’m crazy for just wandering into this station.

“Uh…hi. My name is Probie To Practitioner. I’m here to uh…see if maybe I could…work on an ambulance?” It was more of a question than a request. The words felt strange coming out of my mouth, and even stranger to my ear. You? On an ambulance? You’re afraid of your own shadow. You’re afraid of talking to this man here. And you’re trying to do what??

He grinned broadly at me. “Ohh, you’re the one who called earlier! Come on in! Let’s show you around, see how you feel, and go from there. Alright?”

“Hey, wanna show her around a little? Show her the ambulance or something?” This gentleman asked a short paramedic, with tired circles under his eyes and a welcoming half-smile on his face. The paramedic agreed, stepping into the doorway, and making a motion for me to follow him. He walked through the door that said “PERSONNEL ONLY”.

This was where I hesitated. I stopped, mid-step, and mentally told myself “No, you’re not ‘personnel’.” I spent a moment internally arguing this point. I just felt odd, barging into the personal space of a place filled with prestige, courage, and tradition. It wasn’t something I was a part of. I realized how stupid I would look, awkwardly posed outside the door, and how much more stupid I would sound trying to explain my reasoning to the paramedic. Quickly, I hurried through the door, catching up with him.

I followed out into the bay, smelling of cool concrete, metal, and rubber. The rest of that afternoon would be spent with an awed smile on my face, feeling like I was half in a dream, going through an ambulance check with this paramedic.

It was a peculiar moment of knowing and not knowing.

At the time, I didn’t know that this station would become my second home. I didn’t realize I’d walk these carpets thin. I didn’t know how many roaring laughs and gravely whispered conversations would reverberate off these walls. I didn’t know I’d be spending countless hours here. I didn’t know that the cool smells of the bay would become so relaxing and cleansing to me.

I didn’t realize that the paramedic who showed me an ambulance for the first time would go on to be my mentor, and one of my dearest friends. I didn’t realize that these same people I had held in my mind as heroes, would one day be held in my heart as family. Some would move. Some would leave. Some would die. Some would come and stay, others would come and go. I didn’t know how much they would do for me.

I didn’t realize the lengths to which I’d go when I was here. I didn’t realize what this job would ask, demand, and take from me. I didn’t realize how much of myself I’d give to this field, this lifestyle. I didn’t know how EMS would bend me, push me, and teach me. I didn’t know how much it would make me grow. I didn’t know how many lives I would touch, or to what extent.

Despite all that I didn’t know, I somehow knew one thing: I belonged here. It may not have been a conscious thought; even if it was, I’m sure it would have been drowned out with all the other thoughts of self-doubt and disbelief. But I felt it. I felt it in my heart, and in every fiber of my being.

EMS Week 2013. We have one mission. We are one team.

And I am beyond honored to be a part of yours.

I’ve officially passed in my last final. The backseat of my car still has my duffel bag full of extra scrubs. A dozen or so textbooks and study guides are still sitting on the kitchen table. A few beat up notebooks full of lecture notes are still loaded into my backpack. My laptop is still loaded up with old PowerPoints. And my brain is still guilt-tripping me for indulging in fun things. But, slowly, it’s starting to dawn on me that the year has come to an end.

I’m still reflecting over everything that’s happened. Obviously, I’ve learned a lot about physiology and nursing care. But, as cliche as it may sound, I’ve learned so much about myself, and I’ve grown into a much stronger person.

At the beginning of the year, I found myself crying. Like, a lot. There were two main reasons for this: academic work, and social challenges.

For the most part, school has just been something I’ve been fairly good at. Some people can learn in a classroom, and others can’t. I could, and without too much difficulty. For the first time in my life, I’ve had to really really work at something academically. I couldn’t breeze into the lecture hall on exam day and crank out a decent test score. I spent hours upon hours of studying, hoping to get a grade that would somewhat reflect all the work I’d been putting in.

Like I’ve ranted about so many times before, many of the students were just plain mean. As a pretty sociable person, I’d always been able to make at least one friend wherever I was. But for much of that first semester, I was struggling to even find people to be friendly with. Nursing school was far more cutthroat than I’d anticipated. It ranged from petty name-calling, to blatant verbal attacks. I’m a pretty sensitive person…and suddenly, there was all of this stress and drama, and I had no one to lean on. Well…no one to lean on but myself. But I didn’t realize that at the time.

Many all-nighters, tears, and near-breakdowns later, and I find myself almost finished with this year. One day, right before lecture started up, a few students asked the professor about an assignment that they felt was being graded unfairly. I’ll spare you the boring details, but it basically boiled down to a discrepancy in the rubric. I attempted to help explain the confusion to the professor. As I was the last one who had spoken, the teacher looked directly at me, and, in front of a lecture hall full of students, said this:

“You know, it’s a nurse’s ability to look at the tiny details and draw conclusions. It sounds to me like you’re unable to do this. I don’t know, but I’m not sure how you’re going to make it in the real world without that skill.”

The entire classroom went silent. The professor probably felt attacked, which was totally unintentional. A few months earlier, I would have probably teared up right there, and bowed my head in an ashamed silence, panicked self-doubts running through my head. But, for some unquantifiable, unnameable reason, the past few months had built me into a stronger person. I’m not sure how or when it happened, but it all culminated in that moment. The moment when a crooked half-smile pushed onto my mouth, and I evenly said:

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Somehow, my skin had gotten thicker. My doubts, while still there, were quieter. The process by which this happened was painful. It was exhausting. It was draining. Worse, it wasn’t just that way for me, but for anyone who knew me. Anyone who I trusted enough to share the details of my crippling doubts. To many, I boldly declared that I wanted out of this school; this program that I worked so hard to get into. I came up with a thousand reasons why I didn’t belong, why I couldn’t do it, why I’d never be good enough. I lunged at these opportunities to work in another field, quickly polished them up, held them high and said, “No, this is what I really want to do. I’d much rather do this. I’m going to quit nursing school and do this instead.” But these confidants, they knew me better. They calmed me down. They smoothed out my ruffled feathers. They pulled me into their strong shoulders and let me cry. They listened to me rant about all the “mistreatments” I’d been “enduring,” and spew out self-pitying statements. And, they gave me some little thing to hold onto. They gave me a little push, a little spark, to keep me going just a little bit further. Just when I’d swear I was through and wouldn’t budge one more inch, they’d convince me to take one more baby step. Soon (probably not soon enough for them), I was taking these steps by myself. I’d tell a story or two about school when they asked, but not much more. I learned to rely on myself. I learned to motivate myself, believe in myself, and get through this on my own. And I can’t thank those people enough for what they’ve done. You know who you are.

To all of you who stayed with me throughout this crazy year, to all of you who posted an encouraging word, to all of you who liked or shared one of these posts, and to all of you who contacted me privately…thank you. You’ve helped me grow, strengthen, and change in ways I’m not sure I could ever truly explain. You guys are the best.

As I decompress over the next few days and start to soak in my newfound freedom, I’m sure I’ll come up with more self-examining posts. It’s been a hell of a ride so far, and I haven’t beaten this dead horse nearly enough.

So, again, thank you.

I worked for a few hours today, before my family had woken up to start their day. There was a kind, elderly farmer’s wife who we picked up off the floor. Another call brought us to the humble house of a gentleman experiencing some difficulty breathing. Later, a young couple flagged down our ambulance to ask for directions to a local breakfast place. And in some way, I was able to get all of these people to at least crack a smile. I returned to my house feeling at peace with the knowledge that I did a little something to improve the days of these total strangers.

But when I got home, that element of my day wound up causing some confusion and frustration in my little heart.

Today is Mother’s Day. Everyone in the country knows that. Regardless how you view the commercialism of the day, it’s supposed to be about honoring your mother and expressing your love and gratitude for all that she is and does. But, what none of you know, is that today is also almost exactly 6 months since my maternal grandmother passed away.

I made a card, like I do every year. I put a ton of thought into the perfect gift for my mother. And I fully expected to spend the day doting on her, and showing her all sorts of affection and gratitude…the kind that she deserves every day. The kind that I am inexplicably and inexcusably hesitant to show her every day.

Yet, when I came home from my shift, and met her in the kitchen with a hug and a kiss and a “Happy Mother’s Day!”, it all seemed…flat. It’s her first mother’s day without her mom. And, obviously, she’s going to be sad. What frustrated me was that I didn’t know what to do. The little trinket I was so excited and proud to give her didn’t make her feel better. The extra housework that I did (that she always does without complaining) didn’t seem to help. The hugs, kisses, and “I love you’s” that aren’t given out nearly enough…well, that didn’t seem to do much either; except maybe make her quiet sorrow a little more visible for a brief, fleeting second. She carried on the way she tends to: strong, with barely a hint that something was wrong. You had to know her to see it.

I can make any stranger smile. Whether it’s a tough old bird who slipped, a scared man who can’t pull enough air into his lungs, or a lost couple, I can figure something out. They can present me with anything on a whole spectrum of problems, and I can usually find a way to make them feel a little bit better, even if it’s only for a minute. And yet, I can’t seem to do that for my own mother today. I tried, but didn’t know how, to make mother’s day happy.

Grandma, we miss you. And Mom? I do love you, even if I’m not the most open about showing it.

And to all, happy mother’s day.

After cleaning up the back after a particularly…uh…crappy call…

Partner: If this next patient poops on the stretcher, I’m going to lose my shit.

P2P: Cool. Then you guys can have a shit-losing contest.

 

 

 

Chocolate

 

Why, yes, it IS finals week! How did you know?

This, incidentally, is just the junk food I have left over. I’m hardly even mildly ashamed of this. What can I say? I like to give all that stress-related cortisol something to work with.

Anyone, posts will be kind of spotty until I have officially survived my first year of nursing school. I know, spotty has been kind of my new norm lately, but I hope to change that soon. I’ve got plenty of things I’m looking forward to writing about.

Anyway, thanks for your continued support! Wish me luck! See you on the other side :)

Observations and opinions of one of my pedi patients…

Junior: Do you have any kids?

P2P: Nope.

Junior: Oh. That’s too bad. You’re nice, like my mom. I think you’d be a good mom.

P2P: (totally taken aback and blushing): Oh…Thank you, that’s very kind of you.

Junior: Are you married?

P2P: Nope.

Junior: Do you want to get married?

P2P: Someday, I think I would like to.

Junior: Why don’t you want to get married now?

P2P: Just haven’t found the right person yet.

Junior: How old are you?

P2P: Twenty.

Junior: Jeez…you’re running out of time.

 

Thanks, kid.

I gave him a sticker anyway. He still won the “Coolest Patient of the Day” award.

I need to hear that shrill tone. The one that pulls me from my day and thrusts me into that of another’s. The one that orders me into my little car, and sends me to the station. The one that sits me on the bench of the ambulance, soaking in the smell of plastics and chemical cleaners. The one that captivates my attention for an hour or two.

I need the illusion that I belong. That what I do matters. To justify my reason for being. I need the excuse to keep me here another day. I need the time to think about something other than whether I should stay or go. Other than if my mistakes of yesterday outweigh my possibilities of tomorrow.

I need to feel like I’m part of something bigger than just me. Bigger than the emotional storm clouding my thoughts, raging in my head and my heart. I need to be given a few hours where I can stop worrying about yesterday and tomorrow. Where the only thing that matters is right here in this moment. The only thing that matters is the person whose hand I’m holding; the life that I’m caring for.

I need that tone to go off. Just one more time. I just need one more day to figure this out. Just get me through today.

EMS is saving my life. Hopefully, one day, I’ll be able to say it’s saved my life.

There was still 30 minutes left in our transport, and the patient was incredibly stable. Not knowing what else to really do, we struck up a conversation. He was an interesting fellow…one of these laid-back, intellectual types with a dry sense of humor and a fierce wanderlust. He made insightful remarks, and smiled these dashing crooked smiles that made me frantically wonder what subtle irony or quiet punchline I’d missed. We’d talked about weather, family, and the best way to make stuffed peppers. He told me about the traveling he’s done, and how he never stays in one place for too long. Sooner or later, the urge to find a change of scenery and pace plucks him from one community and pushes him to another.

“You know, way back in the day, I was a photographer. Well, I still am, but I did it commercially. I worked for this company, and I primarily went to schools and did school portraits. I like portraits. If you look at a good one, you can know the person without ever meeting them,” He told me, occasionally offering a small, knowing grin, or raising his eyebrows.

“But I was bored at this job. It was just one grumpy child forcing a fake smile after another. I was taking this young lady’s picture once…she was pretty, definitely. But she just wouldn’t smile. She wouldn’t even fake one. So I asked her why. What was wrong? Well, she rolled her eyes at me and told me she was bored. She was bored with school. So I told her, ‘Bored people tend to be boring.’ She took offense to that, I guess.

It just seemed so painfully obvious, really. You’re bored? Then do something. Find something that entertains you. Change something. If you’re bored, then you get boring. And then what are you doing with your life? And then it dawns on me…I was boring. I was bored with my job. Bored with that town. Bored with doing the same thing all the time. So I left. About a week later, I packed up all of my things, got in my car, and just drove. I found some little town in Wyoming, and lived there for a few months. I’ve been something of a traveler ever since. I don’t like to be bored.”

“You must only use one pair of gloves throughout the duration of a call.”

I’m looking around the inside of the ambulance for a little plaque or a sign that says this. I already checked the protocol book…it’s not there either. I’m willing to bet a week’s pay that such a rule does not exist. So then why do people act like it does?

Let’s get specific here. Someone calls 911. You show up in your shiny truck with your partner. Turns out, the guy’s not feeling super well. In fact, he looks almost as icky as he feels. Poor dude. Better get him to the hospital and see if we can make him feel a little better. So you do your on scene assessment (and, assuming you’re doing it right, you’re touching your patient), load him onto the stretcher, put him in the truck, and help your partner get some things accomplished in the back.

After a few minutes, you look at your partner and say, “Ready to go? Need me for anything else?”

And he’ll say, “No thanks, buddy, I got it now. We can get going.”

“Righty-oh,” I hope you don’t say, and then get in the front of the ambulance and drive.

With your freaking gloves on.

The very same gloves that were just all over Mr Sicky back there. You pretty much just rubbed your patient’s body all over that steering wheel. And if you did something more invasive? Like check his BGL? Or start an IV? Or intubate? Or suction? Then his blood/saliva/vomit is all over that steering wheel too.

I don’t know anyone who ordinarily drives (non-emergency, like between calls) with gloves on. So, if you are in that category of people who puts your gloves on when arriving on scene, then doesn’t take them off until you’ve transported the patient to the hospital…then you just inadvertently exposed yourself, your partner, and anybody who drives that truck, to the very things that you wore gloves to protect yourself from.

Maybe I’m crazy. That kind of thing just drives me nuts. Take the gloves off–And throw them away!–when you get up front to drive. If you can use some sort of hand-sanitizing product after taking off the gloves, even better.

In the meantime, I’ll keep looking for where that sign is…

First and foremost, there’s some vulgarity in this post. Consider yourself warned.

Some of you might be familiar with Justin Halpern and his Tumblr “Shit My Dad Says.” Or, maybe you’re familiar with the identically named TV show, that kind of flopped horrendously a few years ago. If you’re not, it’s basically Justin posting the blunt, curse-filled, not-remotely-politically-correct observations that his father makes.

Well, having spent the majority of his life in emergency services, my dad is equally blunt and brilliant. These are only two of the reasons I love him so much, and am so proud to be his daughter.

In a multi-faceted effort to A) brighten your day, B) celebrate his birthday, and C) why the hell not, I decided to list a few of his philosophical and observational gems from over the years.

On Christmas

Grandma: What would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas this year?

Much Younger Dad: I don’t want anything from Santa. Can’t you get me something instead?

Grandma: Why?

Much Younger Dad: I don’t trust him. Why is he always laughing? Nothing’s that funny.

 

On Failed Relationships

“You know, I wouldn’t worry about it. There are 3 billion men on this planet. There are more men out there than there are tunafish. And they’re sellin’ them in cans.”

 

On Frugality

(We were watching “Say Yes to the Dress” on TLC)

Dad: She’s spending $3000 on a dress? She should spend $2000 on a nose job. Look at that thing. Does it come with lights? She’s going to impale the priest. Knock over the altar. Something.

Mom: I’m just ignoring you now.

Dad: Don’t mind me. I’m just the sole voice of reason. Crying in the wilderness.

 

On Hotel Service

Dad (to front desk, over the phone): Hello? Yes I’d like a wake up call for room 310? At 6:30…yes. Uh huh. Yeah ok. Bye.

Dad (to me): Hand me that alarm clock. I don’t trust that bitch.

(Dad was right. We got a wake up call at 3:10 am.)

 

On Fine Dining

Mom: Wait…there are no salt or pepper shakers.

Dad: Oh, we can’t have salt. That’s just so pedestrian.

 

On Cell Phone Reception

Dad: I’m gonna call the house phone from this thing. See if it works.

P2P: Uh…ok.

*phone rings in other room*

P2P: Hello?

Dad: Can you hear me?

P2P: barely…

Dad: I can barely hear you

P2P: I said–

Dad: This is bullshit

*click*

 

In Product Design

Dad: The phone charger won’t plug into the phone

P2P: Lemme see….maybe cuz you’re holding it the wrong way. See? Now it’s fine.

Dad: What the hell. Why would you hold it upside down?

P2P: I don’t know. I didn’t design it.

Dad: This doesn’t make any sense. Is this how everything works in your life? If its upside down that’s how it works?

P2P: I didn’t–

Dad: Promise me you won’t go to a shooting range. You’ll be hurtin’ with that philosophy.

 

On “Get Well Soon” Sentiments

(As I lay, scared, in a hospital bed; he stands up, grabs the surgical lamp, points it towards me and says…)

“OK! Tell us where you hid the body!”

 

On Pets

(Talking to my hamster in its cage after she ate her young)

“I’m glad you’re behind bars, you murderous slut.”

 

On Intimidation

Unhappy Individual: I’m gonna come down there and kick your ass.

Dad: Ok. Well, I’m here from 7-3. So you’ll know where to find me. If I’m not here, tell someone at the front desk you’re looking for me…they’ll get a hold of me.

 

On Music

(Upon overhearing pop music)

“I didn’t know Stephen Hawking took up singing.”

 

 

Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.