fire fighter, hope, Paramedic

Paramedic Drops the Mic

What do you do when the day comes that you never scripted for yourself? I always joked that the only way I was going to stop working as a paramedic was when someone dragged a wrinkly, gray little me off of the ambulance, kicking and screaming.  Well actually, it wasn’t all in jest, I kind of really meant it.  From the day I started my career in EMS, I knew it was what I loved and always wanted to do.  I never imagined myself doing anything different from that point forward.  I don’t suppose we often take the time to imagine our plan B’s when our plan A is what our hearts are set on.

My plan B is a whole other story, but as I’ve been contemplating that my future may look very different than I imagined, it has made me ponder what, if anything, I am leaving behind on my path through my A plan. I believe every person has the same deep-rooted need to know that they matter and will be remembered in their absence.  Maybe most of us never pause to consider until we are faced with it, but I surely have found myself wondering what kind of legacy it is that I am leaving in my wake. If I take off my badge and bury my toes in the sand next to the ocean, will the patients I cared for remember me? And if they do, will it be in a good way, or should I have done things differently?  After almost half my lifetime doing this gig, what do I turn to my partner and say on the day that I take my stethoscope from around my neck and pull off my polish-worn boots for the final time?

Admittedly, there is a long list of do’s and don’ts and tips and tricks for a paramedic to pass on to her successors.  After all, there is a substantial history of education and experience, and trial and error that surely could give the incoming an edge by surpassing all of the “been there, done that’s.”  After so much time of sifting through all of those valuable pearls of wisdom though, it was impressed upon me that anyone can work hard enough and study long enough to become a paramedic.  Rather, it was my patients that taught me what I needed to know most about caring for another human being.  So, standing at the vestiges of a life-changing career, the last time to turn to my partner, I would say this…

Never give up learning, changing, practicing, updating your skills so that you can provide the best patient care possible.  More importantly however, never lose sight of the souls which reside in the people for whom you are caring.  You can have the best technique, the greatest training, and the most up-to-date equipment, but if you are lacking in giving your utmost attention to the delicate soul which makes everything else in that body go ‘round, then you have failed.  Though you may argue that some of them are not delicate souls, I assure you that every single one of the people you are called for have a soft and vulnerable inner being that is craving compassion, validation, and love.  Yes, even the pungent, homeless drunk, and the gruff, arrogant abusive man, and the lonely, obnoxious woman that you’ve run on every shift for as long as you can remember.  Do not presume to know their stories.  Do not come to your own conclusions about how they got the way they are, because the truth is, they have endured whatever life-length of soul-battering their years have brought them long before you even met.  They are still somebody’s daddy, sister, friend, baby girl, regardless of the appearance of the hard shell you see in front of you.  Their tender inner voice is still begging to be valued, and to be understood.

The greatest achievements in my career as a paramedic did not come from a high test score, a record-setting scene time, or kudos from successful resuscitations.  My most valuable triumph was from the tears that flowed when I stopped to embrace a woman standing alone in the chaos, moments after becoming a widow. It was from the giggles that erupted from beneath a blood-stained blanket because I was willing to make a complete fool of myself to distract a little boy who was having the most terrifying day of his life.  It was from the marriage proposal I received from the homeless man whose stench was enough that my partner at the time had begged to drive so that he didn’t have to sit back there with him. It was in the transport that I got ridiculously behind on  paperwork because I set it aside for a woman whose husband had died previously at the same hospital she was now headed for, and she simply needed someone to talk with her and speak truth and peace to her paralyzing fears.  It was in the frail weight of the woman’s hand I held as we transported her to hospice for her final hours.  It was in the grateful faces of the parents we stopped by to check on even though it meant re-living the moments in which I couldn’t do anything to save their toddler, the conversation with the defiant little boy who desperately needed someone to see past his attention-grabbing behavior and just hear him out, and the dancing that happened with a topless drunk woman who just wasn’t going to get on the stretcher until someone had humored her.   I got through some of my toughest patients by always having the mindset that I should be caring for people in the same way I would want my own parent, grandparent, sibling, spouse, child, or other family member to be treated.  It made a world of difference.

One of the most poignant things I learned was when I was still an EMT, working with a seasoned and soft-spoken paramedic partner.  We were on a psych call where law enforcement had already been on scene for quite some time arguing with a combative man and trying to talk some sense into him.  He had called for police because for whatever reason, this man believed that his garage was full of people who didn’t like him, and who intended to harm him.  He refused to leave his house with all those people there, because he didn’t trust what they would do, and he was very agitated that the officers kept telling him no one was there.  The police were visibly irritated by the time we arrived and had the man explain his predicament one more time.  We peered into the garage, which was as we anticipated, empty.  My partner spoke to the man for a few minutes while I did a few medical checks on him, and the man explained that he would be willing to go to the hospital for an evaluation, but not until the people in his garage were gone. *Cue eyeroll from our poor, exasperated law enforcement friends, * and then my partner did the most ridiculous thing.  He walked out into the garage and started yelling at all the “people.”  He told them they weren’t welcome there and needed to leave.  After a moment, my partner turned back to our patient and asked if the people were gone.  He said some had left, but several others were still there.  So, we joined forces, my partner and I, and we yelled and shooed and stamped our feet in circles all over that empty garage until a look of relief washed over our guy’s face and he announced they had all gone running.  We helped him lock his house up tight, and he then proceeded to very calmly and cooperatively climb aboard the ambulance with us to go to the hospital.  I’m not sure the officers on scene said anything else to us, but I do remember their faces; the wide-eyed, bewildered, astonished, half smirk, half “what in the world just happened” looks that grew smaller in our rearview mirrors.  That may have been the most pivotal day of my career in revealing to me how little about patient care is actually medicine, and how much of it is about caring for the human condition.  Not everyone needs a bone splinted or a medicine given or a dramatic life-saving intervention, but what they all need is to be treated like they have value, every single one of them. The frequent flier you’re tired of seeing, the alcoholic who spits on you and calls you names, the suicidal patient you want to blow the shenanigans whistle on. They are all human souls with hurts and insecurities and fears and needs, just like you and me, and if you as a first responder can learn to care for the unseen just as well as the body, then that might be the most life-saving skill in your kit.  Period.

Never lose sight of the privilege that it is for us to be invited into peoples’ lives, homes, communities at their most vulnerable moments.  Never forget that taking the time to know their name makes them feel like less of a job and more of a friend. Never be too proud to humble yourself and chase away invisible people if that is what is going to make your patient better.  Never forget that we all share the same emotions, and the people you are caring for need your kindness and compassion just the same as you need it from others. And most importantly, never grow so callous that you forget how to be soft.

“May I never see in the patient anything but a fellow creature in pain.”

                                                                                 ~Oath of Maimonides

Now go, run, learn, excel, amaze, transform the world all with the fuel of 2 hours sleep, a cup of cheap gas station coffee, and an adrenaline rush like a rip tide.  And don’t forget to be human.

endurance, fire fighter, Paramedic, Uncategorized

Not All That Glitters

Chances are many of you have already read this, but I’m going to re-post this here so that I may reference it in the near future with a pretty important post I have forthcoming.  This was originally an essay I wrote for one of my nursing pre-req classes for school. The assignment was pretty vague; it simply had to be about a learning experience. Many of my friends and family stood witness to the deep shades of gray circles that took up residence beneath my eyes as I battled life, death, and sleepless nights, all for the right to trade my EMT patch in for one that says Paramedic. My learning is never done, but here are some of the initial boot-shaking things I learned about that sparkle patch in my earliest days.

I will never forget the very first call I went on as an EMT Basic student. Only a portion of the way through the semester, that first ride-along was to give me a taste of what I was working toward, and put me to the test to see if I had what it took. There I was, sitting in the back of the ambulance, my pockets stuffed with all the equipment and cheat sheets I thought I would need in order to save lives that day. A quiet voice crackled across the radio, and my life would never be the same. Adrenaline surged through my veins as we flew, sirens screaming, toward the victims of a car accident that had called for help. It was in that moment, trying to reign in my fear and excitement, that I knew this was where I wanted to be. That first call turned out to be a simple scenario that would come to be routine for me in the months and years ahead. but it was the steps in between that changed me and shaped me into the Paramedic I am today.

Becoming a Paramedic seemed a noble feat, a position that was cut and dry; you call for help, I come save your life, we all go home at night. Those tinted glasses of naivety blinded me from some harsh realities and some amazing truths those first few months, but time and experience cleared the lenses, revealing the gray that washes between the black and white. Within a week of testing out of EMT Basic class and receiving my license to practice, I got my first major trauma call. It was the Fourth of July and I was hanging out at the fire station with a bunch of fellow members that were barbecuing and enjoying the holiday. When the tones went out, I was hustled out to one of the responding vehicles and wished enthusiastic “good lucks!” My own pulse thumped louder than the sirens as I went through every mental checklist I could think of, certain I was going to have this one covered.

I took in a sharp breath as we pulled on scene and I took in the horrific sight strewn across the road. First glance told us all this was a bad one, but two things changed me that afternoon.  The first was as I walked up behind the car that was being cut apart to free the mangled driver. On the shattered glass of the rear window was a faded Star of Life sticker, clinging to the broken shards. That was when reality whispered that it could happen to anyone, even those you know and love.

The second sight that sent my thoughts reeling was the driver of the other car, standing unscathed on the side of the road, frantically pulling empty beer bottles from his floorboard and smashing them on the side of the road, trying to cover up what he had done. Is this real life? Innocent people crushed by the weight of others’ deliberate poor decisions? Why is it the bad guy makes it out ok, and our young friend is left clinging to life? This was not the heroic glory I was expecting to feel.

As my career progressed, my eyes were opened to the other truths that had been so buried in the myths I believed as a child. My parents taught my siblings and I the value of 911. We learned the dire situations that would require you to dial that number, and held sacred the seriousness of that action. Bleary-eyed and hungry after marathon dashes from call to call though, I learned a surprising practice that was all too common in the real world. 911 was a convenience, not a privilege. People called for us for scraped knees, for cracked calluses, and for feeling anxious. They met us in their driveways with suitcases packed, standing next to the family car that seemed in perfect working order, even in the ER waiting room where they felt the wait was taking too long.   We raced through red lights, risking our lives and the others around us to arrive to find patients who had run out of medication and would like a ride to the emergency room; but don’t worry, your tax money will pay for it. This was shocking to me, but as much as we all hate it, there are enough loopholes in the system that this will continue to happen day after day. And we thought it was about saving lives…

In spite of the grueling demands on my body and mind, I continued to further my knowledge by moving on to pursue my EMT Intermediate license, and eventually my ultimate goal of becoming a Paramedic. Years of class and hundreds of hours of clinical time later, I reached the top. My patch sparkled with the golden threads that signified my new standing, and my mind was packed with the maximum ability to perform all the skills and give all the medications I possibly could. This is it I thought. Now I can really help people. That’s what we believe; we learn as children that when there’s an emergency, the firemen and policemen and paramedics come and fix everything for us. That is where the harshest reality brought me to my knees. I was educated and rehearsed to handle every situation. I could perform every life-saving skill in the book. What I had forgotten was that it’s not always up to me. The limp body of a two-year-old boy was hurriedly lifted onto my stretcher. As my ambulance went lurching and squealing off to the hospital, my hands took over as my mind calmed into the rhythmic muscle memory I had practiced so many times . I stabilized, supported, breathed, and provided everything I possibly could for this young life. My prayers surrounded each breath I pumped into his tiny lungs as he clung to life. I watched each miracle flutter of his heart struggling inside his sunken chest, and kept on begging for one more beat, one more beat.  Later I stood at his bedside next to his parents, tears blurring the features of the cheesy grin that gleamed back at me from a photo of him taped to the headboard above his breathing tube.  He held on for a week, and then he was gone. All the fancy treatments in the world couldn’t save him. I cried. I cried because he was innocent. I cried because the faces of his family were etched deep into my memory. I cried because I, the Paramedic, was supposed to have saved him, and at the pinnacle of my experience and knowledge, there was nothing I could have done.

My road to Paramedic was long and not as straight as I had imagined. It was disappointing on numerous occasions and heartbreaking on more days than I can count. I have learned that there are only few things that are black and white, and people aren’t who they pretend to be. I have learned that innately good people sometimes die, and people hellbent on being hellbent sometimes live. I have learned that no matter how capable I am, there are times when nothing I can do will help. Most importantly, I have learned that where I am willing to change, I will grow. Being weak will make me strong, being wrong will show me right, and being willing to change and learn will keep me from growing hard. There will be call after call that leaves me scowling, but in the midst of them, there will be times when I really do make a difference. And that, my dear friends, is what will keep me coming back for more.


Benjamin Leake, epilepsy, fire fighter, My hero, seizures, Sibling Loss

A Hero In My Story

Many people have heroes for one reason or another.  Some because of big, history-changing moments, and some for the quiet admiration built by ages of adoration, day in and day out.  Hands down, Spiderman is my pick among the superheros.  Despite my breath-stealing disdain for 8-legged creatures, I really am enamored by the polished confidence with which Spiderman executes his astonishing stunts so effortlessly in the face of danger.  Also, Tobey Maguire, but that’s neither here nor there.  I’m certain each of us, asked the question, would have some entity that we have chosen to represent our own “hero” of sorts, someone who clutches the core of our admiration, or stirs emotions of inspiration within us.


I do, in reality, have an understanding of the “Hollywood magic” that has created this red and blue Spidey of mine, and as an adult woman have come to terms with knowing no such champion exists.  Don’t  worry, you need not fear being the one to shatter my illusion.  I want to share with the world though, my real life hero; the man whose life and bravery influenced my soul in a way I hope will never be the same.

This chubby-cheeked little blondie is the one who gave me the title of big sister.  Our childhood years a harmony of stirring up adventure and trouble, building crude forts to house the rescued “wounded,” or pretending the victim ourselves as “orphans” skittering about the gravel forest roads, making a living scrubbing shoes.  Our parents’ divorce slashed a deep canyon in the landscape of our siblinghood; time and space laying pause to our knowing of each other as the soft freckles of his youth faded into manhood.  As we both emerged into the newness of adulthood however, our horizons once again blended seamless with the freedom to be as much a part of each others’ lives as we desired.

If Benjamin ever had a passion besides being a firefighter when he grew up, it must have been short-lived, because I never knew of it.  Having recently started at my first fire department as an EMT, I was thrilled when he began the process of getting his own certifications.  Having taken a different route in life than most had expected for me, I often felt isolated from friends and family, and I was eagerly anticipating having someone who “got me.”  We are a different people, those in EMS, and there are just some things you can’t say to someone who hasn’t been there.  Ben, he was gonna be my person.

That boy, he went full speed ahead.  He grabbed applications from every department he could get his hands on, ready to sign his life away to be given the chance.  He got his EMT license, which didn’t come easily for him. He did not pass the test the first time… or the second, but he never wavered; he kept at it, studied and practiced in every spare moment, hardly letting me help him.  “I just have to do this for myself,” he told me.  License in hand, he showed up bright eyed, heart pounding, certain he was just what they needed.  The thing about this eager, spirited young future firefighter, was that since his toddling years, he had suffered from seizures.  Big, dangerous, fall down, forget-who-you-are, unable to move one side of your body for awhile seizures that had been poorly understood and not excellently controlled. Once that little red flag word crept across the pages of his applications, he met walls hard in his face.  He was too big a risk.

Ben would not be so easily suppressed; he believed there would be someone else that would take a chance on him.  Time after time though, the answer was “no.”

His next logical step was to make himself more valuable.  He enrolled himself in classes to get his Firefighter Certifications; usually provided through training once hired on a department, he was going to have the certs under his belt before he even approached the next department; surely no one would turn him away.  Scraping the cash from his job at a local kitchen to pay for the classes and the books, he soon had a crisp new card boasting his name, validating his ability to do what he longed for most.   He beamed brighter than ever, certain the firefighting career he craved was within his grasp, and I cried in my pillow.

I remember my conversation with a family member, admitting my frustration and heartbreak over the whole thing.  On one hand I felt guilty for encouraging him, wondering if I was just contributing to a larger and larger facade of false hope, and on the other hand I wanted nothing to do with being one of the people who said anything to him that would crush his dream.

As Ben continued to search for his landing place in the fire community, he was hired on with his county EMS agency.  It wasn’t his first pick, but he knew the experience would be useful, and he already had a thirst for that blitz of adrenaline that would rush through his veins each time a call dropped.  My heart simply melted when he would call or text me to excitedly relay the details of a breathtaking call he had been on.  I inwardly giggled at his adorable “green-ness,” felt honored when he asked what I would have done, and promised I would be there day or night as he wrestled through some of the ugly firsts of the things your eyes and mind will never un-see.

When I had recently moved up from EMT to Paramedic and was settled in with the wonderful crew of firemen I worked alongside, Ben asked if he might be allowed to run as a third-rider with me if he came to visit.  My Captain was a dear and seasoned man with a big heart and an enjoyable sense of humor, and he swung wide the doors for Ben to come spend the weekend at the station with us, being “one of the guys.”  Those 3 days were a gift I will never forget.  I was so proud to have a little brother made of what he was made of, giving life everything he had, and simply loving and soaking in everything about being a fire fighter, with the bright eyes of a man who may never get to live his dream. My “boys” were wonderful to him, showing him anything he asked, answering questions, telling stories.  My partner at the time a young man fresh out of college himself, shy and earnest; didn’t know the brake from the accelerator, and he and Ben got along famously.  It was a weekend of much laughter, few calls, and insurmountable memories.

The week that my little brother hero abruptly left this earth, he fought his first fire.  He still didn’t have a fire crew to call his own, he didn’t have his name sewn on a set of turnout gear, or have boots perched ready in smoke-tarnished pants, but he put the wet stuff on the red stuff, and I know he died a happy man.  Where he lived out in rural Kansas, he was driving home one day when he noticed smoke billowing from a house he was passing.  Jerking the car from his route and toward the smoldering home, he made the call for help before dashing to bang on doors and windows to make sure everyone was out.  Once all the souls were safely outside in clean, fresh air, and fire trucks were still long stretches of Kansas roads away, Ben, this little brother EMT Fire Fighter hero man of mine, hooked up the garden hose, and he aimed that meager little spatter of water at those flames, and that boy held that fire back until the big water came to snuff it out.

I find it hysterical we actually have a pic of him posing like this.  Oh Ben!

Hearing the story retold, the images my mind painted made me laugh so big, and I’m sure we would still be teasing him, but really, I am pretty thankful he had that chance, just days before his home-going.   That was Ben, proving that however the odds were stacked, he wasn’t ever going to give up, he was going to find a way to do what he loved.  And that, that why he is my hero.

Taught my boy how to give his boots a good spit-shine. He was so proud!

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