Tag: Paramedic

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Mighty

Hannah

Smoke mingled with the clean scent of antiseptic as the ambulance doors were thrown open. A woman’s voice crackled through the radio following the long beeps of the station tones. “We have a call!” My partner’s eyes were wide with anticipation as she repeated what I was already hearing. We had been working on a training exercise at the fire station, practicing rescue of a downed firefighter in the midst of a woodsy blaze. The large rubber manikin that was our pretend victim lay heavily on the stretcher that was now needed for an actual patient; the victim of a horrific vehicle collision. Wasting no time, I jerked the straps off of our lifeless dummy and heaved him over my shoulder, all 165 pounds of him. Nudging wider the ambulance door, the whole battalion had eyes on me as the scene played out that would be retold for years to come. I, the tiniest on the department standing at 5 feet 2 inches and a hundred and five pounds marched with that dummy over my shoulder and chucked him into the empty garage bay of the station. Spinning back around I crunched through the gravel and hopped up in the passenger seat of our rig and we barreled down the road to my first trauma call.

That was the day I earned my nickname; Mighty Mouse. The story would be grinned about for years to come; the department’s smallest firefighter who manhandled the Rescue Randy dummy because she got her first real patient. A mix of adrenaline, excitement, and the hard work I had put in to keep up with everybody else had enabled me to perform that amusing feat that day.

Fast forward to a cold April day in 2022. My arms shake and spasm as I lift a stack of dinner plates toward the open kitchen cabinet. Overpowering my waning muscle strength, the stack of plates comes crashing to the counter, shattering the bottom plate. I bite my lip to hold back the moisture that pools in my eyes, and gingerly start gathering the shards while feeling like I am picking up broken pieces of my hope.

It is endlessly humbling and frustrating not to be able to accomplish menial tasks when I once let nothing stand in my way. My pride stings when I have to ask for help instead of being the strongest. It hurts.

I can only surmise that this is one of the greatest lessons I need to learn; that alone I am powerless, and need the unending strength that God in his loving kindness offers to me. So many times as I call out for someone to help me lift or move something I am reminded of my desperate need to call on my Heavenly Father for help. Do I always remember? Definitely not. But he is gentle in reminding me that I do not need to rely on my own strength, that he’s got me and all I need to do is rest in the power of his might.

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These Boots

Hannah

Today I lost another Paramedic friend. I say another because it’s not the first time. I fear it will not be the last. I do not really know what to say about it, so these are the words that came to mind.

These boots are the ones that were picked out so new and shiny and untouched.

These boots are the ones that were nervously shined for the first day on the job.

These boots are the ones that got drowned in soap bubbles washing the trucks as a probie.

These boots are the ones that held nervous feet running their first call.

These boots are the ones that climbed endless stairs to bring your loved ones down to be cared for.

These boots are the ones that got cuts and scuffs from asphalt and rocks and ice and twisted metal, and those darn stretcher wheels.

These boots are the ones that trudged through dry fields for hours, looking for a woman who was lost.

These boots are the ones that rested on the dash in hopes of a few minutes break on a busy shift.

These boots are the ones that were the first thing many patients looked up and saw.

These boots are the ones that crunched through broken glass to get your loved one out of the car.

These boots are the ones that stood in a homeless man’s urine as he was tenderly helped to his feet.

These boots are the ones that were polished again and again in attempt to cover the scars and scrapes.

These boots are the ones that ran an achey elbow call right after performing CPR on a baby that wasn’t coming back.

These boots are the ones that were splattered in blood as every effort was made to make it stop.

These boots are the ones that stood there while you were told we had done everything we could do.

These boots are the ones that saw far more pain and heartache and destruction in a day than most people see in their lifetime.

These boots are the ones that sit empty, still bearing the scars and scrapes that never could be erased from your heart.

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Just Keep Being

Hannah

I was scrolling through my photos and feeling pretty grateful. It was a day of strength. A shunt adjustment this week seems to have given me some reprieve.

I got to witness the joy of my little guy filling up a backyard pool.

I got to melt into a puddle of all the warm amazing feelings watching my boys head off together with their fishing poles.

I was able to stand long enough to make trendy sweet coffee drinks with my girl.

It has been good. /Good/

But then I swiped to the next picture and it hit me like an unsuspecting slap that stung like fire.

It was there because I had been going through some old photos a few days ago and I’d saved it to send to a friend. I had been building this incredible list of small mountains I’d climbed, and reveling in the joy and fulfillment I felt, and this memory of my past swiped my feet out from under me and sent me crashing through a wall of heartache that I was not ready for.

So much emotion tied up in that one simple picture. The immense joy that being on the fire department filled my soul with. The overlooked gift of being hold a brush to paint my nails. The ability to use my thumbs for a thumbs up. In a splinter’s worth of time, I went from great heights to a mind crushing low. I felt sad to have ruined my gratefulness, but as I talked myself through it, I came to realize that it was absolutely ok to feel what I was feeling. A hard memory doesn’t take away the joy of important moments with my people. Those two emotions can live together. I was reminded of a card I read this week…

“You can be angry and at peace. Curse God and whisper His name for help. You can be shaking and sobbing and strong. You can be grieving and grateful. Jagged and graceful. You can paint your nails and curl your hair. You can also not give a crap about any of that right now. You can hide quietly in your closet crying and dance to loud music in the kitchen while squealing in laughter. It can all hurt even when it feels good. You can feel so darn lonely in your head, and you can feel the vibration of the world holding you up in love and prayer. There is no book for dummies on this awful thing. I imagine your feelings change daily, sometimes by the minute. There is no wrong or right way to be. Just keep being.” -author unknown.

I cannot think of a more perfect way to say it. Just keep being.

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you’re listening!

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Partner

Hannah

There have been a select few people who have stuck like glue through the somewhat turbulent stretches of my life. The more experience I have, the more I realize how rare and valuable that is. My wish for each of you, dear readers, is that you would have a friend like my fire partner, Michael.

A partner in Fire and EMS is such a multifaceted thing. You have to be able to trust them with your life, whether you like them or not. They can be your best friend, or your biggest annoyance, and sometimes you just hope for tolerable. Michael and I met at the fire station as I was finding my way as a new recruit, and him a seasoned member. He was always helpful and courteous, and before long we were pulling the same shift together. From the start he was the kind of partner who knew what I wanted without having to say it. That’s the best kind of partner to have. He was always willing to jump right into whatever crazy ideas I had to improve the department or the care we gave, even when that meant spending hours on a Sunday at the station to complete my projects.

I got to be the first person he ever poked with a needle, and he willingly sacrificed chest hair to my ekg patches so I could practice. He patiently taught me how to drive the giant water tank on wheels, and we spent many evenings scrubbing station toilets and floors together. He poked fun at me having to climb the giant tires to see into the engine compartment of our trucks, and he understood my desperate need to have a label maker always at hand. Whatever we were doing, we were the perfect team.

Unfortunately it wasn’t terribly long into our partnership that my disease really started hindering my ability to perform. I was eternally grateful for him picking up the slack for me where I needed it, but eventually I had to admit I couldn’t continue. This is where he showed his true loyalty. Instead of bidding me goodbye, he was visiting bedside when I was long days in the hospital, frequenting my house to love on me and my family, and was always a text or a phone call away when myself or my family members needed it. I learned this was the kind of guy who would literally give you the shirt off his back, no questions asked.

He and his wife Katie rose up to meet my family and I numerous times in our last months in Colorado. Taking the kids when we needed it, bringing us meals, picking up groceries, helping drive me to appointments when Mark had to travel. There was never a time they said no.

Relocating to Ohio didn’t change my partnership with Michael. Within weeks he was on a plane to come see us in our new home, and he continues to do so on a regular basis; having guy bonding time with my husband, standing in as help for my family when work takes my man away, and loving and caring for us in every way he can think of.

If he’s not cooking up our favorite tacos, he’s looking for things to fix or improve around our abode. He has cleaned up my messes, picked me off the floor, and sat in silence with me when that’s all I needed. He reaches out to meet my wingman where he’s at, offering love and camaraderie to the man who carries our family. He plays with my children, helps them with their math, and isn’t afraid to keep them in line when they need it. He will long be a trusted figure they know they can run to.

We giggle at how he can come up with a solution to most things we are clueless to fix, smirk at how the owners of our local hardware store recognize his face, and we make fun of him for nerding out over things we fail to understand.

Michael has loved my family through days of joyous celebrations, as well as walked with us through heavy and disheartening days, and that’s what makes him different than most. He has never backed away. He is a safe haven for any one of us, and it’s the most comforting thing to know you have a friend that you can trust like that. I know that in the weeks and years ahead he will continue to be a soft landing place and strong anchor for each person in my family, and regardless of what I’m capable of, he will always be called my partner.

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you’re listening!

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Gone

Hannah

My heart hurts tonight. This afternoon I went through my paramedic jump bag to get it ready to pass on to my partner. That hurt. 13 years worth of remnants of a life that thrilled and fulfilled me. Perhaps I’m a little bit angry this time to have to leave it all behind. I’m so deeply thankful for this time I have now, but I do miss working as a medic terribly, and I haven’t quite learned to reconcile that yet.

My signature green scissors… my brightest helmet light… the fun bandaids I always made sure I had so no one would have to get a boring one. Unused gloves and sheets of paper waiting… for the next call that won’t be coming.

Look at this I found. It’s so ridiculous, but you must know.

I was running on a very intoxicated transient man one night, and as we neared the hospital I reached across him to grab the phone we used to call report ahead. It had one of those old school curly cords. Well as I stretched the cord to reach my ear the receiver snapped out of my hand and smacked my poor patient right in the middle of his forehead. It hit him hard enough to split the skin, and blood trickled down toward his eyebrows. I was mortified. I stammered apologies as I tried to get him cleaned up. He assured me there was nothing to worry about; that I was doing a great job and he was just fine. I was impressed he was taking it so well, and rummaging for a bandaid. It just happened that pink Hello Kitty bandaids were all I had left. Oh my goodness this was getting worse! At this point he was still encouraging me and swearing he had no cares in the world. I marched into the emergency department that night in a hot blush, wheeling my drunk, homeless victim with a pink girlie bandaid right in the middle of his forehead. By this time he was telling everyone what good care I had taken of him, and asking me to be his wife. I was so embarrassed to tell the hospital staff what happened, but he was just the most gracious man, beaming up at me with that goofy bandaid. I definitely needed his grace that night. I have always wondered though what he thought the next morning when he woke up with that pink Hello Kitty bandaid on his head.

I miss getting to connect with people like that. I miss the rawness and the realness and everyone just trying to do their best for one another. I’m honored to pass my bag on, even though it’s hard. I know it will be in good hands, and it will see to caring for many more people who need compassion and a helping hand. I’m glad to see it have life once again, though maybe for a nostalgic moment it made me miss who I was.

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you’re listening!

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Incurable Hope

Hannah

It has been a long six years trying to find a diagnosis. Based on my symptoms and the way they have progressively worsened, we’ve known it was some kind of degenerative neuromuscular disease, but we haven’t quite known the prognosis. Early on it was thought to be MS, and I was able to work through it, making some modifications to how I did things, but vastly able to continue life as normal. Things continued to decline though, and I found myself losing the strength and endurance I needed to continue working as a paramedic. This is when I cut back to part time paramedic, and also took an office job in organ donation. As fulfilling as that was, I eventually found myself no longer to make the drive, or even remain upright for the hours that it required. Eventually I had to face that I could no longer safely work in any job, and I needed to save what little energy I had for my family and friends.

It’s been a frightening journey at times, especially with the unknowns, but we are beginning to have some clarity. A recent brain MRI showed significant damage to my brain stem, which is responsible for many of the automatic functions of the body. This information shed light on why I was having symptoms related to that area of the brain, like trouble regulating my breathing. All of these pieces started to fit together and pointed to Multiple System Atrophy. In some ways this was a relief, as the contenders like ALS have a very short length of survivability. MSA comes with its own fatal prognosis though, typically within 5-15 years. Being at year six, I already feel blessed for the time I’ve had and continue to enjoy. I’ve tried to stay in the moment and be continually grateful, although I’ll admit that sometimes my attitude stinks and I fall into a grumpy state of forgetting the gifts I’ve been given.

I know that God knows my heart and hears my prayers, and those of so many who love me. I know that He can take this from me if He chooses to. But even if He doesn’t, I will still choose hope and thank Him for every moment He allows me to have here.

I hope you’ll help me, dear readers, to continue to find Hope and Grace in the day to day. I know that it’s there, and sometimes I just need help to lift my eyes up for it. Please don’t treat me differently; let’s laugh and dance and do big and small things without fear of the future. I’m ready for today, how about you?

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you’re listening!

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Giving it Up

Hannah

This week I had a pretty hard doctor appointment that revolved around the words “severe muscle impairment,” “tracheotomy,” and “ventilator.” The same day I received an email reminding me it is nearing time for me to recertify my national Paramedic license. It was a sobering day.

For these past couple years, I have let my husband’s encouraging words and glass-half-full spirit spur me on in believing that I will walk in my Medic boots again. He was always reassuring me that we would get through this; I would get strong again and go back to the career that I love. During that time I have struggled with who I am when I’m not a paramedic or a firefighter. It became such a big part of what motivated and moved me that when it was gone I struggled with depression and wondering who I was. I still do at times.

Being a paramedic and firefighter is unlike any job on earth. To get to walk into people’s lives at the time they need you most, it’s indescribable. It was a privilege and an honor to get to show up in homes, cars, churches; all the places people have built their beautiful messy lives, and serve them at their most vulnerable moments.

I know that I am loved and cherished as I am. I know I am still me, and the people that matter the most will accept me as I am, but it has been a painful walk to slip further and further from my polished boots, the distinctive smell of bunker gear, and the smooth weight of my stethoscope around my neck. Like most folks in my line of work, I am a strong type A that likes to have everything under control. It is extremely humbling, and sometimes discouraging to see that I have lost much of that control, and have to surrender to something that controls me, rather than myself controlling it. What an important lesson in life though; one I undoubtedly needed to learn. We are not our own, and the power is not ours.

Most nights I don’t dream, but when I do it is of being back on the streets alongside my cherished partners, rushing toward the danger and the opportunity to help save a life. I know they are just dreams, but until I can’t anymore, I will keep clinging to them with a smile.

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you’re listening!