Redheaded Medic

Reading Material

2011-12-11T16:15:00.004-05:00

Since I haven't been working a lot lately, I've been reading everything I can get my hands on. A little bit of an addiction, really. My favourite books are ones written by medical professionals, all across the spectrum of medicine. I am running out of bookshelves, however!

The first one of this genre that I read was Peter Canning's first book, Paramedic, about 10 years ago. It made me want to be a paramedic more than anything, I read it cover to cover multiple times, ending up with large portions memorized. His book taught me about the medications and equipment that we use, enough so that I was able to intelligently answer questions in my first few classes. It's always a classic I pull out when I want to read something familiar.

Kelly Grayson's book, Life, death, and everything in between had me, quite literally, rolling on the ground laughing. I read it right after I finished university exams one year, in a public park under a gigantic lilac tree. I got some weird looks from pedestrians when I burst out laughing, but man, I loved that book. It showed me the ridiculous side of EMS, peppered with a lot of heart and emotion. I re-read this book (and/or the re-print En Route) when I have start taking myself too seriously and need to laugh.

Books by doctors are always ones I turn to when I want to be inspired. I love their drive for knowledge and excellence, and they remind me that I can always learn more. Ben Carson's book Gifted Hands never fails to inspire me, and remind me what faith in God can accomplish. I recently finished Blue Collar, Blue Scrubs, a book written by Michael Collins, a surgeon who worked as a construction worker for several years. Books like those make me think that going to medical school someday would not be that much of a stretch.

My Preceptor

2011-12-05T12:32:00.003-05:00

My preceptor this past year (let's call him Matt) was an incredible guy, exactly the type of preceptor I wanted and needed. He's an inspiring guy, not even thirty, and is already a critical care paramedic. His intelligence and drive for knowledge and further education made me even more passionate about this field, and made me want to learn more, train harder and be a better paramedic.

The most striking thing I learned from him, however, was nothing clinical, nothing that the textbooks discuss. He called them 'soft skills', and I have come to see that they are just as important, and in many cases, even more important than the clinical interventions we got drilled through in school. I never saw him get angry or lose his patience with a patient, family member or co-worker. A gentlemen to the core with little old ladies, a soothing touch to injured children and a listening ear to those suffering from addiction problems. As kind hearted as he always was though, he never, ever sacrificed our safety or stood down from a confrontation. I hope that I can show the same gentle strength that he does on a daily basis.

I remember one incident where we got called to a car accident on the highway on a cold, snowy evening. Arriving on scene, we found a woman and her child in their small car that had been struck by an out-of-control vehicle and spun into the retaining wall. The baby was perfectly fine, safe and secure in his care seat, while his Mom had a broken ankle. She didn't want the stretcher, and with our help, hopped gingerly over to our ambulance. When we arrived at the hospital, our partner, being a new dad, eagerly took the baby, while Matt and I helped her down the side stairs to the wheelchair we had grabbed for her. She was in more pain now, and hopping was clearly more painful. Instead of making her hop down, Matt reached up and lifted her down, placing her gently in the wheelchair. The look of relief and gratitude on the woman's face spoke volumes, a simple action, but one that drastically reduced her pain. Once inside, he willingly handed over his cell phone so she could call her husband in the U.S., she could not thank him enough.

Very simple actions, but ones that made me realize that he is the sort of paramedic that I want to be. The woman was not a critical patient by any means, and we really didn't do any "paramedic" skills for her, what he did was alleviate her pain and provide reassurance to her family. It made a world of difference for her, and really hammered home how important compassion and empathy are as a paramedic.

Life Update

2011-12-01T18:31:00.002-05:00

I finished paramedic school last spring, and as I had not applied for jobs last year (for personal reasons), I'm still not working as a medic. As much as I am disappointed about the delay, I did have valid reasons for the decision. In the meantime, I'm teaching first aid courses and staring longingly at every ambulance that passes by my window. Hirings are beginning to start again though, and I am applying for everything right now. Fingers crossed!

Two years

2011-04-07T17:20:00.003-04:00

Two years ago when we started this program, our professors told us that by the time we finished, we would be different people. We would speak differently, act differently and view the world differently. Change is inevitable after learning all we have and seeing all we have.

In the last two years, I have made some amazing friends, as well as realized that it's okay not to like everyone. I have seen beautiful babies born to ecstatic parents, and walked into a heart-rending scene where a father decided he and his infant son should no longer live. I have held my father's hand as he passed away, my fingers on his weakening pulse as my family cried around us. I have comforted those who have experienced the same, while holding back my own tears at the memory. I have married a wonderful man and adopted an adorable, if not crazy, black lab.

In two years, almost everything in my life has indeed changed. I am a changed person, I do indeed speak, act and think differently. I am incredibly glad to be done so I can start my career, start making money again, and break free of school. I will miss the people though, I love my classmates, my teachers and my preceptor. Wonderful, wonderful people who have walked with me through the last two years, it will be sad when we have to say goodbye.

Life goes on, one way or another.

2010-04-11T20:08:00.002-04:00

The semester is almost over, and I am immensely grateful for that. The last few months have been incredibly hard and I will be glad for a rest.

I found my clinical shifts to be the hardest part. Week after week, I was placed in situations that reminded me of the weeks I spent with Dad in the hospital, watching him fade. I almost left my ICU shift shortly after I walked in, I simply wasn't prepared for the onslaught of emotions that washed over me. I was close to tears, and it was sheer stubbornness that carried me through. After every shift I would spend the evening in tears, then fall into a restless, nightmare filled sleep. Getting up in the morning was nearly impossible.

The week after I returned to class, we began a lecture on multi system organ failure. For the next 4 hours, I sat in turbulent silence as my professor described, in minute, physiological detail, how and why Dad eventually died. Although a few tears escaped, I would not leave the classroom. I was too stubborn to admit that it was affecting me so badly, and too proud to ask for any allowances. I regret that now. I should have let myself go home to grieve in peace.

The semester will be over soon, I will have passed everything. My background in life sciences and as a first responder has allowed me to move through the term on autopilot, which I am eternally thankful for. Next year, I will be back to my normal self, and will not only pass everything, but once more, excel in everything. Dad would have been proud.

It is so hard.

2010-02-22T16:32:00.002-05:00

It is hard to watch a patient struggle for breath, fighting the life-giving mask strapped to their mouth.

It is hard to watch vital signs change, knowing what they mean although those around you continue on in blissful ignorance.

It is hard to catch the looks passed between doctors and nurses, the knowing, sympathetic, hopeless looks that pierce to the soul.

It is hard to see a patient struggle to form words as a tumour slowly compresses nerves, making speech a veritable impossibility.

It is hard to watch a strong man fade, to know that the still joking man before you is facing near impossible odds.

It is hard to convince a patient to eat and drink since the majority of nutrients will be sucked away by the terrible invading force occupying his increasingly frail body.

It is hard to spend hour after hour, day after day, watching him fade further and seeing the faint glimmer of hope grow more distant.

It is hard to get the hospital smell washed off your clothes, your body and your hair, a constant, grim reminder of where you spend your long, dark days.

It is hard to tell a 12 year old that her father is dying, hard to hear her ask if that means she will have to walk down the aisle alone.

It is hard to tell family members that there is very little hope, and to call them in from all areas of the country to say their final farewells.

It is even harder when it is your family.

It is even harder when it is your father.

I Passed!!

2009-12-15T22:41:00.003-05:00

Thank God that is over! I passed it all and am going to spend the next few weeks eating and sleeping. I may go for a walk or at least sit up occasionally, but we'll see. Woot!

Lift Test Tomorrow....

2009-12-13T22:04:00.001-05:00

I will pass it or die trying.

Seriously.

I will haul that 190 lb beast up and down the stairs on the stair chair, up and down stairs on the stretcher, then throw it into the back of the ambulance triumphantly.

I will pass or die trying.

Examination Blues

2009-12-06T22:21:00.002-05:00

Exam time is here, I am getting ridiculously stressed. I was never this nervous in university, although I got lower marks than I am getting now. This program just means so much more to me than uni did. Failing out is not an option, my standards are set incredibly high. The college also has high standards though, as anything less than 70% is considered a fail.

Tomorrow morning is the final fitness testing. Among other things, I will be running, doing push ups and doing chin-ups at 8:30 tomorrow morning. I'm not the greatest runner in the world, so this has me concerned. If it was purely strength based, I'd be ok. I thought Paramedics didn't run, so why subject us to the torture of a shuttle run??? Grr...

We also have lift tests, practical tests and theory tests. Lift testing is challenging, but I have done them all in practice. It was such an amazing high last week, I was able to carry 210 lbs up and down 2 flights of stairs, then lift 300lbs up and down one flight. I feel like a tank, I've never been stronger in my life.

Practical testing is stressful, but a good score is not unobtainable. Follow the check sheet during a simple scenario and pass easily.

Theory tests - I have 4 of them in 3 days. Written exams, all worth a substantial percentage of the final mark, all of them needing a minimum of 70% to pass. My goal is nothing less than 90%. Study, study, study!

I thank God for Ryan at this time, but must also apologize to him. He is the one who sees me at my most stressed, the one I call and cry to when I get overwhelmed. He is the one who sees me cranky and irritable, yet the one who still loves me.

I am sorry for being so cranky lately, dear, you mean the world to me and I shouldn't release my stresses on you. I appreciate your support immensely and love you with all my heart. XOXO

Different Worlds

2009-12-01T19:11:00.000-05:00

How do I explain to my non-EMS family and friends what I see and how I am able to deal with it? How do I explain that I don't lose sleep over the teenage overdose patient without sounding cold and heartless? Can I ever explain my way of thinking?

Can I explain that if I did let these things bother me, I would never be able to do this job? Is it possible to show them that I care for my patients deeply and fully when with them, then largely forget them when I walk through the door? Will they ever understand that I simply can't work on the next patient if the previous one still has me by the heartstrings?

Sometimes I don't think they will ever get it, but I hate it when they assume I'm uncaring and heartless. I could not do this if I cared less than I do or had a smaller heart.

Shift 2: In Which Red Actually Does Stuff

2009-11-26T13:53:00.003-05:00

1900: Arrival, sent to rural base 2

1925: En route code 4 to chest pain/SOB. Tearing down back country roads in the fog and rain with lights and sirens blaring is fun - not knowing where we are going makes it feel faster than reality. Assisted with 02, vitals, cardiac monitor and stretcher lifting. ACP partner did 12-lead ECG, gave nitro and put in an IV. I can't watch needle sticks on TV, but in real life I find it fascinating. Monitor shows 3rd degree heart block.

2100: City base 2

2115: Code 4 to SOB/severe headache. Pt. felt a headache come on 'like a sledgehammer' and then started to experience chest pain. No physical evidence of a stroke/TIA, although he has a past history. Monitor, nitro, 02, IV. Monitor shows Atrial Fibrillation with a very irregular beat and 2nd degree heart block. Very sweet, 'pleasantly confused' old European man who tells me the same stories multiple times, calls me beautiful and kisses my hand when we part.

2300: City base 2

2330: Code 4 abdo pain. Moronic drivers stop in the middle of the road and try to race us through a light. I learn many creative sentance-enhancers from my preceptor, who is driving. Code 3, CTAS 3 on the return, walked pt into the waiting room. Possibly cancer-related.

0040: Code 4 overdose. Teenager takes a bottle of Tylenol 3 leftover from a family member's surgery. Worried parents hover as we assess their drowsy and lethargic daughter. She vomits - straight up, and I find myself impressed by that as I step out of the way, hauling the 02 bag with me. She is much more alert now. My ACP preceptor calls me his partner as he steps out of the room to allow me to change her shirt, that makes me smile - internally. Assessing further in the truck, her BP is almost unpalpable and he starts 2 large-bore IVs to push fluid in. He considers Narcan but doesn't want to make her vomit more since she is in no immediate danger. BP has risen to almost normal levels upon arrival at the hospital. Once transferred to the hospital bed, her father asks me about her enlarged lips. I realize they have swollen up since we first saw her, and her eyes are starting to puff. Pointing this out to my preceptor, he informs the nurse of a possibly codeine allergy. After cleaning the stretcher thoroughly, we once again head off into the night.

200: Main city base

430: City base 2 - the guys get the recliners, I sleep in the back of the truck. Ahh, the life of a lowly student.

646: I wake up as the truck starts to move, we're headed back to the main base to clock out.

700: Another positive evaluation in my book and I'm off, sad that rideouts are over but thrilled about the experience.

Shift 1: The Great Base Tour

2009-11-26T13:47:00.003-05:00

1800: Main city base

1830: Rural base 1

2010: City base 1

2030: Hospital to babysit a mental health patient due to offload delays and a lack of security/staff to handle another, violent, psych patient - there were already half a dozen in the waiting room

2130: Rural base 2

2:46: City base 2

3:14: Rural base 2

3:44: City base 2

3:53: City base 3 - last truck available in the region

4:04: City base 4

5:56: Main city base

6:00: Home

EMS: Earn Money Sleeping

2009-11-26T13:40:00.002-05:00

I recently finished my 2 observational rideout shifts with an EMS service, and I gotta say, the Earn Money Sleeping quip certainly is true. Both shifts were at night, the first one we did nothing, the second was busy until 2:00, then quiet.

I am disappointed in the number of calls we did because I want to see more, I want to do more. I have classmates who have assisted with a childbirth, MVCs, even one who did CPR on a VSA that they eventually got back - fully conscious and talking with no permanent deficits. Ah well, I will get my chance. I made a good impression on both my preceptors and had a lot of fun.

I don't want to go back to studying now - I want to keep working on the trucks. I did realize how much more I need to learn though, so back to studying I must go.

Stresses

2009-11-11T16:11:00.003-05:00

We've been talking a lot in school about critical incident and post traumatic stress, and it has me concerned. I hear about tortured children, innocent murder victims and horrific car accidents. I see images of this trauma; mangled limbs, bloodied faces and unrecognizable body parts. I wonder if I can handle it. I don't want to fill my mind with these images, I don't want to see things that will cause me to wake up in terror in the dark of the night. I don't want to cry for hours over the horrific scenes I will witness. I wonder if I am to sensitive for this job. I wonder if I can last without it destroying me.

I turn to my faith, immersing myself in uplifting music and reading the bible to cleanse my mind, attend church services to uplift my soul. I hike through the woods to relax and refocus, I stare into the rushing inferno of a waterfall and the sound soothes me. I take comfort in the strong, understanding arms of my Love, knowing that he will understand and go through the same things as a police officer. I revel in the company of my friends and we share stories, fears, hopes and dreams.

I really want to do this; my desire, my drive to be the one lifting those unfortunate souls back onto their feet is ever growing. I care so much about the patients that I have not yet seen. I study into the night to learn as much as I can to become a better medic for them. I want to do this, and I will do this. I know it will be difficult, I know there will be times when I will be knocked down. I also know that I will get back up, I will continue on, and I will leave the profession on my own terms.

Midterms Approach...

2009-10-14T16:06:00.003-04:00

It's halfway through the first term, and midterms are looming in the not so distant future. So far, my life consists on school, dinner, study, bed, repeat. I don't know how anybody can possibly do this with children or families at home!

So far the intense studying seems to be paying off, as I am at the top of my class. Woo! Now I have to get back to studying so I can keep it that way. :D

Learning How to Think

2009-09-28T20:29:00.002-04:00

I was a medical first responder for several years before becoming a paramedic student, and I know that experience has, is and will continue to serve me well as I advance in this career. At the same time, I've noticed some glaring differences between the two stages, the most obvious is the ability to think.

As an MFR, we treat because ultimately, we are told that is the way to do it. Some MFRs can explain why we do things, but a large majority can't really reason their way out of a cardboard box. As my prof says, this is the difference between a technician and a clinician. MFRs are taught the skills and they are able to carry them out, but a paramedic should be able to tell you exactly why they are doing things, what effect it has on the body, and all sorts of other details. I love this distinction, because I often felt that this was lacking in my volunteer work. There were times when I would question oxygen administration, splinting and even back boarding, to be met with a stone-faced, by-the-book response. Yes, I know that the book says we should consider spinal injuries if the patient falls, but when they land on their side from a relatively short height and have NO signs or symptoms indicating any injury of any sort, do we REALLY need to backboard them??

Anyways, I love how my teachers are stressing critical thinking, thorough assessments and a rock solid knowledge base. It makes me feel that I can at last break out of the trained monkey stage and get more clinical in my thinking and treatment.

Adjusting Well

2009-09-23T20:38:00.003-04:00

I'm well into the first month and all I can say now is that I love it! I know where everything is, what is expected, and what I need to be doing. I have made amazing friends that are just as passionate about this as I am. It is the best academic experience I've ever had, I'm challenged mentally and physically and thrive on it.

I've realized that my background has prepared me well for this program, and although it is difficult and a lot of work, I can and will succeed. I've never been so excited about school before - it's incredible.

I'm learning a lot about the field of paramedicine, and realizing that the possibilities are endless and I want to do it all. Being a tactical medic with the police would be amazing, but so would a community medic in Northern Canada. I could end up teaching these courses, be a manager or supervisor, or thrive on the everyday calls out on the truck. I love the opportunities I'm discovering, I love the friends I've made, and I love my program. My professors are inspirational, hilarious and knowledgeable, I try to soak up every word in class. The fitness teacher is lovably sadistic, as my weeping muscles will readily attest to.

Thanks to my friends and family members who offered me encouragement and support in the last few weeks during the adjustment period, as well as medic7. Thanks for the uplifting comment! I'm tackling this program with all my energy, it's an experience of a lifetime leading to an incredible career.

Slightly Overwhelmed

2009-09-08T22:29:00.002-04:00

Paramedic school has begun, and after having course outlines, objectives and expectations thrown at me relentlessly, I'm feeling rather overwhelmed. I just don't know where to start it seems, I feel like I'm behind before we've even begun.

The more I look over what we will be learning, the more I realize what I don't know. I think I am a good, solid MFR, but that doesn't translate to a thing in this strange realm. Everything is taken to another level, a million steps further, and my comfort zone has been blown out of the water. I have spent the last few days realizing that I don't know squat.

I think I'll feel a little more confident soon, or at least I hope so. I need to get all my textbooks, my uniform, my immunizations, all my stuff organized and ready to go. I'm still excited, but that feeling of excitement tends to get snuffed out in waves of panic and the fear of failure.

Learning to say no

2009-08-08T16:53:00.002-04:00

A few months ago, John warned me that I needed to slow down and relax before starting the paramedic program in the fall. As I usually do when people tell me to slow down, I ignored him. I was finishing university, working a lot at my two jobs, volunteering even more and generally running around everywhere doing everything. Who had time to slow down, relax, see friends or even talk to family? Certainly not me!

My hectic lifestyle caught up with me in the form of bronchitis, swine flu, mono, or some combination of the three. After spending 2 months sick, I have decided I should indeed slow down. I need to learn how to say no, how to allow myself time for me. I need to reconnect with family and friends that have been pushed to the wayside in favour of work, school or volunteering. I need to start making time for church and church activities. I need to get back on my bike and rekindle my love of cycling. I need to take time to go for a hike with Ryan and just enjoy his wonderful company.

To start, I'm going camping in the absolute middle of the wilderness for 7 days with Ryan. It's going to be an amazing trip, and I'll come back so utterly refreshed! No technology, no noise, no crowds, no cars - I can't wait! I'm looking forward to life slowing down a bit...I just need to keep saying no to things I don't really need or want to do.

Starting in 7 weeks...

2009-07-26T20:20:00.003-04:00

I am getting very excited to begin the paramedic program, now less than two months away. I have secured my little apartment near the college, have started to pack and am starting to get all the orientation information. It sounds like a busy first semester, I have 8 courses! In university, the max I ever had was 5, so that worries me a bit. Here is an overview of my courses and my thoughts on them, since I've been fighting bronchitis for the last 2 months and haven't done anything remotely exciting in the field.

Writing Skills
Not too worried about this one, I think I know how to read and write very well. I've read hundreds of journal articles and written reviews of them, done presentations in front of scads of people and have written massively long reports and essays. I think I should be ok in this course.

Phys. Ed
This concerns me the most of any course, actually. I've been sick for 2 months and hve done very little physical activity, my lung capacity is next to nothing and my muscles have all but atrophied. It will take some hard work, but I know I can build my strength and cardio back up and become a red-headed powerhouse again. ....I hope.

Assessment and Treatment Skills
I am looking forward to this, I love patient assessment, I love learning about the body and everything that can go wrong. I think my enthusiasm for this course should serve me well and it won't be too difficult.

Patient Care Lab
Hopefully my volunteer experiences in patient care will give me an edge here, but I know I have a lot to learn to enhance my skill set. There is a 190 lb lifting portion to this course that I will have to work on, but I can do it.

Medical Legal
This course studies all the regulations governing ambulances and paramedics in the province, especially concerning patient care and privacy. I wonder where this blog fits into that....?

Intro Psychology
I've taken several university psych courses, but I'm interested to see the slant towards paramedicine that will happen in this course. Shouldn't be difficult, given my background, but it will be fascinating.

Clinical
AWESOME!!! I can't wait for this, I want to be out in those trucks right now! Haha, I'm not eager at all...

Anatomy and Physiology
Cells, tissues, organs, microbiology and diseases, bring it ON! My favourite course in university was an amazing A&P course in 2nd year, the prof was amazing and I learned a lot. This course should be great, I'm looking forward to it as well.

Well, there is an overview of everything I'm doing in 7 weeks...not that I'm counting, or anything. ;) Basically, I'm a little worried about the physical portion, not too worried about the academic portion and awesomely excited about it all. Now I just need to spend 800 bucks on textbooks and hope my 8-year old computer doesn't fry. Gotta love school though!

Fresh Eyes

2009-06-13T00:45:00.002-04:00

My feet are sore, my muscles are aching and I'm exhausted....but I wouldn't trade it for the world. The festival today was a lot of fun, I had great partners, great calls and great food, not to mention very cute cops. I've really moved into a teaching role lately, mentoring the new members like John did for me is very rewarding, although sometimes very hard work.

One new recruit is my particular favourite, a spirited and lively girl that we shall call Katie. She is all excited over benign calls, she loves to jump on the radio first - just so she can use it, and she is incredibly eager to learn, taking instruction and criticism very well. She reminds me of how I was a few years ago, she's a lot of fun. One of my favourite new members, although a seasoned responder, is Carlos. He is excellent with patient care, one of the best in the division, and always kind and sweet with a ready smile and quick joke. Working with the two of them is a dream.

After sending two patients out with ems, one super drunk/altered LOC and one drunk/seizure and were wandering around the beer area. Carlos, Frank and Katie went to check out Joe, who was drinking but saying he shouldn't be because of his heart meds. I was watching them work, ~~flirting with~~ talking to the cops, when I heard Carlos raise his voice, "Joe! Joe! Joe, open your eyes!" I glance over and see the man slump in his chair, his body beginning to jerk and convulse. Carlos grabs his top, Frank grabs his bottom and I remove the chair as we lower him to the ground.

I stand back and watch as they treat, hooking up oxygen, grabbing the suction, writing down vitals, all the necessary but extra stuff, and let my responders work. Carlos is excellent, Frank and Katie are learning fast and are very eager, Joe is in good hands. My new cop friends call ems for us and in no time at all, we bundle him off to the hospital to get checked out, told the same thing as last time, and booted back onto the street to get stupid drunk again.

Katie is so excited she can't stand still. She goes over the details of the call, what we did, how we did it, picking apart everything. She is ecstatic at how many "awesome" patients she had tonight (count: 3 - all in various stages of drunkenness), and how she is totally in love with this job. I watch her excitement and grin, feeling my own love for this coming back. It's easy to forget how much I loved it when I first began, sometimes it takes a fresh-eyed, eager young member to remind me.

Drowning in Paperwork

2009-05-30T10:17:00.003-04:00

In 3 months I start the paramedic program, and I'm starting to get quite excited. There are a lot of very big, very fast changes going on right now, and I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to get it all done. In the span of a few months, I'm graduating university, buying a car, getting my own apartment, moving to a different city and starting the paramedic program.

As well, before I start the program I need to track down all my immunization records, possibly getting a few to get them up-to-date, get a police check, a TB test, a mask fit and collect proof of all my current certifications. Sometimes it seems like I'm drowning in paperwork to try to get everything done!

I am looking forward to September though, it's going to be a wonderful switch from university - which has been almost entirely theory based. I'm excited to start clinical placements and actually apply what I've learned. It's going to be hard work, but I can't wait to start it.

You killed Fluffy!

2009-04-16T22:36:00.003-04:00

I was teaching a lesson on head injuries a while back, ending with scenarios, as usual. The scenario I came up with involved a person riding their bike, swerving to miss a cat named Fluffy, and hitting a tree. One of the members had brought her small son with her, who was sitting quietly in his corner and raptly watching Mommy treat the patient. She called me a few days later to tell me the following story...

Driving home down a country road with Kenny in the back seat, I noticed a small rabbit jump out of the ditch just in front of the car. "Oh no!" I thought, "It's Fluffy, and if I swerve I'll hit a tree and get a head injury!" With the scenario from training in my mind, I stoically held course, hitting the rabbit but staying on the road and away from the trees. Hoping Kenny hadn't seen anything, I kept driving as if nothing had happened.

Childish laughter from the backseat surprised me as Kenny spoke up, "Mommy, it was Fluffy! You killed Fluffy!!" He got a kick out of it, but I had to open my big mouth, "No, honey, Fluffy was a cat, that was a rabbit." So much for making it better, the laughter stopped and his eyes welled up in tears, "You killed the Easter Bunny! Mom, you killed the Easter Bunny!" Now he was bawling his little eyes out, "Good move", I thought, mentally kicking myself. "No, no, honey, that was way too small to be the Easter Bunny, he's much bigger!" This thought placated my crying son, and he turned off the waterworks, only to start giggling again. "Mommy killed Fluffy! You did, you killed Fluffy!" Apparently hitting a cat is funny, but killing the Easter Bunny is a horrific crime.

The Next Step

2009-03-18T23:23:00.003-04:00

"Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life." ~Confucius

I love volunteering; treating patients and being in uniform are two of the most enjoyed parts of my life. I love being on duty, seeing new things, meeting new people, facing challenges and always adapting to new situations. I would do this every day if I could, I can think of no other career I would prefer. This brings me to my next step, since I graduate university this spring.

I have been accepted to the Paramedic Program at one of the best colleges in the area, I will begin the 2-year process this September. I am ridiculously excited, I've been wanting to do this for a while. I know the job is not all fun and excitement, I've already been bled on, puked on, frozen in the winter, boiled in the summer, bored out of my mind and so exhausted I couldn't sleep when my shift was finally done. I just love it, I can't explain why or how, I just do.

My goal is to kick butt in the program, since everything that I don't learn will come back to bite me on the street. I know my degree will generally count for squat, I need to work my tail off to be good, nay, to excel as a paramedic on the street. Although I'm not giving up my volunteer position, this blog will inevitably begin to chronicle my progress through school and calls I get while on the road with my preceptors. I'm excited for the change!!

2009-03-16T22:14:00.002-04:00

The call comes over the radio and Ryan and I respond to a fall in the front lobby of the hockey arena. An elderly woman has taken her walker down the escalator and ended up falling down the last few steps. I take the call and carefully start assessing her, the poor woman has a slight mental impairment, a host of medical problems and is frightened and shaking like a leaf.

I check her shoulders and neck, running my fingers along her collarbone to assess stability. I check both her arms, running my hands down the bones to feel for deformities or swelling, watching her face for grimaces or any other indication of pain. All I find is a tender bruise starting to swell up just above her elbow; pulses, mobility, sensation, grip strength and everything else is normal. I check everything, running through the full assessment just to be sure. As I release her from my care, I tell her all I found was the bruise on her arm, but to go to the doctor and get checked out later if anything continues to hurt. Completely confident in my assessment and treatment, I fill out my paperwork and contently return to our seats in the stands to watch the end of the game.

Two weeks later, she approaches me at another game, her arm encased in a very supportive sling. "You know my arm that you said was just bruised?" She says with a slightly accusatory tone, "It turns out I broke my collarbone. I went to the doctor and it hurt more than all of my surgeries put together." Slightly dumbfounded, I stammer out an apologetic response while trying not to second-guess my basic assessment skills. As we part, I turn to Ryan in shame, "I thought I nailed that call, I checked everything! She had no pain, no swelling, no deformity, no instability, no nothing!" I barely hear his consolatory response as I'm lost in my own embarrassed thoughts.

I know I wouldn't have run that call differently if I came across it again, but I still feel bad that I missed it. I thought my skills were oh-so-good, I was getting cocky, especially in front of the newer members. I guess we all need to be knocked back to earth occasionally, even if its by something as simple as a broken collarbone.

Discord

2009-03-04T19:52:00.007-05:00

The performer revels in the adoration, the screams and cheers of thousands of fans. He hears them scream his name, sing every lyric of every song and raucously applaud everything he says or does. I hear the scream for help, the cry of a frightened fan with blood running down her face. I hear security shout for me as yet another person staggers out and collapses against a pole, or is carried out by anxious friends. I hear the same stories time and time again, from nearly every patient who walks through our doors.

He sees them jump up and down with excitement, he sees the wide smiles on their faces, the signs splashed with his name and his T-shirts on every body. He sees attractive young women winking at him and smiling suggestively as they bare much in their concert attire. I see the police hauling yet another obnoxious drunk out of the crowd, tossing him out before he creates yet another patient for me. I see the blood hit the floor, drying into deep red-purple stains, a surprisingly beautiful colour against the dingy tile. I see knees buckle as people collapse, their pale and sweaty faces showing fear through their weakness. I watch the crowd closely, picking out those who will soon join me, seeing potential patients in every corner. I see a scantily clad woman fighting to stay upright on huge heels as she stumbles around in a drunken haze, eventually failing miserably and hitting the floor in a pile of skin, makeup and beer.

He smells the smoke from the pyrotechnics mingling with the odour of alcohol and sweat from the massive crowd. I smell the fruity tropical drinks in the vomit my young patient is spewing everywhere, I smell the alcohol on the breath of every patient who stumbles in. I smell smoke and blood, beer and vomit. The inescapable odour permeates my uniform and my hair, searing itself into my very pores.

He feels the thunderous bass shaking the stage beneath his feet, he feels the touch of frantic hands against his feet, his legs, his hands. I feel the grip of a drunk young woman on my hand, her fingers locking through mine in a desperate attempt to regain stability. I feel the swelling grow in a broken nose, I feel my sweat on my forehead as I try to stem the ever-rising tide into the first aid post.

He sings of the glories of alcohol, I see none of it. The young women who came in attractively dressed now slump to the floor, skirts riding up and shirts hanging low, with no control over themselves. Men who come in quietly leave with an escort of blue, or stumble out in a cloud of profanity. I spend the entire evening treating what alcohol has done to these people, and can't help but realize the discord between my experience and the ones glorified in his songs.

Concerts

2009-03-02T21:20:00.002-05:00

March seems to be concert month around here, which is a welcome break after the long, slow winter. There are several large ones approaching, and I find myself looking forward to the preparation, setup and organization of these events. I love being the control person, running the show from the pre-duty briefing until the debriefing at the end. I carefully set up my teams based on qualification and experience, sending them out to pre-arranged locations at the pre-arranged times. I rotate them often enough to keep them from getting bored, and shuffle them around to maintain coverage when calls start pouring in.

We prepare for the worst when setting up before every concert, our entire triage area is designed to manage mass numbers of casualties. We prepare a drunk section where they can vomit peacefully with limited mess, water is set up for the fainters and splints and backboards are laid out for the unfortunate souls who venture into the mosh pit. Our tent stands guard at the entrance, a post through which all must pass in order to maintain order and control. I brief the teams, giving them the layout of the show, times, attendance numbers, radio instructions and assignments. As much information as I have, I reveal. I want my responders to be fully informed, holding back information to preserve a sense of power and control drives me nuts, I always strive to be fully open.

Hopefully, this month will go smoothly and the concerts will prove yet again to be a learning experience for everyone involved. I do my part by making sure all the extra stuff is taken care of, freeing up the responders to respond to calls and treat patients to the best of their ability. Hopefully, having me at the helm and on the radio allows them to focus on their job and not worry about anything else. I love treating patients, but I'm loving the organization and dispatching side more than ever.

Politics and Patients

2009-01-19T16:15:00.003-05:00

Standing on the balcony and watching the milling theatre crowd below, I am struck by a sudden realization. The politics don't matter, I can deal with the issues and squabbles that have plagued us recently, because I do this for good, unchanging reasons. I do it for the people below me, for the experience and joy of treating a patient, to help a person out in their moment of need. I can look every single person here in the eye and say, "I do this for YOU." I experience a new pride in the crest on my sleeve, a renewed joy at the rank on my shoulder, a feeling of fulfillment and joy in my job. I do this for the patients, they are what matter, nothing else, and I will stick with it.

Anger

2009-01-12T20:07:00.004-05:00

I watch the concert from a safe distance with my earplugs in, but it is still deafeningly loud. There is more black than the average funeral, as weirdly pierced, spiked and tattooed teens wander aimlessly around, charging into the concert room when the main band comes on. Nosebleeds seem to be the order of the day, courtesy of the frenetic mosh pit and flailing arms. A slightly older guy comes storming out of the crowd, blood streaming down his face, his arms, his clothes, the floor. I sigh, glove up and grab a mess of paper towel. Here comes another one.

He storms over to the wall and kicks it, hard, then whips his sweater at the nearest garbage can. I shake my head at his display of temper and walk over when he appears to have calmed a bit. Handing him the stretch of paper towel, I touch his arm and beckon towards the first aid room. He storms into the room just ahead of me, then lets loose a curse and kicks my trash can, bending it in half and sending bloody gauze and other debris cascading over the entire floor. He then proceeds to brutalize the helpless wheelchair, cursing and yelling about the injustice of his nosebleed. "HEY!" I yell, angry that I will have to clean up after his mess, angry that he is disrupting MY safe place, MY treatment room. "WATCH IT!"

He turns with clenched fists and takes a few threatening steps towards me. Thoughts fly through my mind like lightening, "I'm about to get punched, Ryan is going to KILL him, this is going to hurt, WHY didn't I call in my partner or security???" At the same instant that he starts moving, I do as well. Stepping outside, I wave to the nearest security guard, who comes running. Still mad at the guy for being such an ass, I re-enter the room and lose it on him. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?" I shout at him, "SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP NOW, OR I WON'T TREAT YOU, I WILL THROW YOU OUT OF THIS ROOM AND HAVE YOU THROWN OUT OF THIS CONCERT! Now calm down, and sit your ass down, NOW!" He looks taken aback, and as the security guard enters, he finds a blood-covered man cowering on the cot. "Everything ok?" he asks. "Just fine," I answer, "He was just a little upset." He nods and steps out the door, leaving me with the patient who is now extremely contrite, apologizing for the mess, for his anger, even for his injury.

I help him stop the bleeding, clean the blood off his hands and face and send him on his not-so-merry way. The look on his face when I started yelling at him sticks with me, I can't help but laugh as I clean up the mess and remember his incredibly abrupt change in behaviour. I guess redheads have a bit of a temper after all. ;)

The Concert Hall

2008-12-05T15:44:00.006-05:00

The singer is incredible, he has an absolutely amazing voice. I had been a distant fan for a while, I like his music, but not in a rabid, buy all his CDs the moment they come out way. After the first song though, the goosebumps covering my entire body just don't go away, and I'm on the edge of my seat, awash in the rapture of his gorgeous voice. All the stresses and cares of the world melt from my mind as he sings, Christmas carols, Worship songs, his own songs, he just keeps singing and singing.

A hand on my shoulder breaks me out of my spellbound reverie and I jump, startled back to this world. Jakob leans over me, "We've got a call down front," he stage-whispers, "do you want me to take care of it so you can watch the show?" I quickly shake my head no and follow him across the back of the theatre. As much as I was enjoying this man's voice, my purpose for being here is to treat patients, not to kick back and relax.

The usher leads us along the side of the theatre, passing rows and rows of people who drag their attention away from the stage to gaze curiously at us and whisper to each other. We stop stage left, 3 rows from the front, in perfect view of the stage and the entire theatre. I make my way down the aisle, which thankfully, happens to be one of the widest rows in the place, and stop where the head usher is crouched in front of an elderly woman, slumped over in her seat. She gives me a quick report as I sidle up beside her in the dim light.

"She was feeling faint, dizzy and nauseous, with severe pain in her right foot since this morning." I nod and crouch by the woman, running through the assessment questions to try and rule out major issues, like an MI or stroke. A few minutes later, I am relatively convinced that although it is nothing too serious at the moment, we need to get her out of the theatre seating where I can do a proper assessment. Since she says she is unable to walk, we bring a wheelchair as close as possible and lift her into it.

By now the entire auditorium is watching us, and the performer knows it. I am completely focused on my patient, aware of but not focused on anything around me when the music stops. "I don't mean to draw attention to it, but I see we're having some difficulty in the front here." I hear a melodic voice say, and I look up, straight into the singer's eyes - he's almost close enough to touch, staring down at us with loving concern. "Why don't we pray for this woman's healing, and thank God for her life...." He begins to pray for her, for her healing, and for us. In slight disbelief, I carry the wheelchair-bound woman up the stairs as the entire crowd joins him in prayer, then applauds.

We head for the stage door exit, as the woman has requested an ambulance, and she's just not 'right' enough to let her go home. I don't know what was happening with her, but judging from her 6 million index cards full of allergies, medications and conditions, I'd say it was beyond my ability to treat. Just before the paramedics arrive, the performer comes backstage to see the women, wishing her well, and nodding his thanks at us. Since I am a complete professional, I certainly did not grin like a fool for the rest of the evening....

Just because we can?

2008-10-16T16:34:00.004-04:00

I had an 'asthma' patient not too long ago, who came over to me freaking out, gasping for breath, moaning, crying and clutching her chest, throat, face etc. I sat her down, stared her straight in the eye and told her directly to calm down. I coached her breathing for very few cycles before realizing that she was, for lack of a better expression, full of it. She would gasp and spit, choke and sputter, then look up at the scoreboard and cheer raucously for her trailing team. She would be close to death, then pick up her cell phone and start texting her friends. A colleague of mine walked over and asked, like I was completely inept, why this asthma patient was not on O2. Ummm....because she doesn't need it?

A few weeks later, I was running an event as control when one of my teams got a call for an injured cheerleader. She had been kicked in the head, rather hard, as she fell from the top of a formation. The trainer had walked her over to our post and sat her on the back step of our ambulance. She had a nasty headache, as well as nausea and dizziness. She did not have neck pain or tenderness, and from all accounts, had not actually fallen onto her head. I know I wasn't at the call and didn't assess her myself, so perhaps it is unfair to criticize the team's treatment. They put her in a KED (since she was sitting down), and were preparing to backboard her as EMS showed up. The paramedics checked her over, WALKED her to their stretcher, placing her on it sitting up comfortably, and left for the hospital.

A little girl turns her foot at a kid's event, my partner and I head over to check her out. She is sitting on the turf, no tears, no obvious look of pain on her face. She winces slightly when I touch the lateral edge of her foot, but there is no instability and only minimal swelling. Placing an ice pack on the injury does wonders to relieve the pain. My partner pulls me aside and asks if I'm planning on splinting it. I say no, and explain when he gives me an incredulous look. I am not putting a small child in a massive, uncomfortable knee-toe-splint for an injury that just doesn't seem to logically require immobilization. Sure enough, she is up and running around by the end of the event.

Over-treating patients seems to be a rampant disease among many of the people I work with. The "Just because we can" attitude drives me insane, and I strive to counter-act that whenever possible. On our training nights, this attitude is clearly visible among many of the responders. When we focus on patient assessment techniques, vital signs and theory, people are bored and disinterested, brushing it off as been there, done that. This is even the case among responders who are and always have been terrible at patient assessment, obtaining accurate vitals consistently, scene management and the like. As soon as we pull out the equipment, however, people get more interested. Backboards, the KED, crazy splinting stuff, people would rather do that than practice the oh-so boring, routine steps of assessment and treatment. There is also a great tendency to jump on the chance to 'practice' their skills on a real patient. I don't like that mindset, but sometimes I worry that I am under-treating in response to their over-treatment. I guess it has to be a fine balance, and always, always with the patient's welfare at the forefront.

Little Things

2008-09-24T16:55:00.002-04:00

The beautiful little blond kid bounces over to me, then shyly asks for a bandaid as his father stands back and smiles. I kneel down to his level and ask him if a Spider-man one will do. His face lights up with a massive grin that is instantly mirrored on my own face.

She cries without ceasing, her massive shoulders shaking with sobs. She is filled with guilt over the pills she took, not enough to kill her, but enough to alter her mental status and have her seeing snakes. She is terrified, her mental status not much more than a child. I take off a glove and reach for her hand, letting her feel how much I care as I link my fingers through hers.

I stop short as I notice a bowl of small, wooden animals from Africa in the booth beside me. My grandparents bought a collection of them for us when we were kids, but I haven't seen them in years. I pick up a few of my old favourites and caress them softly, lost in memories of childhood. I turn to my ever-present partner Ryan and tell him we have to come back here later in the Fair. I forget all about them as we get swamped with calls, but he slinks back that evening and buys a bag of them. (I know I'm not supposed to know about them yet....but another partner let it slip.)

It's the little things in life that can make your day...I feel blessed to be able to give and receive so much love. Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful world.

The Midway.....

2008-07-22T14:20:00.004-04:00

It's been a long weekend, and this has been such a loooooong day. Ryan and I are finishing up 17 hours on duty, two back-to-back shifts, and we're beginning to get a little loopy. I love working with him though; this cute new transfer and I get along very well.

We finish packing up our station for the night and head to his car, joined by Sarah, a bouncy brunette who is always a lot of fun to be around. The sugar rush brought on by massive amounts of fudge is fighting back the exhaustion we feel, leaving us giddy. We drive slowly out of the festival grounds, past the midway - which is still running! Ryan looks at Sarah. Sarah looks at Ryan. They both turn and look at me. "LET'S DO IT!!" we say in unison, grinning like maniacs. Pulling into a clump of trees and parking, we all jump out and lose our uniform shirts. We run across the road in black tank tops and our tac pants, attempting to hide from all the other members who are pulling out behind us. Stupid reflective striping!

The Tilt-a-Whirl is first up, spinning and laughing as the stress of the day flies off our shoulders and away into the starry night. The queasy feeling hits me as I step off the ride, odd, since I can usually handle these things just fine. I shake it off so I don't miss any of the fun, and we head for the spinning strawberries.

As soon as the carney releases the break, Ryan grabs the wheel in the centre and begins to spin. He spins and spins, faster and faster. Sarah and I are plastered to the walls; laughter and the force of the spin leave us unable to move. We hit Mach 10 and suddenly I feel like I'm about to die. I turn "glow in the dark white" as the spinning world begins to blur and fade away in front of my eyes. Ryan turns to look at me and immediately grabs the wheel with both hands, straining to stop the spinning motion. Just as the strawberry begins to slow, the actual ride begins and a whole different spin is presented. I hold onto the cool walls with both hands, trying to focus on something, anything solid and taking breaths as deep as I can muster. It's the ride that never ends, we just keep going around....and around....and around...and around...

After what seems to be an eternity, the ride stops and I am freed from my strawberry prison. Sarah helps me down the narrow metal steps; my legs just aren't working very well. Ryan grabs my other arm and they lead me back to his car in the bushes. "I just have to sit for a minute," I manage, trying not to sound as bad as I feel. It doesn't seem to work, as I collapse in the grass and they go into patient care mode. I'm feeling too nauseous to care at first, I'm just trying not to blow chunks over the most gorgeous guy I've ever met. Ryan rubs my back, telling me to "throw up, it'll make you feel better." as Sarah looks at me with a twinge of jealousy in her eyes. When Ryan gets up to grab a blanket from her car, she leans in closer, laughing, "You're faking it to get the attention, aren't you?!!" I attempt a smile, which turns into another groan, "I only wish I was, I've never felt so sick in my entire life!" She laughs again as he rejoins us on the damp grass, wrapping a soft pink blanket around my shoulders and continuing to rub my back. As sick as I feel, I simply can't appreciate his comforting touch.

After 45 minutes, I feel well enough for the car ride home, but just barely. They help me inside and I collapse on the couch with relief. I am on duty for the next several days as the festival continues, and am nauseous for all of them. Maxing out the daily recommended Gravol limit does little to help, and I live on white rice, crackers and ginger ale. The new running joke of the division is that Ryan makes me sick....which is ironic, since we start dating less than a week later.

Angry Patients Suck

2008-07-04T11:01:00.004-04:00

A young girl runs up to our tent, panting and flushed. "I need help, my friend is hurt, come quick!" I stand and try to calm her down, "What happened, where is he?" "He dislocated his shoulder again, he's screaming, over on the grass at the other side, hurry!"

We hop on our stretcher-carrying super cool fashion statement of a golf cart and make our way through the festival crowds. I sit on the back with Ryan as NDP drives, the girl beside him giving him directions. We pull up to the group playing football on the field, our patient is obvious.

A young man is bent double on his knees, one arm hanging uselessly. He is alternately screaming in pain and dry heaving into the grass. His friends, a rough looking bunch, gather around yelling at us to hurry up. As I start talking to him, trying to assess him, he pleads with me to "just pop it back in, pop it back in!!" I explain I cannot do that, I am not trained to and I could just make it worse. At this, he begins to swear and curse at me, his friends joining in. "Pop it in, b****, just pop it in!" He begs for help, then screams at me to get away. I am on my knees in front of him, trying to reason with him, explaining what I can do, offering to call the ambulance for him. He doesn't listen, getting more and more angry. His friends join in, swearing at us, "F-ing ambulance drivers, what do you know?", "Just go, get away, you're useless!" I want to help this guy, but he and his friends are making it impossible.

Ryan touches my elbow, subtly drawing me away from the crowd. With his light touch, he makes me aware of the position I was in, and I smack myself for forgetting about scene safety.....again. NDP tries to get the patient to sign a refusal of treatment as he half crawls, half stumbles away, "I'm not signing nuthin', F-er!" His friends refuse to sign as witnesses until NDP mentions the calling the police to control the situation. They yank the PCR out of his hands and sign angrily, still swearing at us.

We get back on the golf cart and sigh. So much for trying to help people. I can handle frequent fliers, barf, blood, whiners and people of all ages without a problem, but angry swearing bothers me. I try not to let it and enjoy the beautiful day. As much as I wish I could have helped him, there was nothing else I could have done for the guy. I let it go and relax, enjoying the ride back to base.

Farewell to John

2008-06-22T17:05:00.002-04:00

To my favourite partner, teacher, mentor, friend and brother, I will truly miss you. I know you have to move, being hired on by a service several hours away is better than no job here. I just wish this city would wise up and hire you already.

You took me under your wing over a year ago, making it your job to teach me, mentor me and help me out with the rough stuff. You answered every question patiently, reiterated the stuff I always seemed to forget, and always pushed me to do better, pushing me beyond my comfort zone. You were my safety net for everything we did together. You made me run the call, but always with the knowledge that you were there to step in or help out if I needed it. I know I still have a lot to learn and a lot of experience to gain, but you gave me a solid skill foundation and the confidence I need to be on my own.

You were always the protector; a bodyguard and big brother. I felt so safe with you. Drunks were never a problem; you protected me from both amorous and aggressive ones. You called me out of the way of projectile vomit; you pulled me back from clingy and unpredictable patients when I got too close. You taught me to become more aware of my surroundings and the environment. Scene safety was made paramount, as you knew you would not be my bodyguard forever. When another member showed interest in me, you became the big brother, pointing out the fatal flaws I was trying to ignore and comforting me when I was upset.

I was completely intimidated by you at first; you towered above me in both size and knowledge. I have come to realize that you are a big teddy bear, unless someone you care for is in need of help. I will miss you oh-so-very much, my respected mentor, trusted friend and honourary big brother. I love you and wish you all the best in your new city. You’ll knock ‘em dead.

Night Shift

2008-06-21T08:02:00.003-04:00

Combine three relatively new and extremely fun partners with a 12-hour outdoor, overnight event. Add in very accommodating event organizers, a beautiful (yet cool) first night of summer and the reappearance of a VERY entertaining firefighter. With a touch of coffee and a lot of hot chocolate, you get the perfect recipe for a fun night.

Night shifts can be quite fun, if all the pieces fall into place. I know I should try to sleep for a bit before my next shift (6-midnight), but I just can't seem to get into sleep mode with the beautiful sunshine outside my window.

Fear

2008-06-02T22:57:00.001-04:00

The sweet little girl with the tummy ache looks at me with frightened eyes. I talk to her quietly, softly, drawing her out of her shell in the tiny little first aid room. She tells me of her puppies, then mentions how her Dad abused them. She tells me of her siblings, then tells me they are in foster homes. She tells me of school, and how she hasn’t been in weeks. I want to hug her, to make her life easier somehow, but I just sit and talk. Shane slowly pushes the door open and steps into the room. I smile and look up at my trusted friend, but the little sweetie in front of me freezes in her chair. She pushes back, trying to shrink away from my lovable partner. A veil drops in her eyes, she refuses to speak or even look up, still cowering. Without speaking a word, I quickly advise Shane to leave, and he slips from the room without a sound. I watch my frightened little charge sadly. What is she so afraid of?

An excited din in the hallway brings me to my feet quickly. An ever-smiling Spanish child is holding her screaming brother tightly by the arm. He shrieks and cries out, “No, no!” as one of the leaders runs over to me and tells me he has a popsicle stick stuck in his throat. The leaders are trying to convince the girl to let me look at him as she shakes her head and adamantly repeats, “No, no.” I can assess him to some extent without touching him, and by the way he is screaming his head off in sheer panic, I think it’s safe to assume that he is breathing. He just keeps shrieking and pulling away in abject terror, his ever-smiling sister showing the same fear through her eyes. What are they so afraid of?

The kids file out of the building as Shane and I watch, smiling and saying goodbye. We try so hard to be a comforting, safe presence for them. So many of them shy away, look at us with fear. A tiny black boy looks at me with distrust as he passes, holding his even littler brother tightly by the arm. He also looks at us with fear in his eyes. What is he so afraid of?

What is the sweet little girl afraid of? What are the brother and sister afraid of? What are the two little boys afraid of?

I’m afraid to know.

Qualifications

2008-05-08T11:24:00.002-04:00

Scott asked a very good question in the comment section of my last post, and since I'm getting a few more readers who aren't Canadian, family or close friends, I think I should explain my qualification a bit.

I am an Advanced Medical First Responder in the Canadian system, which is comparable to EMT-B in the American System. The next level of training for me would be Primary Care Paramedic, a 2-year college degree, which I believe is similar to EMT-I. Then comes Advanced Care Paramedic, or EMT-P. That is my understanding of the system, but then we have Critical Care Paramedics too...not sure what they would be considered in the States.

I think the main difference between AMFR (usually just called MFR) and EMT-B is that we cannot transport patients on a normal basis. We are only allowed to transport if the roads are closed, (like during a marathon) or there is a state of emergency. Our trucks are fully stocked to BLS standards in case we get called out though, we are to be ready at all times. Barring disaster, we are usually just first response units at major events. Having us there cuts down on a lot of needless 911 calls, as we usually treat and release without any need for activating the next level of care. This means we get a high volume of not-so-bad calls, and very few crazy ones. I rather like this at the moment, I'm creating a solid knowledge base, getting more and more comfortable with the simple calls and basic skills. After I finish my degree I may move onwards and upwards to Paramedic, but we shall see. For now, I'm happy where I am.

The Star of Life

2008-05-05T15:43:00.014-04:00

Wrestlemania simply does not appeal to me, so I opt to sit out at the truck with the radios. I can hear the calls better out there, and I don't have to watch the nastiness that is taking place in the ring. Shane and our observer Mary decide to snag seats and watch, I wander in every now and then to say hi. About halfway through, the crowd begins to roar more loudly than usual, so I pop in to see what is happening. Yet two more massive dudes are harassing each other in the ring, I have no clue what the fuss is about. As I walk over to Shane, he beckons me close, "Red, take a look at the lady to the left in the T-shirt. What do you think?" I glance over and take in the scene. She is slightly bent over, holding her chest and searching for something under the seats. Even from the next section I can see she is having trouble breathing. I glance back at Shane, "Looks like a testing scenario gone wrong." He nods in agreement and heads in her direction, Mary hot on his heels. I hang back, it tends to get rather crowded in the stands, and watch. He starts to talk to her, then glances over his shoulder as he helps her out of her seat, giving me THE LOOK.

I grab the trauma bag and head back to the truck, radioing for stadium medical on the way. I grab a chair for her, make sure the AED is within arm's reach (without being obvious), radio my other team to let them know we have a call and grab a PCR as Shane and Mary help her back. As we hook up the O2, Shane tells me she is having chest pain and difficulty breathing, and dropped the only nitro pill she had with her. Lovely. 911 is called and we busy ourselves with treating her, taking vitals and doing paperwork.

Less than 10 minutes after we pulled her out of the stands, the paramedics show up with the fire department. They look at us with slight apprehension, we are volunteers and sadly, many of our members don't always leave the best impression. Shane rifles off a crisp report as I hand them our completed PCR. Her breathing has improved, we have multiple sets of vitals and all the other information they need to continue patient care and fill out their own paperwork. Happily surprised, they re-assess the patient, slap on the monitor pads, lift her onto their stretcher and head off. "Good job, guys." They say as they leave, "Thanks for the help."

It is so nice to be appreciated by the professionals who do this, Shane and I are very pleased. The call was perfectly by the book, although if it were a testing scenario, she would've ended up VSA. It was the first chest pain call we had ran together, and we worked as a perfect team. It's such a nice feeling when our knowledge and treatment is recognized by the responding paramedics, we may be volunteers, but many of us take our job seriously and are darn good at it. We really are an important part of the chain, I think about what the arms of the Star of Life represents and realize we played a large role in it. It have just been an angina attack or something small, but then again, maybe not. Either way, we were there to help her, and that is a good feeling.

Simple Joys

2008-05-04T12:57:00.004-04:00

"Is there any felicity in the world superior to this?"
(Marianne, Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen)

We roar down the highway in the ambulance, on our way to our evening duty. I'm with Shane, my new favourite partner. We become better friends every time we work together, he's a country boy with a heart of gold, and completely in love with his girlfriend (which is great because no rumours fly about us!). We work so well together, thinking alike and able to read each other with barely a glance. We laugh and joke, swapping stories and sharing dreams. The rain pours down relentlessly, pelting off the roof and windshield as sheets of water fly up from the passing cars. One of my favourite country songs comes on the radio and Shane obligingly cranks it. I enjoy the moment, staring out the window as I absent-mindedly sip the sweet deliciousness of my mint chocolate iced cappuccino. What better way can there be to spend a rainy afternoon?

I trust my partners.....right?

2008-04-25T15:03:00.004-04:00

Somehow in the course of playing patient for the new people last night, I agreed to let John and Roy practice their IV skills on me.

One in each arm.

Simultaneously.

In front of the entire division.

Hrmm, this could be interesting. :P

Poverty

2008-04-19T22:56:00.003-04:00

I have never seen the truly poor until today. Growing up rather sheltered in a country environment protected me from the harsh realities that many face every day. Shane and I covered a program for inner-city kids today, a truly amazing program that allows the children a chance to escape into a world of song, dance, and laughter with a solid Christian foundation.

The children were ecstatic, jumping and dancing, laughing and singing. They didn't see the dirty, torn pants, the worn out shoes or the threadbare t-shirts in the crowd. The hunger in their tiny tummies was a part of life; the pizza they were served at the end was an enormous treat. The drug bust up the street was just part of the scenery, the cops blended right into the dilapidated houses.

One child was brought to me, a tiny little boy with big, soulful eyes. He avoided eye contact, just mumbled the he didn't feel well and asked for a drink of water. I crouched to his level and started to talk to him, finding out that he hadn't eaten anything all day. Probably nothing since yesterday morning, one of the program volunteers told me later. She said they always feed the children because they simply can't send them home hungry. I almost cried at this. No child should go hungry, no beautiful little child should be that sad or see that much. I have such a good life, I am truly blessed. I don't have any right in the world to bemoan my strict student budget, I have a warm, clean, comfortable house, every meal I need and endless peace, love and security. I watched the kids happily file out at the end of the day, seriously fighting back tears. Who knows what kind of homes these children are returning to, where their next meal will come from or how long they can sustain those innocent smiles.

Right in my backyard, there are children in need of such help. I have never truly seen poverty until I looked at those faces today. I have learned the statistics in my sanitary, impersonal classrooms; about how this neighbourhood is one of the 10 poorest in Canada and 1 in 3 children in this city live below the poverty line. These were only statistics until I saw them in the faces of the children today. Now they are big brown eyes, impish grins, scraped knees and shy glances. I can't get them out of my head. I don't want to get them out of my head.

My Thoughts Exactly

2008-03-30T13:32:00.004-04:00

Standing outside the ambulance at a concert the other night, I watch the excited crowd mill around. The side door opens and Shane pops out, his country-boy grin stretched from ear to ear. I look up at him quizzically, "What's up?" "Did you ever think, a few years ago, that you would be doing this?" He responds. "I mean seriously, I'm hanging out in an ambulance, and not only that, I also know how to use all the stuff inside!" He looks down at his uniform, "Back in high school, I never would've expected myself to be standing here in this uniform, doing this." His grin widens as he begins to lope off. "Anyways, I was just thinking about how cool it is."

I grin as well, I have the exact same thoughts. I am standing there beside the truck, in my awesome uniform, a radio on each hip, stethoscope in my pocket, in charge of this duty. I never would have expected this a few years ago, or back in high school. I love it as much as he does, what an experience it is. I know many people who volunteer out of a sense of duty or to build their resume, I am privileged to do this, first and foremost, because I love it so much. The opportunity to learn these skills, treat patients, and smoothly run a duty is incredible. The thought hits me every now and then as well. This IS cool.

An Odd Shift

2008-03-21T23:23:00.003-04:00

Tonight I discovered that two of the EMS legends or whatever you want to call them are indeed true. People are a lot crazier when its a full moon, and going on duty exhausted means you'll have a busy shift.

I went on a very tough bike ride this afternoon, 40 km on some very nasty roads. I only had enough time to grab a milkshake and a few crackers for dinner, then shower and jump into my uniform before I headed to the hockey game. Completely exhausted and with a headache steadily building, I was seriously hoping for a quiet, quiet shift. Turns out that the crowd had other ideas, they were insane tonight!!

Puck to the head first - split the poor guy's ear wide open. It was quite nasty, it looked like a mouth that you could make 'talk', and it was bleeding like mad. We got the bleeding stopped, wrapped it up and sent him to the hospital. On the way back to the first aid room, we (I had a female partner and observer with me) had to fend off at least 3 "Oh, I need CPR" "I'm having a heart attack, I need mouth-to-mouth" comments from creepy men. Seriously, do they think THAT is going to work? It's quite the dilemma I have....do I remain professional and ignore them, or turn around and tell them off? Ok, ok, I always opt for the ignore, but I am tempted to say something instead!

People in general were just weird tonight, the cops kept throwing drunks out and the creepy guy population seemed to have doubled. We couldn't find our second patient, 'something in the eye', though that is not an uncommon occurance. The game went into overtime, just because I was wanting to go home so badly, and the other team scored anyways. Halfway out the doors, we get another call.....groan. An old man had run out of his portable O2 and needed more, so we switched tanks with him and sent him on his merry way. Finally, an hour later than normal, we were able to leave.

After a weirdly busy shift, I am finally able to crash. A very welcome moment, especially since I'm busy all day tomorrow and have a concert - that Shane and I are running - tomorrow night. Time to sleep....

Leap Day

2008-02-29T14:49:00.002-05:00

I am awakened from a sound sleep by the musical tones of my alarm. It's 4:30, the house is cold and dark. Really cold, our furnace has been broken for a few days now. I shiver in the 13C temperature, but hop from my warm bed eagerly. I have an early morning shift today, my partner is picking me up in half an hour. I guess some crazy people think it would be a good idea to 'leap' in the lake on this frosty 'leap' day, and we have to be there to make sure they don't kill themselves doing it. School has been so busy that I haven't done many shifts lately, so I welcome one now.

The trucks are cold and frosty, but we eventually get one cleaned off and head down to the waterfront. A local radio station is broadcasting their morning show live from the diner at the shore that serves as the jumping point for this insanity. The DJs are happy to see us - as they readily announce over the radio. One of them is 'leaping', he jokes that we are there just to save him. We hang around drinking our Timmies coffee and waiting for the action to start. Yes, I'm actually drinking the coffee. My first cup ever - it really is nasty stuff! After adding about 4 cream and 6 sugar, it becomes sightly more palatable. The DJs mention us several times over the next few hours as the party gets going, always thanking us for being there. It's great publicity for our organization, maybe we'll got some new volunteers out of it.

Our supervisor Roy shows up around dawn, right off his night shift with the city EMS. He hands me hot chocolate, saying he started to worry when he heard I was drinking coffee. Since he's been trying to get me to drink it for a year now, he figures something must be wrong if I've finally succumbed. Laughing, I assure him all is well, but gladly switch beverages. I'll take sugar over caffeine any day!

Roy is considering jumping, which I try to attribute to the fact that he hasn't slept in 24 hours. He's done a few polar plunges in the past though, so I must concede that he's normally nuts - sleep deprivation has nothing to do with it. He finally says "yah, I'll go for it", and I inform the DJs. They LOVE it, they simply can't get over the fact that 'the medic supervisor' is going in. They interview him live, "Ok, you're the one who is supposed to take care of people, and you're going in, so who is going to take care of you?" "What are the medical risks of doing this?" Roy is a perfect representation of the division - maintaining a professional attitude while doing something insane.

They milk it for a few more commercial breaks, then finally line up at the shore. As one DJ counts down, the other makes witty comments from the shore, always keeping up the banter. Finally they go - running and splashing through the frigid waters of the Great Lake. They dive under, since it doesn't count unless you get totally wet. Hooting and hollering as the cameras flash, they quickly turn and head for shore, readily seeking warm towels and blankets.

Nobody is the worse for wear after their dip, we weren't needed in spite of all the hype. The crowd rapidly thins as everyone heads off seeking warmer places. The diner feeds us and the radio people breakfast/lunch, then we head off as well. My partner drops me off as the furnace guy is just leaving. I walk into my rapidly warming house, appreciating every increasing degree. I crawl back into bed, snuggling deep under the layers of blankets. Relaxed and now toasty-warm, I gently slip back into a sea of dreams.

Demolition Derbys and Firemen

2008-02-06T20:30:00.000-05:00

Last fall was a lot of fun, we covered a lot of country fairs, generally one every weekend. Many of these had a demolition derby, which were always the most popular event. I really enjoy them, there's just something so cool about seeing people smash up cars - I guess that's the country in me. The biggest one was in a rather wealthy little town-turned big-city suburb, which was also the most fun. I was recently reminded about it, and since school has settled down a bit, I can now tell the story.

John and I are covering the demo derby as Roy and Janice cover the rest of the fair. The organizers always have a medic team at the derby along with the firefighters, just in case something happens to the drivers. John and some of the others who have been around for a while are not all that fond of these events, they complain about the noise, the dirt, and the firefighters. Medics and firefighters don't always have the greatest relationship; it's some sort of twisted rivalry I guess. Personally, I love them, they are usually great guys and I have never had a problem with one. They have always been nice to me and treated me well, so I feel no need to make sweeping generalizations about hose monkeys....I mean firemen.

I love how close we get to stand, the gates of the fence are open and the only barriers between the cars and us are the concrete blocks edging the ring. I remember when I first came to university; I came to this with my cousins, sitting up in the stands. I looked over across the field to where the medics and fire were standing and sighed....I wanted to be doing that soooo badly. I can't help but grin now, standing there in the dark night, standing there as a medic. I look up to where I was sitting 2 years and thank God for the opportunities He has given me. I just love doing this.

John hangs out back at the ambulance, but I want to be right in the action. My little medic uniform offers very little protection for the muddy spray that covers us every time the cars spin by, but it's only mud, right? Hmm, wrong. A sharp stinging pain on my leg provides a quick wakeup call - rocks and other debris flies just as easily. This requires a rethink. I grab a pair of safety goggles off John and pull my baseball cap down tight. My face more or less protected, I turn to look at the three firemen. They are in full turnout gear, giant pants, coats and full helmets ensure that they wouldn't feel half a car if it were to fly our way. The next time a car sprays by, I lean slightly behind Rick, the nearest one. That works well - I don't have to move out of the action, and I have my own personal shield. After a few passes, he notices what I'm doing and just laughs. He offers me his helmet, and as tempting as that is, I decline. Instead, he starts to cover me every time the spray flies, taking all the mud for me. The rest of the night is hilarious, we talk and joke non-stop, and since his protective instinct had kicked in like crazy, he makes sure I don't get another speck of mud on me.

So you see, I have no reason to dislike firemen. That is only one of many incidents in which they have proven, on the whole, to be very nice guys. It's a lot of fun to see another perspective on duty, and talking to cops or firemen give that. I won't hesitate to tease them as mercilessly as they do me, but I'll not perpetuate the negative relationship that many of my partners have with them. They can quite easily liven up a dull shift.

They're useful for carrying stuff too :D

Sun City?

2008-02-01T21:24:00.000-05:00

I've had a reader from Sun City, Arizona.......

My university was shut down today because it snowed so much last night.

Winter in this city means grey skies almost constantly from November to April.

Sunburn is but a distant memory to me now.

Can I move to Sun City? That place sounds incredible. I've seriously been thinking about that name all afternoon, especially as I shovelled snow under cloudy skies. I kept wondering, is it sunny in Sun City?

Yes.....I have been studying too hard. ;)

Running Control

2008-02-01T09:46:00.001-05:00

I have so much more respect for dispatchers now! It really is a hard job, which I found out firsthand at the major concert this week. It was decided that since I'm now an NCO, I need to learn how to run 'Control' at major events. I was not entirely pleased to hear that this was the event they chose for my first go at it, as it was a performer that I really wanted to see. Ah well, duty calls.

My briefing at the start of the show didn't go too badly, I split the responders into teams and sent them to their locations around the stadium. We only got one call, which was probably a good thing, because I kinda fumbled it. I was trying to listen to security on the one radio while dispatching our team on the other, it's so hard! I haven't mastered the art of listening to and understanding two radio communications at once. My team was left hanging, not knowing where I was sending them, while I responded to security and told them we were en route. Eventually though, I got everything sorted out and the lady who almost cut her finger off was treated.

I then forgot about one of my teams that were in the front lobby. Whoops! I left them there long after everyone was in the building, and I think they got a tad bored. Shane was very forgiving though, he knew how nervous I was.

I want to improve my ability to do dispatch, or control, but I'm not sure how. I'm sure it will come with practice, as I am usually an excellent mulit-tasker. The show was great though, the guy was such an amazing singer, *sigh*.....

Another Call

2008-01-19T17:50:00.000-05:00

This weekend I finally had another call, only the second in as many months. I hate the feeling of getting rusty, so it was nice to have a chance to use my assessment skills again. That is, after all, why I go to all these events, why I sign up for so many duties. The music may be good, the shows funny and the sports entertaining, but that is not why I am there. I am there to help people, to treat patients. That is what I truly love to do.

The call came just before intermission, one of the bartenders had been injured. I grab my bag and the observer and head off, my partner trailing us slowly. The poor woman had been perched on a high stool, and as she turned to talk to another staff member, it tipped over. She struck her head, neck and back off the marble counter top, then hit the floor. She was quite a tough older lady though, and insisted she was ok. I checked her out and all was well, a bit bruised, and she'll be sore for a few days. It was really just a good chance to run through the whole assessment, and I think I did rather well. I love being on my own, and every little call is a chance to practice my skills for the bigger calls.

Winter Lull

2008-01-07T22:38:00.000-05:00

There have been very few duties lately, and that trend looks to continue for the next few weeks. There are a few hockey games, some shows and a concert or two, but people rarely get injured or sick at those. I'm really looking forward to seeing some of the shows - so I actually hope there are no patients!

In the summer we have the massive festivals, the fairs, GoKarts, the football games, all things where people tend to drop like flies. I've come to the conclusion that people just don't get hurt in the wintertime! Well ok, at least not in the 3-hour time span it takes to watch our local hockey team KICK BUTT. Winter is therefore a time of training, organizing and preparing for the insanely busy spring, summer and fall seasons. I can't really complain about the lull, as it forces me to concentrate on my schoolwork. Memorizing invertebrate phyla is not quite as entertaining as learning how not to kill people, but who said university was all fun and games?

I did get promoted however, which was a bit of a shocker, since I've only been here for a year and a half. I'm now in charge of supplies, which appeared innocuous enough at first glance. I have to wonder what this new portfolio really entails however, as they have not yet told me the whole scope of my duties. I am assuming any or all of the following: uniform sizing, keeping the trucks stocked, organizing and stocking all the trauma bags, complete inventory of supplies, managing the back supply room, random administrative stuff....I'm sure there is more I've missed that they are sure to think of. Ah well, I love my pretty new stripes. A little extra grunt work is easily done.

I want a decent duty though.....it's been too long since I've treated a patient, I'm getting restless. It's not that I'm wishing for somebody to get hurt, but people do, and I just want to be the one responding.

Disaster Night

2007-12-28T16:33:00.001-05:00

We were joined by a group of new recruits last month, and Anthony (the training officer)decided to welcome them to the division by scaring the pants off them. He planned a massive disaster scenario, with them as the patients and us as the responders. It was a great idea and a lot of fun, but since only 3 of us showed up as responders, it became a lesson in how NOT to manage a disaster......

John, Shane and I pull up in the truck as we hear Anthony call over the radio, "There has been an explosion in the building, with casualties trapped. Fire has cleared the building so it is safe to enter, but EMS is unavailable due to a massive accident on the highway. Treat and evacuate all patients." Even though Shane and I know this is only a scenario, I can tell we're both excited. John just shakes his head at the two of us, I can almost hear his sighing thought, "Rookies!" We grab the stretcher and our gear and head into the building, the oh-so-familiar building where we've spent countless hours training and otherwise goofing off.

I push open the door and stop in shock - I don't recognize the place. Anthony has done an amazing job, along with his team of moulage artists. I step forward into the darkness, my flashlight beam picking up 'broken glass' covering the floor, furniture strewn about haphazardly and wires hanging from the fallen ceiling tiles. He's found disaster sound effects of some sort, ominous creaking and groaning provides a perfect backdrop for the screams and moans of the casualties. We move forward and find our first patients, an arterial bleed/spinal victim, an amputated hand and a woman in labour. After taking care of the arterial bleed, they leave me assessing the pregnant lady, and move towards the back of the building. An obviously dead woman with grey matter splattering the floor lies in their way, she is quickly moved aside, next to the fractured femur. Upstairs is a severe asthma attack and a few other minor casualties, they have their hands full.

I'm still with the woman in labour, I don't want to leave her - although there are much more serious patients to attend to. Eventually I clue in that I'm wasting time and leave her with a friend who has only minor injuries. It is complete chaos now, John and Shane have stair-chaired the asthma patient down, but since they didn't notice her puffer, she dies before they reach the door. Playing the role of the first responding paramedics, Paul chews them out for bringing him a dead patient before a critical one. They scurry back in, passing me as I quickly treat the amputated hand. Roy and Kyle show up now, still in their EMS uniforms, they both just left work. They just wander around the disaster scene though, not being very useful. Their arrival means EMS has been freed up though, so now we can evacuate more patients.

John disappears into the back room and I join Shane as we board the spinal victim. We're missing straps and he's lying in an awkward position in the dark, backboarding him is a challenge. We get him secured and bring the stretcher close, but Shane disappears around the corner. He returns very quickly, saying that Roy is coming to help lift. "No way!" I say, "We can lift him, just grab the other end, c'mon!" He looks concerned, "You sure?" I just nod and crouch at the head. We count and lift, straight up from the floor and over to the stretcher. Roy turns the corner as we begin to strap him on and jokingly says, "Lift assist for the wimps?" I scoff at him, "Pifft, we can handle it." He disappears just as the stretcher drops - freaking out our patient and both of us. I look up at Shane, "What did you do???" He sheepishly shrugs, "I guess it wasn't locked properly..." Fortunately, the guy we boarded is only slightly fazed, and not a real patient! We wheel him out to the lobby and let him loose, the poor guy has had to pee for the last hour and hasn't been able to leave.

Anthony comes over the radio again, "There is a VIP in the building, the deputy mayor. Have you located him yet?" We all look at each other and shrug, nope. We scurry around, doing another sweep of the building, looking for any patients we may have missed. Finally, one of the guys pushes open the bathroom door - revealing a pale, sweaty man who is clutching his chest. Darn it. Looks like we missed the dude having the MI! After a collective smack on the forehead, we wheel him out quickly and return to collect our last few patients. The scenario ends as the last patient is evacuated, we breathe a massive sigh of relief.

Even though it wasn't real, there were times in that hour and a half where we were flustered, overwhelmed and getting tunnel vision like crazy. We talked it out afterwards, and find a million things we did wrong. Granted, having only 3 initial responders made it close to impossible to set up a triage station and properly treat everyone, but we could've done a lot better. The newbies were impressed, anyways. We're going to do this regularly, with every group of new recruits, there will be another disaster scenario to welcome them to the division. It's something good to get practice doing, and besides, it's a ton of fun!

Amazing Story

2007-12-17T15:22:00.000-05:00

My favourite blog authors have come up with another 'Perspectives' post, it is definitely worth reading. Start with Lawdog the police officer, then move to Ambulance Driver the paramedic and Babs the nurse. Make sure to have Kleenex handy, I still haven't stopped crying. Great writing, a touching story.

My First MFR Duty

2007-12-10T11:20:00.000-05:00

Well, last night was my first duty as a Medical First Responder, my first duty in charge. It was a great night, with a grand total of.......zero patients. Now, it was a Celtic fiddle concert, which explains the lack of people getting hurt or sick. There really aren't that many ways to injure yourself while sitting still and listening to awesome music! It was fun though, I had a great partner, Shane. We ended up sitting outside the concert hall and talking for the entire 2nd half of the show.

It was a neat experience because my first duty ever was at the same venue, about this time last year. I was so nervous then, pacing around the house for hours beforehand, terrified that somebody was going to die and I wouldn't be able to handle it. I'm sure I drove all my housemates crazy! During the show, I was still incredibly nervous, I would jump every time an usher walked by, certain they were coming to tell us somebody was dying. Every time the radio went off, the same thing. It was a terrible night, I was so nervous that I was a complete wreck by the time I got home.

Last night was very different. In full uniform and with my new MFR epaulettes proudly fastened to my uniform sweater, I strode into the venue with confidence. I knew where everything was, I knew many of the staff members. We strolled around for a while, just getting a feel for the evening, then settled into our chairs to watch the show. The musician was amazing, I got completely wrapped up in the performance, just enjoying the music.

It was really neat to be in charge on duty, although a little scary as well. I've had such an amazing safety net for the past year, John and any of my other partners were always there to catch my mistakes, ask questions I forgot and suggest better ways of doing things. Now that is gone for the most part, I am on my own. True, I have a partner, but they are trained to my level or less. This means it is my decision, my call. I love the new responsibility, but I also fear it. I don't want to mess up, I don't want to let any of those guys down. They have a lot of faith in me, they insist I know what I am doing and can do it well. I hope I can prove them right.

Medical First Responder

2007-12-02T18:21:00.000-05:00

I PASSED!!!!!

I am now a medical first responder, woo! It was an intense course, although not nearly as hard as I thought it would be. This weekend was a weekend of testing, and I came through with flying colours. 93% on the written test, top of the class, I am very happy about that. Skill stations were all perfect, and the scenarios were good as well. There are things I missed and need to improve on, of course, but for now I will enjoy the new certification.

Such a stressful weekend though, my stomach still hurts. My BP hit 134/82 this morning, it it usually around 114/70. I am glad it is all over, glad to finally have the qualification. Next weekend will be my first duty on my own, I am looking forward to it. I love this!

I think we just saved his life.....!

2007-11-30T13:51:00.000-05:00

It was yet another football game this past fall, a chilly, windy day. The team is terrible, they are losing yet again. I am partnered with Jackie today, a woman who has been doing this for many years now. She is a lot of fun and we share a lot of common views, it is a nice change to work with her. John and NDP are partners, covering the other side of the stadium, while Anthony is control, sitting up in the tower with the stadium radio.

I'm returning to the truck as quickly as I can after grabbing Jackie and I some dinner, freezing inside this jacket, simply a thin windbreaker. I round the corner and see that Jackie is gone, I instantly assume she is on a call and begin scanning the area. My radio battery had died earlier, so I have no clue what is going on. The motorcycle cop that usually drops in on the games sees me and heads over quickly. "Your partner got a call, she's up there", pointing towards the top section of the stands nearest to us. "You better hurry, I think she needs help." I thank him, drop the food in the front seat of the truck and charge for the stairs. Cops at every turn and landing are urging me on, "Hurry, hurry!" they say, frantically pointing up into the bleachers. I'm now used to cops getting excited about medical calls, but since the police population on this section of the bleachers is easily double what it should be, a little concern creeps into the back of my mind.

Sprinting up the stadium stairs, I reach the last corner and turn into the stands, scanning for the patient. I look up, way up, to the top of the stadium, and see Jackie kneeling, a prone body in front of her. Hmmmm, this actually looks serious. I take off again, ignoring the lascivious jeers of the drunk football fans. I attempt to manoeuvre my way past the police that have clustered around Jackie and the patient, but instead they physically move me forward through the ranks. I feel like a pinball, each cop I bounce into takes me by the shoulders and moves me forward, bouncing me into the next one in line. I finally reach Jackie, she is holding the patient on his side as liquid vomit dribbles from his mouth. She looks up, "Where's John?" I shrug, certain he and NDP are on their way up, and check the patient's airway. The man is cyanotic - blue-grey from the neck up. His airway clear, I turn to check breathing - or lack thereof - as John roars up behind me.

He sees the man, blue and limp, and swears. I think he hurdles over my head, he is on his knees at the patient's head before my mind can even register that he is on scene. With practiced skill and confidence, he rips open his bag and inserts an oral airway, barking at me to grab the BVM and set up the oxygen. NDP helps get it set up, and we hand it to John, who now has a nasal airway in place as well. They begin to bag the patient as I am pushed back slightly. His vitals are bad, and getting worse. His girlfriend says "he got quiet about 10 minutes ago, but I thought he was just sleeping." Duh. She also reveals that he drank a mickey of vodka before the game, and is taking some prescription pain meds. His pinpoint pupils and completely depressed respiratory drive indicate an opiate overdose, as does the history. John tells me to set up the AED, his bp has dropped yet again, and he is still not breathing on his own. It's not looking good for this guy, but for some reason I am perfectly calm. I am not freaking out over this call, I am running through everything I need to do, thinking of what I would be doing if I were running the call. I wish I were running it! Fire shows up but hangs back, asking if we need anything, then running to get a stretcher to carry him down in. I write vitals, switch O2 tanks and keep the equipment organized, anything they need or ask for, I do for them.

Overdose guy has begun to pink up, his bp is no longer in his boots, so John calls me over. He tells me to start bagging as he holds the mask to the man's face. I can't hide the grin on my face or the excitement in my eyes as I do so, this is so cool! I squeeze the bag and watch his chest rise - I am actually breathing for this man! I squeeze again - his chest rises again. Wow, this is so cool! I know I am thrilled at this because I am new and inexperienced, but I really don't care. I love getting to do all this for the first time, it's a magical experience to be breathing for him. His colour has improved even more, he now looks normal. He moves his arm - he's waking up! It is incredible, this man was getting closer and closer to dead when we got there, and now he is beginning to wake and breathe. He moves his head, fighting the tubes and the mask. He begins to get agitated and swings his arm towards me. John orders me back right away, and I reluctantly obey. The paramedics show up, the one woman takes over with an enviable presence. She assesses him, calls out orders and hooks him up to the monitor. I watch her, wanting to be her. I love this, it is exciting, it is amazing, I want to do this. I want to be her, looking confident and attractive in her uniform, running this call without ruffling a feather.

Fire returns with a cloth stretcher, and in one fluid movement, they help John and the paramedics sweep the man onto it. He is continuing to breathing on his own, and is getting rather combative. The cops close in as they begin to carry him down the bleachers, fighting and swinging his arms wildly. The stands are a mess of bags, Fire, EMS and us all have them strewn about. I pick up John's dropped cell phone, NDP's discarded jacket, 2 trauma bags and the AED. Everyone collects a bag and joins the procession, I hand off the AED to a female officer who asks if I need help. I look around, wanting something else to do, wanting to be useful. I see overdose man's girlfriend standing lost and alone, wiping tears from her eyes as she watches the sea of uniforms move out. I may not be able to do anything medically for the patient right now, but comforting people is my specialty. I introduce myself, ask her name, and with a hand on her shoulder, guide her down the stairs. I look below me, and feel enormous pride at being part of this procession. First in line are the paramedics and John with the patient, then comes fire with all the bags. Following them are a mess of police officers, then comes I, little ol' me is part of this - I love it.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I see that they have dropped him onto the ambulance stretcher and are fighting to restrain him. The man has gone from not breathing and almost dead to fighting like a madman in less then 10 minutes. It is an incredible transformation, I watch in awe as they load him into the back of the truck, still fighting. Several officers pile in as well, this guy is just nuts.

I drop the gear and stand in the growing darkness, awash in flashing lights. I realize something. I think we just saved his life. I run over the call in my mind - he had stopped breathing, his vitals were crashing, bp was lower then I'd ever seen it. We were on scene for at least 5 minutes before EMS got there, and in that time, we got him breathing again. That's not to say that he might've made it even if we weren't there, but I feel like our efforts saved his life. Lost in thought, I keep watching as they insert an IV and get him fully restrained. Another new thought hits me. I think I can do this. Not only that, I think I really want to do this. I kept my cool in that call, I knew exactly what I would've done if it were my call to run. I really think I want to do this - I think I can do this.

John walks up behind me and lays his hand on my shoulder. Rubbing my back, he asks if I'm ok. I grin up at him. Of course I am. That was incredible. The concern in his eyes turns to amusement and then pride when he sees I am fully composed, merely excited. He tells me I did well, and thanks me for my help. He then freaks out a little, he can't find his phone. I grin again and pull it from my shirt pocket, no worries, I've got it. I think about this call for days afterwards, it amazes me each time. I love what I get to do, I want to do more of it, I want to do it all.

Snippets from my Weekend

2007-11-26T18:07:00.000-05:00

I looked up on our way back inside from the call, way up at the beautiful CN tower, all lit up in the night sky. It was incredible, to be on duty in downtown Toronto. It was a bit of a drive for our division to cover the event, but the organizer wanted us, which made it all the more amazing.

The cops there seem to be friendlier then cops here, which I wasn't expecting. I talked to many of them all weekend, it was a lot of fun.

Playing football with a crowd of drunk Saskatchewan fans at 2:30 in the morning while in uniform is not the best idea. It was fun though.

After having a nice conversation with the police officer beside me, I decided to take a catnap on the table. It was only about 10, but I was exhausted, the weekend was long. I can nap very easily on duty now, falling into a semi-conscious state that is surprisingly rejuvenating. I didn't even hear him come in. My partner snuck up on me and flicked my ear, jolting me awake and sending me halfway out of my chair with fright. As I collapsed back down and tried to still my rapidly beating heart, the room erupted in gales of laughter. The cop beside me didn't find it amusing though, he shot Practical-Joker Partner "the nastiest look I've ever seen!!". Haha. Serves him right.

I saw a postictal patient, my first one. After a major seizure, people go into this weird, confused, exhausted state, I didn't realize how out of it they would be though. This woman had never had a seizure before, she collapsed in her boyfriend's arms, seizing wildly in the street. By the time we got there she was done, but barely conscious. EMS showed up shortly thereafter and took her straight to the hospital. I do hope she is ok, healthy young women just don't seize like that for no reason.

I made friends with a police Sergeant Friday. He then proceeded to tease me all weekend.

I saw Don Cherry, Ron McLean, Great Big Sea and Jim Cuddy.

I get silly at 2 in the morning when I'm running on less then 4 hours of sleep and am finishing up my second 18-hour shift in 2 days. Chocolate brownie ice cream probably doesn't help matters.

I learned that drunk football fans like redheads in uniform. It was rather disturbing.

I love my partners.

Humbled

2007-11-22T21:47:00.000-05:00

A quick, intense summer thunderstorm sends us scattering for cover. It is nice having the trailer set up at these festivals, we can take cover from all sorts of hazards; thunderstorms, dusty winds, the sun, noisy crowds, screaming kids....We watch the rain and lightening from the shelter, glad for the brief respite from the heat. The humidity just intensifies though, it's brutal.

A festival employee tears up on a gator as the rain slows and the sun begins to peek through the clouds. "A man is bleeding over in the food tents, c'mon!!" Why is it that people freak out over blood so easily? I guess I really have learned something this summer, people freaking out just seems to make me more calm. I hop on the back of the cart as John and Roy hop in the front. We follow the frantic employee through the crowd, which parts only slightly faster then January molasses. As we pull up to the tent, I quickly hop off - right into a patch of mud. Great start. I dodge the other mud puddles and make it to the patient with only minor soakers. It is an older man sitting on his walker, a wad of paper towels being pressed to his lower leg. Blood is running down his leg into his sock, and the paper-towel holder looks up at me with relief, his eyes begging me to take over. I love that feeling, people looking to me for help.

I introduce myself and my partners and kneel in front of him to take a look. There are a few gouges on his leg, but nothing that should be causing this much bleeding. Further questions reveal that he takes Coumadin, a blood thinner. Bingo. John hands me sterile gauze and I replace the dirty, blood-soaked paper towels. Holding pressure with one hand, I attempt to wrap roller gauze around his sizable leg with the other, smearing my uniform shirt and arms with mud and blood in the process. Lovely. The man makes a snarky comment about my struggles, but I choose not to hear it, I don't really care what he said. John also sees me struggling and bends down to help, together we create a nice, neat white bandage in no time at all.

I rise and begin to take his vitals, the guys usually make me do it. I don't mind, I figure the more bp's I take, the better I'll get, especially in noisy or otherwise adverse conditions. I have trouble finding his brachial pulse, his arm is rather large and extraordinarily flabby. As I wrap the cuff around his arm, he looks up at me with a sneer, "What, have you never done this before? Figures I get stuck with the girl who can't do anything." I look him directly in the eyes and smile politely. "I have done this many times, sir, I know what I am doing." He sneers again and I grit my teeth. There is no need for his attitude, but I am a professional and I will not let him get to me. I pump up the cuff and listen closely, slowly releasing the air. I note the pressure and release the cuff the rest of the way, he starts growling even before I remove the stethoscope from my ears. "That hurt, you didn't do it right. You never have done this before, have you? Silly girl. If you were a nurse you'd be like the one who had to poke me twenty times to get the needle in. Don't know what you're doing, I can tell." I say nothing, just turn and put the cuff away. His words hurt me more then I let on, more then they should.

I take the sterile water and gauze from John and kneel at his feet once again. I gently loosen and remove his blood-soaked shoe and begin to wipe away the blood. I am humbled beyond belief, washing the dirty feet of a crusty old man who has come close to reducing me to tears. I thank God for the love He has filled my heart with, I now see this man as God does. He is lost, bitter and hurt, his heart hardened by the life he has lived. I blink back tears again, but tears for the man in front of me this time, not tears for my injured pride. I begin to replace his shoe, but I have trouble pulling the back of it over his heel, so he yanks it away angrily. "Can't do anything right, silly girl." He mutters as he jams it back onto his foot. I wipe the last traces of blood from his leg, then take his hands and clean them off as well. Looking directly into his eyes as he stands to leave, I wish him well. He grunts and limps off.

I look down at myself. My boots are covered in mud, my socks are soaked, and there is a mixture of blood and mud smeared across both forearms, as well as across the front of my white uniform shirt. Something has changed inside me though. It is hard to explain, difficult to understand. I feel a sense of peace in my heart, I feel like I can love everyone, no matter how they treat me or what they say to me. I have been humbled, and it has brought a joy that I never would have expected.

A Fun Weekend

2007-11-12T14:35:00.000-05:00

This past weekend was a lot of fun; a lot of laughter, a bit of pain, and a lot of experience gained. We covered a massive martial arts tournament, which is a totally different world, seriously. I had never been to anything like it before, it was amazing what these guys did to each other on the mat, and even more amazing that they'd hug, shake hands and chat when they finished.

I was partnered with John and Roy on Saturday, it was one of the best duties I've been on in a few months now. We had very few patients, as the kids were fighting, and they don't usually make enough contact to really hurt each other. There were mostly just skill demonstrations against invisible opponents. The weight room just off the main gym was our first aid post, and I got the bright idea to try out all the machines. Of course, they're all huge, scary, completely foreign looking things, so the guys taught me how to use them all. I'm not as strong as I thought, but I'm stronger then John and Roy thought, so that at least is a nice feeling. I found out I can lift over twice my weight with my legs, but can barely bench-press a pillow. I won't even mention how weak my triceps are.....

After trying out all the machines, I decided that I wanted to learn how to punch 'properly', and as John was on the boxing team in college, I got him to show me how. I went at the punching bag for a while, all three of us were laughing as much as we were fighting, it was hilarious. One of the men in charge is on that 'Ultimate Fighting Champion' show, apparently he was watching me punch and laughing his butt off. Ah well, I figure a guy like that has every right to laugh at my fighting skills - he could probably kill me with his pinky! I really enjoyed learning how to punch and fight, it was quite entertaining and we had a lot of fun. We were interrupted when a woman stuck her head through the door and hollered for us, so John and I ran off to treat a little boy who had gotten hit in the ribs a little too hard. Sweet kid, he was ok, just a little winded. Those kids are awfully tough, they knocked each other around pretty good!

Sunday was a lot busier, we were run off our feet with a steady stream of patients. Anthony and NDP joined John, Roy and I, which was definitely a good thing! Anthony and I ended up working together, we treated probably around 20 patients throughout the day. The injuries were all identical - it was really weird. Different person, different tattoos, and different body part, but they were all the exact same injury, something was always torn, banged or bruised. The men would limp through the door and ask for ice, I came very close to responding, "Let me guess, somebody beat you up, right?". Some of them were really nice, realizing it was part of the game, while others were serious pricks about it, swearing and angry that they were out of the competition, barely sitting still long enough for me to assess them and throw on some ice.

I'm not even sure why this event was so much fun, the same partners and same routine as usual, with no memorable calls. The organizers treated us like royalty though. Their insurance policy says they can't run the event without us, so since we are volunteers, they bend over backwards and give us anything we ask for and more to ensure we come back with a good team next year. We asked for sandwiches at lunchtime, they returned with fruit, water, pop, chocolate bars and sandwiches. The UFC fighter kept coming over to chat, and his Dad brought us all event t-shirts. The weight room kept us entertained, and we had front-row seats to watch the bloodbath if we so desired. It is really nice to be appreciated and it was a very good weekend, even if my knuckles are killing me and every muscle in my upper body is still aching. Haha, I guess I should lift weights and punch things more often, I obviously need the practice!

Another view of old

2007-11-06T08:06:00.000-05:00

It is day 3 of a 4-day festival, and though fun, it is beginning to take a toll on me. I am used to my 8 hours of sleep, so working for 6 hours, then volunteering for 10 on only 4 hours of sleep is rather exhausting. I wouldn't trade it though, and I know none of my partners would either. We’re having too much fun, playing cards, watching movies, eating yummy but oh-so-unhealthy festival food, and oh yeah, treating patients. A lot of patients actually, it has been a very busy weekend.

John, NDP and I are tooling around in the golf cart - it even has lights and a siren, although I must admit that the siren is rather dinky, it sounds more like a bike horn. Nevertheless, it is a very cool cart, we can scream around the park rather quickly if needed, with a stretcher on the back to transport patients to the waiting ambulance or just back to our post. John is talking with his former preceptor at the edge of the park; we're just wasting time, since we have a lot of it. Sitting on the back of the cart, I look over the crowd, milling about in the summer sun. I love knowing that I am here to help these people; it is a really cool feeling to be the one that people call for help. I hear Roy call us over the radio, but neither of the guys hear him, so I answer. "There is a woman bleeding by the washrooms on the East side of the vendor area." He responds. "We're on our way,” I answer back as I shout to the guys that we have a call. They saunter over and I tell them what's up, not that I can give them any details. Flicking on the lights, we cut through the crowd to the other side of the park.

There is a small crowd there; I pull on my gloves as I hop off the cart and head towards them. The woman in the centre is very old, but stands straight and tall as the blood drips down her leg. Her daughter, who is also quite old, hovers around nervously, much more concerned then her injured mother is. As I have her sit on a chair borrowed from the nearest tent, I ask her what happened. "I was looking at the beautiful roses, see, and I wanted to get close enough to smell them. You can't go through life without smelling the roses you know; I just failed to realize they were quite so thorny. It really isn't that bad, not worth all this trouble, but I can't seem to stop the bleeding." She speaks very properly, almost regally. I wipe the blood from her leg and hold pressure on the deepest wound, but she firmly declines my offer to wrap it. "I'm 86 years old and this is nothing, dearie." I suggest she see a doctor if she has any more trouble getting bleeding to stop, which she also firmly dismisses, "Look at all of these, " she says, pointing to numerous scars, "I never saw a doctor for any of these - look at that one - this is nothing compared to that one." She is incredibly wrinkled, but there is a healthy confidence about her, I get a sense that she has lived a very good life.

As she waves her hands around, I notice the rings. Oh wow, look at all the jewels. Massive diamonds glitter on her fingers while gold bracelets studded with gems circle her withered wrists. A gold chain hangs about her neck, diamond earring stud her ears. They are all very real and she wears them well, there is no gaudiness to her attire. She is full of spunk, laughing and joking about the fact that my male partners are not treating her, she expresses her disappointment clearly. She speaks of her love for roses, how she simply cannot resist them, even with all their thorns.

I hold pressure for a few more minutes as John fills out the paperwork, then with our release, she walks off on the arm of her daughter, her head held high and her back straight. John and I discuss her several times over the course of the day, something about her made an impact on both of us. Her manner of speaking, her attitude, her appearance, her daughter's obvious love and careful attention. She is an incredible woman, we only hope to be half as spry when we reach 86.

An Old Story about an Old Man

2007-10-30T09:10:00.000-04:00

Back in high school, I volunteered at the relatively small local hospital. I loved it, a whole new world was revealed to me that my rather sheltered childhood had not disclosed. The Emergency room was my favourite department, mainly because I got the opportunity to talk to all the paramedics and police officers who came in. They would tease me, tell stories and joke around, treating me like an equal instead of a lower life form. When Mom would pick me up after a shift, I would pepper her with excited stories about what paramedics spoke to me, what they said, the jobs I did and all the amazing things I had seen. There is one story I don't believe I ever shared though, and I remembered it last night in vivid detail.

The nurses in Emerg were always very busy, and they loved it when I showed up for my shift, I had been volunteering there for a while and they knew they could give me a task and have it done right. Already that morning I had fetched and delivered the mail, ran X-rays to every corner of the hospital, restocked all the forms and brought countless stretchered patients to their tests. That was my favourite part, if any patient was going to a ward or up for a test, I was called to bring them there. I loved steering the massive stretchers through the busy hallways, I loved being responsible for them, if only for a few minutes.

I usually enter the ward through the back hallway, lined with stretchers if it was busy, and today it is. There is one old man there I keep giving a wide berth to, he is not quite with it, moaning, thrashing around, screaming, babbling and calling out for unseen people. I must admit that he scares me, he looks like a crazy, scary old man. Returning to the ward after a delivery, a nurse pops out of nowhere and asks, "Are you busy, can you do something for me?" I say I can, and she drags me over to the lunch trays, most of which are empty and waiting to go back to the kitchen, as it is after one o'clock. She plucks one off the bottom rack, all the dishes still neatly covered, and heads towards the back hall, motioning with her head to follow. I do, and my heart drops as she stops beside the scary old man. She plunks the tray down on the table beside his bed, "He's confused, but not combative. Get him to eat what you can." Then she disappears, leaving me alone with him. Gingerly, I peel the covers off the dishes and reveal a blended assortment of food, like baby food. I figure I'll just try feeding him like I did my baby sister, I have never fed an adult before.

I dip the spoon into the nearest dish and bring it to his lips, he jerks his head around and smacks at it hungrily. His confusion is evident though, he keeps calling, "Sandy, Sandy!", staring at the walls with unseeing eyes as he thrashes around. As I feed him and wipe the excess off his stubbled chin with a napkin, I am inexplicably drawn to this man. Who is he, what was his life like? I imagine his youth, his family, his gradual descent into the wizened frame he is now. I shake my head and blink back tears. I focus on who he is now and what I am doing, he is no longer just a scary old man in the back hallway. I imagine him as a loved and respected Grandfather, and take his hand as he continues to moan out for 'Sandy'. I start to talk to him, it doesn't matter what I say, I just talk as I spoon the food into his eager mouth. He grasps my hand tightly and begins to calm down, he starts to call me Sandy. I don't know who Sandy is, a wife, a daughter perhaps, but I feel honoured to be mistaken for her. Perhaps it is not right to play into it, but he doesn't understand who I am or where he is, and I don't bother trying to enlighten him.

A nurse calls me away to do another task, and I hurry through it as fast as possible, we had not quite finished our lunch. I return to him within a very few minutes, but he is once again distressed. "Sandy, Sandy!" I take his hand again and brush his white hair back from his wrinkled forehead. I begin to talk again, soothing him as I feed him his tea. I pour all the love and comfort I can into my words, he soaks it up like a parched sponge. The tray is rapidly emptying, and his appetite has been sated. I wipe his whiskered chin once again, removing dried crusts that had been there for far longer then our brief interaction. I wipe his hands, soft and warm, wrinkled and twisted into painful configurations. I place everything back onto the tray as I hear the page, "Volunteer to the nurses station, volunteer to the nurses station." I gently remove my hand from his, pat him on the shoulder and reluctantly, head back into the fray.

I make a point to head by his bed an hour later, and notice him sleeping peacefully. There is a middle-aged man on the stretcher behind him, and his wife stops me. With her hand on my arm, she thanks me. "He hasn't been this quiet since yesterday." She says softly. "Thank you for calming him down." I nod, blinking back the tears that have threatened to surface again, and smile at her and her husband as I run off to fulfill another task. I am busy for the rest of the day, running all over the hospital, stopping in my department only long enough to be sent elsewhere. Ten minutes after my shift is done, I am finally heading out of Emerg, and take the back hallway to check on him once more.

His bed is empty.

Frequent Flier

2007-10-27T15:23:00.000-04:00

Most people in EMS can tell stories about a 'frequent flier', a patient that regularly calls for help, whether warranted or not. At the football games we cover, we have one such patient, a young women who works in the concession stand. More often then not, we get a call at the beginning of the 4th quarter, consisting of any variety of complaint, from an injury to chest pain to dizziness. I have helped out with her treatment before, assisting in splinting a 'broken' arm that most certainly was not, but have never been the primary responder. At the last game, Roy and I were the closest when the call came through, so we got the dubious honour of treating her.

It has been raining almost all evening, we have gotten soaked, as we were posted throughout the stands. The rain didn't seem to matter as Roy and I were talking to the man in charge, casually chatting as the rain poured down, dripping down our faces and soaking through our uniforms. Sometimes you just have to suck it up and ignore the weather, we don't usually work in ideal conditions. We were happy to get back to the warm and dry truck, however, and jumped in the front to chat and will the clock to wind down more quickly. Our team always loses anyways, so the dying minutes of every game are rather pathetic, this one is no exception.

As we stare out the rain-spattered windshield, a girl runs over to the security guard at the gate and we hear her ask, "Is the ambulance here, are they in there?" The man nods and Roy rolls down his window as she ducks beneath the barrier and beelines it for the truck. She is very excited, "At the concession stand, a girl fainted, she collapsed, she might have epilepsy, she needs help!" Roy and I exchange knowing glances as we hop out of the truck into the ever-falling rain. We grab our gear as Roy radios the call and our ensuing response into control. I can practically hear the laughter of John and the others echoing throughout the stadium, every one of them knows who the patient is.

We follow the excited girl through the crowd and behind the counter of the now-closed concession. Carefully maneuvering past the giant deep-fryers with our gear, we round the corner to see her slumped against a shelving unit, head buried in her arms. Roy has treated her for several years now, he knows her history and takes the call. "Hi, Caitlin." He says as he crouches beside her. "What seems to be the problem today?" She mumbles something about being dizzy and lightheaded as he checks her pulse. She refuses to make eye contact, keeping her head buried and eyes averted as he talks to her. "Why don't we go over to the truck, do you think you can walk over if we help you? You usually feel better after you rest in the truck for a while." She likes that idea, but is unsure if she can make it. We help her up and start her walking, we just need to get her to the truck, a warm, safe controlled environment is what she needs. As we emerge from the close quarters of the concession booth into the rain, she starts to falter. "We're almost there, almost to the truck, just a bit farther" I encourage as I take her arm. I feel pity for this poor girl, she obviously has issues, and nothing we can do for her in the truck is going to come close to fixing them. Nevertheless, we need to get her inside, she like creating a scene, so we need to get her out of the crowds.

Once in the truck, she starts to shiver violently, now complaining of shortness of breath, dizziness, severe light-headedness and a variety of other symptoms that sound good to her at the time. Roy talks her through all the symptoms, and soon, all but the light-headedness has disappeared. She now feels the need to go for a walk, perhaps that will make it go away. We try to change the subject and convince her to stay lying down, but she adamantly insists on going for "just a little walk, it'll make my head feel better." Roy looks at me and shrugs, we both know what will happen as soon as she gets back into the crowd, but we may as well get it over with.

I step out of the truck and help her down, leaving the back doors open so Roy can hear me when I call. She immediately heads around the side of the truck - rather quickly for somebody so ill - and out of Roy's line of vision. She asks if we can go 'down there', pointing down the aisle under the stands. I don't want to get far from the truck, but I agree for a very short walk and we duck under the barrier. I hold her arm lightly, I want to know what she's planning. We take no more then 2 steps and I feel her about to go. A slight pressure increase on my arm, and as soon as she confirms I have her, she does a perfect swan-dive, the back of her hand pressed to her forehead, down to the dirty wet concrete. I knew that was what was going to happen, so as soon as I sensed the change in her demeanor, I stepped behind her, grabbed her other shoulder and controlled her fall, exactly as she knew I would. The crowd seems rather concerned as I shout, "Roy!" and kneel down beside her, supporting her in a sitting position. Roy sticks his head out of the back of the truck and sees us on the ground. Without surprise and with very little concern, he steps down and heads over. I get in her face and try to make eye contact with her, "Caitlin, can you hear me? Are you ok?". She jerks her head away and says "Yes!" in a rather forceful tone for somebody who is supposed to be semi-conscious. Roy leans over us, the question in his eyes obvious, and I shake my head, bringing my hand up to my forehead and mouthing "Swan-dive". He nods and I see the humour return to his eyes as I continue to talk to her. "Caitlin, we need to get back to the truck. We are going to help you back, now take my arm. Ok, up we go." Roy helps lift as I force her to stand, she leans on me heavily as we walk her back. She glibly hops into the ambulance, then loses all her strength as she swoons back down onto the stretcher.

We get her to call her mother, who is coming to pick her up anyways, and learn she is 'just a minute away'. Her mother arrives with a knock on the back of the truck, I open the doors and help her in. She looks at her daughter with loving exasperation but very little real concern. She is tired of this scene, that is obvious, but she doesn't yell or berate her daughter, I am impressed by the patience and love this woman shows. She does not put up with it though, she very quickly states, "Ok, we're going home, you're fine, now let's go." Caitlin insists she cannot possibly walk to the outer gate where Mom is parked, and Roy says we'll wheel her out. The crowd parts with drunken interest as we wheel her through. We lower the stretcher and she swings her feet down as her mother takes her arm, leading her to the car. I step forward to take her other arm, but Roy indicates not to bother. He leans over the stretcher and whispers, "She won't faint with her mother watching." She doesn't, and we head back to the truck without incident.

The game has ended by now, and the others have begun to return to the truck. We lift the stretcher in as they all laugh at us. We lost, we had to treat Caitlin. I am not comfortable with that prevailing attitude. I realize she is an annoyance to them, she regularly ties up at least 2 responders with her BS complaints, and I agree that is not right. I appreciate Roy's attitude towards her and the entire call though. Although he knew, we both knew, that there was nothing wrong with her, we treated her with professional respect and dignity. Regardless of her past history or what we think of her, she deserves nothing less, no patient does. We are there to treat all people, all illnesses and all issues. We need to treat everyone with the same respect, it doesn't matter if they are drunk, mean, annoying or 'frequent fliers', they all deserve our best care.

VSA

2007-10-25T11:44:00.000-04:00

It's a cold, fall day at a football game and a light, misty rain has been falling, it's just wet enough to add that extra chill to the air. John and I are partnered up and hiding under the bleachers in the concourse, biding time until we can switch positions and get back to the nice, warm truck. Suddenly the radio blares a heart-stopping message; "Sierra Eight, Control. Man down in section 22, suspected heart attack." John and I exchange adrenaline-infused glances as we grab our gear and sprint up the stairs towards the unknown.

A middle-aged white male is sprawled across the bleachers as frantic family members and bystanders scream desperately for help. His face is blue, he has no pulse. John barks at me to start CPR, and I do, terrified beyond belief. He radios for help and pulls out the BVM and O2. As I reach 30 compressions, he throws in an airway and gives two breaths. Roy and NDP skid to a halt beside us, they have brought the stretcher and stair chair. The rain soaks us all as we rush him down the bleachers into the shelter of the concourse. I continue CPR and feel his ribs break under my hands with an audible snap. I look up, horrified, and Roy commands "Keep going!", the intensity in his eyes just daring me to defy him. I keep going as they hook up the AED, with John taking over ventilations. EMS is on the way, I hear the sirens descending on us. "Clear! Everyone get back!" I step back as Roy presses the button, the man twitches and jolts. No change. "Clear!".............

........I wake with a cry, jolt out of my daydream with a start.

In my dreams, the man wakes up and the incoming paramedics congratulate us on our save.

In my nightmares, he dies, and the desperate wailings of his loved ones echo in my ears for years. I can't stop feeling his breaking ribs under my hands, can't stop seeing the dead look in his eyes.

This scenario repeated in my mind with frightening regularity a year ago. When I first started going out on duty, I was terrified that this would happen, that something would happen that I could not handle. As I gain experience and training however, I have become less and less worried about it, to the point I am at now, where I know I could run that call. I have seen people not breathing, I have helped save a life. I know how I react in tense situations, with a calm head and busy hands. I also know that most calls are not life-threatening. Most of what we do, most of what anybody in EMS does, does not consist of saving lives.

When I am tired or doubting myself, this scene may replay itself in my head, but now I catch it, I think my way through it, and I turn it into what I know I would do. I no longer envision myself falling apart or freezing, and I no longer put the guys in charge. With increasing confidence and skills, I am able to do this on my own, and in another month, I will have the official certification that enables me to do so. I am looking forward to it. John has taught me well, he has taught me a lot, and I am ready to jump out on my own. That's not to say that I know everything, or that I'll never fall, but I know I can do this. I want to do this.

Wound Care....or lack thereof

2007-10-19T20:09:00.000-04:00

Wound care has always been about common sense to me, even growing up, it was never something that had to be taught. With all of us sisters it was the same, you get a cut, you clean it and keep it clean. Simple enough, I thought. I'm amazed at how many people seem unable to grasp that concept though, it can be rather disgusting...A warning to my squeamish sisters and friends.....Haha

The man moved towards us slowly with a barely-perceptible limp. John nods towards him, "Looks like you've got a patient." I stand and turn, watching him come over. Mid-thirties, slightly rough looking. He could be the down-on-his-luck family man who is fighting to support his kids or your worst nightmare in a back alley. I prefer to think of him as the former, but John's closer then normal proximity tells me he is considering the latter and is prepared to protect me.

"I cut my foot on my bike gear and was hoping you could bandage it for me." I nod and have him sit, "When did this happen?" I ask. "Last week sometime, I've been wearing workboots all week, but my shoe is bothering it today, it feels like it's rubbing more." He slowly, carefully slides off a dirty sneaker and I pull on a pair of gloves, not quite sure what I'm about to see, but it can't be that bad, just a cut, right?

An angry red gash cuts a jagged swath through the dirt and dried blood of the grotesquely swollen foot. Pus is oozing from the wound, the dried edges of skin gape open to reveal multiple layers of flesh, all swollen and fiery red. Surprised, I draw a quick breath, only to be assaulted by the overwhelming and unmistakable stench of infection. Alright, no more gasps from me, it's not safe! "Uhhh, Sir, it looks quite infected, you need to go to a hospital and have them take care of this." John leans over my shoulder and agrees, we begin to discuss with the guy how he really needs to go have this looked at. It takes key words from John like "gangrene", "amputation", "severe infection" and "blood poisoning", but eventually the guy's shoulders droop slightly and he agrees, "If you think it's really that bad....." I firmly state that is indeed that bad, backing up John's message for proper wound care. He spent a week working without socks in sweaty work boots, I shudder to think of the neglect.

"This may sting a bit, Sir, but I need to clean this up." I say as I begin to swab at the wound, cradling his dirty foot in my gloved hands. I'm not at all sickened by it, more amazed at how nasty this infection is, although I must admit the smell bothers me a bit. "Clean away, girlie" He says with a swaggering grin. "I've been stabbed twice, shot once, this is no big deal." Yet he flinches as I clean, it hurts a great deal more then he'd care to admit to a 'girlie' like me. I finish cleaning, and although there is less dirt and dried blood, it doesn't look any better. I take the gauze John hands me and begin to wrap it up, creating a nice, neat white bandage. I sit back on my heels to admire my handiwork, it doesn't even budge when he jams his foot back into the filthy sneaker.

I ask him to remove his sweater as I begin to take vitals. He pulls it and his T-shirt off, the quick movement catching the eye of the police officer standing across the aisle at the beer tent. He looks away as fast as he looked over, but I am now conscious of the fact that he has been watching every move. As I strap the cuff around his arm, I notice the scars bearing witness to the stories he told mere minutes prior. No previous experience is necessary to recognize the stab wounds or bullet scar that mar his chest. Again I am thankful that John has stayed close, and that the police officer has been watching. I'm not overly concerned, but, like the two of them, I'm just not at ease with this patient. I feel the need to be more cautious, more aware. I finish up and reiterate to him that he really does need to go to a hospital. He promises he will, replaces his shirts and heads back into the crowd. John and I turn, and as one, strip off our gloves and head straight for the hand sanitizer. A lot of hand sanitizer.

Myers-Briggs Test......very interesting

2007-10-18T23:46:00.000-04:00

This morning while procrastinating - - I mean, working hard on my lab report, I came across an online Myers-Briggs personality test. The results were very interesting, I looked up my letters, INFJ, on another site, and got the following blurb back. I can't believe how accurate it was, I'm still fascinated by it. Here are the highlights.....you may learn more about me then you care to know, consider yourself warned, hehe.

The Protector (Or Counselor, as other sites say)

INFJs are gentle, caring, complex and highly intuitive individuals. Artistic and creative, they live in a world of hidden meanings and possibilities (Like Anne of Green Gables!). Only one percent of the population has an INFJ Personality Type, making it the most rare of all the types.

INFJs place great importance on having things orderly and systematic in their outer world. They put a lot of energy into identifying the best system for getting things done, and constantly define and re-define the priorities in their lives. On the other hand, INFJs operate within themselves on an intuitive basis which is entirely spontaneous. They know things intuitively, without being able to pinpoint why, and without detailed knowledge of the subject at hand. They are usually right, and they usually know it HaHa - I hope my sisters read this one!). Consequently, INFJs put a tremendous amount of faith into their instincts and intuitions.

INFJs have uncanny insight into people and situations. They get "feelings" about things and intuitively understand them. Most INFJs are protective of their inner selves, sharing only what they choose to share when they choose to share it. They are deep, complex individuals, who are quite private and typically difficult to understand. INFJs hold back part of themselves, and can be secretive.

But the INFJ is as genuinely warm as they are complex. INFJs hold a special place in the heart of people who they are close to, who are able to see their special gifts and depth of caring. INFJs are concerned for people's feelings, and try to be gentle to avoid hurting anyone. They are very sensitive to conflict, and cannot tolerate it very well. Situations which are charged with conflict may drive the normally peaceful INFJ into a state of agitation or charged anger. They may tend to internalize conflict into their bodies, and experience health problems when under a lot of stress.

Because the INFJ has such strong intuitive capabilities, they trust their own instincts above all else. This may result in an INFJ stubbornness and tendency to ignore other people's opinions. They believe that they're right. On the other hand, INFJ is a perfectionist who doubts that they are living up to their full potential. INFJs are rarely at complete peace with themselves - there's always something else they should be doing to improve themselves and the world around them. They believe in constant growth, and don't often take time to revel in their accomplishments. They have strong value systems, and need to live their lives in accordance with what they feel is right. In deference to the Feeling aspect of their personalities, INFJs are in some ways gentle and easy going. Conversely, they have very high expectations of themselves, and frequently of their families. They don't believe in compromising their ideals.

INFJ is a natural nurturer; patient, devoted and protective. They make loving parents and usually have strong bonds with their offspring. They have high expectations of their children, and push them to be the best that they can be. This can sometimes manifest itself in the INFJ being hard-nosed and stubborn. But generally, children of an INFJ get devoted and sincere parental guidance, combined with deep caring.

In the workplace, the INFJ usually shows up in areas where they can be creative and somewhat independent. They have a natural affinity for art, and many excel in the sciences, where they make use of their intuition. INFJs can also be found in service-oriented professions. They are not good at dealing with minutia or very detailed tasks. The INFJ will either avoid such things, or else go to the other extreme and become enveloped in the details to the extent that they can no longer see the big picture (Yeah, this is so very true!). An INFJ who has gone the route of becoming meticulous about details may be highly critical of other individuals who are not.

The INFJ individual is gifted in ways that other types are not. Life is not necessarily easy for the INFJ, but they are capable of great depth of feeling and personal achievement.

Paintball

2007-10-15T20:51:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure who first brought it up or when, but the idea had been raised that we should go play paintball together as a division. The guys have been raring to go for a few weeks now, and I'm totally pumped as well. I've never done it before, the scariest thing I've shot is a water gun, but I am SO in! John insists that I am going to get killed, and although I protest that I can take care of myself, I kinda have the same thought. At 5'2", most of the guys tower over me, and I weigh much less then they do. Ah well, I figure that'll make me faster and a smaller target, perhaps I won't get hit as easily. Besides, I'm tougher and more feisty then most people would ever assume.

The gun is surprisingly heavy, but looks so very cool. I've always wanted to learn how to shoot, but this will have to do for now. John isn't playing, so I torment him for a while about being too scared of me, which he just laughs off. The first field looks amazing, two steep hills meet in a valley, with long grass, trees and bunkers spread throughout. Each team starts on the top of a hill, but as we are out of range of each other, we have to charge down the hill into the valley to start the shooting. Crazy!

I start on the side of our hill, crouched down in the long grass with my heart rate just flying. I'm so excited, it's insane. The bullets start flying and suddenly my excitement turns into terror. My head knows that it is not real, but I have never been shot at before, I'm having trouble convincing my body that it's not about to die. Jack spies me and starts firing, my heart is literally pounding in my throat. Paint pellets rain down on every side, hitting the grass with an unmistakable 'THWACK!'.
Ouch! Shoot, that hurt! I just got one in the thigh, it didn't break though, I'm still in the game. I force myself to fire back, half running, half falling down the hill towards better cover. I'm firing wildly, I just want to make it out alive. Suddenly, *WHAM!* I get hit right in the face mask. Spitting paint everywhere, I raise my gun, holler "I'm hit!" and make a beeline for the safety of the boundary line. The terror has subsided, now I'm just excited. Wow, that was incredible! I give myself a mental kick in the seat and promise myself that next time, I'm going to fight for all I'm worth. After all, I got hit a couple times this round, and once the initial sting wears off, it really isn't that bad. I start to grin, my game has only just begun.

The next round takes place in a forest, with fortresses at either end and a car in the middle. I take a deep breath as I hear the ref shout "GO!". Time to knock these guys on their butts. Still learning, I do my best to hide, provide cover fire, and knock out the enemy. I look around after my last ally staggers off the field, a paint-riddled mess. It's me vs. three of the enemy. There's no way I'm going to win this, but I'll try my darnedest to take them out if I can. Hiding behind a tree, I see one sneak up on either side, but can't see the third. I guess they're out after all. I fire to the right while dodging incoming from my left, then reverse. I get hit in the hand, it bounces off, no paint. I step around the tree and fire wildly at the enemy to the right, I know the left enemy isn't in a position to shoot right now, I think their gun has jammed. Suddenly I get hit right in the kneecap, I feel my leg buckle. I look down to see if it broke, forgetting to cover myself. A bullet ricochets off the top off my head, leaving me seeing stars. I raise my hand to see if there is paint, once again forgetting that I am exposed. All three of them - drat, there were three left! - open fire and I am hit for good this time, a giant blue splotch shows up on my leg. I raise my gun in surrender and limp off the field, still seeing stars. That was awesome, I actually held out the longest of my team!

The other two girls are fading fast, one of them takes herself out for the rest of the night, fearing injury. The other stays in, but in sniper mode, hiding behind impenetrable objects and just trying to pick people off. Perhaps I'm a bit stubborn, maybe it's pride, or possibly just the red hair, but I want to show those guys that I can fight just as well as they can. They may be twice my size, but we all have the same gun. The next few games are fast and furious, we refill paint and air multiple times as we all get a little more winded, a little more bruised, and a lot dirtier. This is soooo much fun, I've pegged a few of them off, made a few good moves, I'm loving it now. We shoot up the frontier village a few times, then move on to 'The Fortress'. Sounds good to me!

The Fortress looks fun already, it's a different style of game then all of the previous ones. Two men, Roy and Jack, hold the fort, the rest of us have to take it. We win when they're both dead. These two have been the leaders all night, mobilizing their teams into action. Now that they're on the same team, there is a huge leadership void. I think I can fill it! Haha, this is going to be good. We start at the end of the field, too far to pick them off from here, they have some great defenses. I start to move forward, yelling at my team to follow me as I charge. Jack peeks his head through the tower window and sees me running across the open. As he raises his gun, I throw myself through the air, it's my only hope to make it to the bunker alive. I land hard as paintballs fly overhead and thwack against the wood. I fire at will, trying to pick him off as he tries to nail me. I need to get closer. I do the same crazy charge again, making it over halfway up the field. I've lost sight of Jack, but I spy Roy off to the other side, trying to pick off one of my partners. I try to nail him, angling myself behind the boards to protect from his fire.

Out of nowhere, a Mack truck slams into the side of my neck, instantly compressing my airway as I'm dropped to my knees. I feel wetness as I raise my fingers to my throat, hoping to God that it is paint. I'm having trouble focusing, and I suddenly realize that I'm still in the middle of the battlefield, still being fired upon. I fight off the urge to faint and stagger off the field, trying to hold my gun in the air, but I seem to be lacking the strength to do either. I pass the ref, who steps towards me and asks, "Need a medic?" Half joking, he knows who we are, half serious, I look half dead. I don't answer, I just want to get to the group. I collapse into the grass near Amelia and try to calm myself. I can breathe, and I'm pretty sure it's paint I'm covered in. I'm on the verge of tears and try to settle myself down before anybody notices, I hate creating a fuss, especially in front of people I have so much respect for. Amelia kneels down beside me and asks if I'm ok. We're great friends, I don't have to act brave with her. I gasp out what happened, and she pulls back my hoodie to take a look. She starts, then hollers, "Blood! There's blood! Red's bleeding!" Riiiiight, so much for playing it cool. John drops to his knees beside me before she has even finished, he tends to be rather protective of me, it's very sweet. He takes a look, and proclaims it not that bad, a bit of blood, soon to be a nasty bruise, but nothing serious. Amelia does tend to get excited about things, but John, being a paramedic, sees things with different eyes. He offers to clean it up for me when we get back to the trucks, and I calmly agree. Once the initial shock wore off, it really isn't that bad. I'll take a few lumps to have this much fun, any day!

Jack swaggers off the field, he and Roy won, so they're happy. He sees me on the ground, and quickly realizes it was his shot that put me there. His demeanor changes instantly, he is also very protective of me, and is quite upset that he hurt me. He broke the rules on that shot too, they were supposed to stay within the confines of the fortress, but he says he couldn't take it anymore, and charged us, totally forgetting the rules. He's kicking himself now, cursing his testosterone-fueled mad charge - his words, not mine! I hop to my feet and give him a quick hug. "Jack, it's not that bad! Besides, it's all part of the game." I give him a grin, "You just better watch out next round!" I follow the group to the next field, I'm not quitting anytime soon. I notice that although John proclaimed it to be a non-serious injury, he stays close to me for the rest of the night, watching, always watching. I pretend nothing happened and we head back to the hill and valley course to use up our ammo and end our evening, as darkness is falling quickly.

The ref calls for anyone who still has ammo, and I step forward with Jack and three other guys. They all look at me in disbelief, "You're playing? Seriously?" I just grin. "Of course! Somebody has to get Jack back for that shot!" It is much harder in the dark, the sound of shooting is the only way to pinpoint a location. It doesn't help that all of the ammo-less people are firing their empty guns at the ground, just to make noise and cause confusion. I keep firing widely, pegging one guy in the head a few times before he yells mercy. Hey, I wasn't sure if they broke, so I kept shooting!

Jack and I are stalking each other through the gloom, everybody on the sidelines is shouting tips at me. I move up, ducking and dodging, trying to be as silent as the grave. I really want to nail him, no hard feelings, I love the guy, but I still want to get him. I duck behind a large crate as the peanut gallery starts to shriek with more intensity. He's close, and in a better position then I. I check one side, then the other, and see no sign of him. I start to raise my gun as the hair on the back of my neck stands up straight, I have never been hunted like this before. I decide to charge the area where I last saw him and raise myself slowly, silently, up from the ground. A sudden movement overhead catches me off-guard, I swing my gun up and come face to face with Jack. He has thrown himself over the top of the crate and now holds me at point-blank range. His finger quivering over the trigger, he asks, "Mercy?" Knowing I have no chance, I raise my gun. "Mercy." He grins. "Gotcha again!" Grrrr......I need to get him so badly! And he's out of ammo to!

Ah well, I still have paint left, so I head back into the fray. Me against two others, I decide there is no way I am NOT going to win this. I start firing as I charge, then see two figures emerge from the grass, headed towards the group. I stand alone on the darkened field, bruised and bloody, sweaty and filthy. I just grin.

I am given a nickname later that evening, as the guys chow down, discussing each game, the injuries received and who played the best. It is decided that I got the best injury, the light of the restaurant reveals it to be a giant bloody welt. It is also decided that they never want to face me mad, I guess I was a tad intense. Haha, that's awesome. They now call me G.I Jane. How cool is THAT?

Band of Brothers (Sisters too!)

2007-10-12T15:56:00.000-04:00

A few years ago I never would have dreamed that I would be doing what I am now. I have considered becoming a paramedic for years and years, it was one of my childhood dream occupations. I have always held paramedics and the police in a sort of awe, I wanted to be out there with them, doing what the paramedics did, but I was always afraid that I wouldn't be able to take it. Now, I feel like I'm a part of the brotherhood. Granted, my level of training and experience is nothing compared to most, but I still feel like I belong. Even as a rookie in a volunteer organization, I'm part of the group.

I love being in uniform, I see the world through a different lens when I am on duty, and I am treated differently. A lot of people I know, especially old high school friends (and enemies - for that matter!), would be amazed to see who I am in uniform, the confidence and knowledge I display. I am not saying this to be arrogant, I just really like the transformation. Instead of being intimidated by a police officer, I walk up and start joking around with them, and they do the same with me. There is a distinct difference, a weird connection with others in uniform that the public will never understand unless they take part. Just walking around, I would never approach a police officer, paramedic or firefighter just to chat unless I knew them. There is a very interesting 'we're all in this together' mentality that allows for fast friendships, joking and conversations that I just didn't understand before I became a part of it.

Hmmm, I'm making it sound like a weird sort of cult, I'm just not sure how to explain it. I guess it's kinda what cops feel for each other, they all have each other's backs, and there is a special bond between them because of that. When you know that the man or woman next to you would do anything to help you in a time of trial, you can't help but feel a special connection. I've looked around on a few calls now and just felt an awe at the number of people gathered to help us as we help the patient. Myriads of police and fire will jump at the slightest word, they will carry equipment, control crowds, support us as we climb over bleachers and be oh-so-quick to pounce on an unruly and dangerous patient. I am reminded of the drunk lady call I wrote about earlier, at one point she smacked me, albeit playfully, and I wasn't going to put up with that. I very sharply said, "DON'T hit me!", and with that, every cop in the vicinity and my three partners, NDP, Roy and John, swung around abruptly. Their reaction surprised me at the time, each and every one of them was more then ready and willing to take her down if it looked like I needed help.

It is neat to be a part of emergency services, the uniform connects us all in a way that I never imagined. True, we have our differences, and I am repeatedly told that I am NOT ALLOWED to like firemen (long story here, hehe), but when it all boils down to it, we all have each other's backs, and that is am incredible feeling. I have two shifts this weekend, both are football games, and I have great partners as usual, so they should be fun. Now I'm off to iron my shirt and polish my boots, I have to keep up the sparky little rookie reputation that the guys so dearly love to make fun of. Ah well, I love them in all of their scuffed-boot, wrinkled-shirt, cynical, jaded glory.

Sometimes a Little Goes a Long Way

2007-10-08T12:37:00.000-04:00

We're lazing around at a huge festival, it's warm and sunny, perfect weather. Not too hot that every other person is fainting, and we have lots of shade, so the sun isn't bothering us. We've been playing poker all morning, the guys have taught me how to play and I've had some pretty good hands. I need to work on my poker face though, all they have to do is look me in the eye, and they know my hand. Ah well, we're just having fun. NDP wins the game, raking in my remaining pile of chips with a grin on his normally stern face. I came close, but his experience beat me in the end.

We drift away from the table, some get food, others go for a walk or head into the trailer. I flip through John's EMS pocket guide, wishing I knew everything in it. He starts to teach me about EKG rhythms; how to read them, what they mean, what the heart is doing in each case. Apparently some of the others aren't happy with the fact that he's teaching me so much, but he doesn't care, and neither do I. His reasoning is that since I want to become a paramedic (maybe - still considering options, although he insists he knows what I'll pick in the end...hehe), I have to learn it eventually, so he may as well teach me now. I like that reasoning, I love learning this stuff, and he teaches very well.

Soon it is just John and I sitting at the post, our chairs facing each other so we can talk and scan 360 at all times. It's weird how that mentality takes hold - it's the middle of the day at a family festival, yet we just naturally watch everything, everyone, everywhere. Over his shoulder I see a small horde approaching, weaving through the trees and cars behind the stage. As they make a beeline for us, I nudge John's boot with mine and nod over his shoulder. He turns as they descend upon us, all frantically talking at once. "She got stung!" "Ahhhhhh!" "A bee!" "She got hit in the eye" "Help her" "OOOOOOO, it hurts!" The last from the large women in the centre of the group, obviously the mother of the equally large children that cluster around. She is holding her hands over her face, her eye, moaning and groaning in pain. John gets up from his chair, giving me an amused look as he steps back and behind me. My call, got it. Thank you oh-so-much!

I sit her down and ask her what happened as I get her to remove her hands from her face, anticipating the worst. Swelling, blood, an avulsed eyeball bobbing about, I don't know, but something to fit the drama of the situation. As she lowers her hands and looks up at me, I see nothing. ......Nothing? Nothing. I compare eyes. Ok, a bit of imagination could place some redness at the corner of the right eye near her nose, but most likely from her frantic rubbing. So now what? She says she was stung, it hit her in the face and "hurt really bad!" She is grimacing in pain, her and her family obviously expecting something to be done to make her all better. There is no sting mark, it was most likely one of those massive June bugs that have been whipping around the park all weekend. I've been pelted a few times and they do pack a bit of a punch, so I guess I can see where she is coming from. But what am I to do for her? She is not allergic to bees even if it were a sting, there is no mark, no swelling, and besides, it's too close to her eye to use one of those 'sting stop' swabs that magically make pain disappear. Medically, I can think of nothing I can do for her.

I look up at John. He grabs a 4 x 4" gauze pad and a bottle of water. Wetting it, he hands it to the women and tells her to hold it over her eye. Seriously? I did that to my little sister all the time when she freaked out over something. Please don't tell me it's that simple! She gratefully accepts it, and it has barely touched her eye before she lets out a squeal of relief. Leaning over so the water would not drip on her dirty shorts, she profusely thanks us, repeating how it feels soooooo much better now. In slight disbelief, I finish filling out her info on the paperwork and watch as she walks away, surrounded by her now-happy brood.

Again I look up at John, this time with disbelief written all over my face. "John, there was nothing we could medically do for her! It wasn't a sting, it wasn't swollen, it was barely even red! I can't believe that actually worked on her, I did that to my little sister all the time...." He simply smiled. "Sometimes a little goes a long way."

The First Crazy Concert

2007-10-03T16:28:00.000-04:00

Once the adrenaline hit, it never subsided. There were times when it peaked at levels I'd never before experienced, so much excitement and adrenaline packed into one event. I guess it's the mark of a rookie, I had not yet treated a patient on my own at that point. I've gotta say that I've been in much worse, much crazier situations since and I haven't been nearly as excited. I guess I'm learning after all! The neat thing about it all though, was that I stayed calm throughout. Inwardly excited, outwardly I was calm, treating patients, helping out, staying out of the way if need be.

It was my first big event, a heavy metal concert where there was potential for mass casualties. I read a post by Baby Medic a few months ago that was eerily familiar, although my concert didn't seem quite as violent, and our most serious call wasn't as bad as his. Seriously though, reading it gave me crazy deja vu. There were 8 of us there that night, and the guys were setting up for a busy night. Good thing they did to....

I'm partnered with one of my favourite guys in the division, we'll call him Jack, so this is looking to be a fun night. I really look up to him, he's a lot of fun and seems to have taken a liking to me. We've been setting up our post for the last hour at least, time seems to be crawling. There is a delicious tension in the air, we're waiting for the madness to start, and all we can do now is pretend to keep busy. Chairs are placed in strategic locations, then reorganized as we bring in the stretchers and equipment. We have two trucks here tonight, meaning lots of gear and lots of people.

The band finally gets onstage, and wow, they are noisy! I am glad for the earplugs supplied by John, this music is nothing close to what I usually listen too. Lights, smoke, screams and incredible bass add to the noise as we split into teams and head off to cover the stadium. There is a team posted upstairs at concourse level, one at the front of the stage near the mosh pit, one at the back of the lower level, and then the two of us at the trucks. We'll be rotating through each positions, depending on the patients each team has, but for now I'm happy to stay out of the fray, there is a sense of safety at home base. The fans are the craziest people I've ever seen, studs, piercings, spikes, chains and black everywhere, not quite what I am used to.

Very few minutes pass when a young man limps out of the crowd, making his way from pillar to pillar for support. He collapses against the wall directly opposite from us, and as I rise to my feet to let Jack know we have a patient, he passes me, already on his way out. I follow quickly. The young man is in obvious pain, holding his knee, pale and sweaty. He tells us that another guy walked up and hoofed him in the knee, hyperextending it. Jack goes to grab the stair chair, which doubles as a great wheelchair, leaving me with the patient. I kneel beside him and start talking, gathering information. No notes, no prompts, no evaluators, just me and my patient. I like this much better.

As we return to our area and get ice for his knee, the other partners start to return with patients. People are passing out left, right and centre, with anxiety attacks, minor wounds and drunkenness thrown in for good measure. We're suddenly packed, every partner set has at least one patient, and more are coming in with every passing moment. There is not too much Jack and I can do for our injured knee guy, we've wrapped it and are holding ice on it, there is no instability and only minor swelling, so it may not be too bad. Suddenly a crowd of security runs in, one carrying a man over his shoulders. Jack and I look up as they crash the entrance, then all heck breaks loose. The man is BLUE. Seriously blue, from the neck up. Jack jumps to his feet, knocking the bag of ice flying, which scatters all over the floor. Roy runs over as the man is dumped onto the stretcher, which happens to be right beside my knee patient in the stair chair. I have my own patient to look after, and they certainly don't need me in the way, so I clean up the ice and move my patient out of the commotion. I finish up the form and look up to see Mr. Blue saunter out the door. Whaaaaa...?? He was blue 2 minutes ago, and now he's leaving? I look up at Jack questioningly, he simply shrugs. Apparently the drop onto the stretcher woke him up, he started breathing again, and denied treatment. Weird.

Security is screaming for us on the radio and beckoning frantically from the concert entrance. I hand my knee patient over to NDP, another veteran, as Jack and I charge for the commotion. He runs an awful lot for a guy who's been doing this for over 10 years, I would prefer not to charge through the crowd in the dark with a massive bag. Ah well, he is my partner and I can't lose him, so I pick up my pace. I just think it's strange that I'm less obviously excited then he is.

Man down in the mosh pit, security is frantically waving us on. We enter the stadium bowl and my senses are immediately assaulted. Screaming music, cheering fans, flashing lights, lazers and smoke spur us onwards. As my feet hit the wooden aisle leading to the front of the stage, the music starts to crescendo, rising into a roaring, howling peak that only serves to push my adrenaline higher. I feel like it is a movie, we are racing through the dark, punctuated only by the strobe lights and lazers as the music keeps building. The music is setting up the scene, dramatically building, higher, louder, more intense. We arrive at the call as the music suddenly cuts out, gone. And so is our patient. What a letdown. Whoever it was had gotten up and blending into the teaming crowd, nothing for us to do. We stay at stage left, watching and waiting, but not for long, never for very long.

Security runs over again as the radio goes nuts. We can't hear the radio, but we blindly follow security down the aisle. Another young man, this one is leaning heavily against the metal fence around the mosh pit, looking generally ill. Jack and security help him climb over, really just pulling him over, and he stumbles towards the exit. I look back up at Jack, who gestures for me to follow him out, my patient. He hangs back as I escort the man out, my hand on his back to guide him as he stumbles. I escort him past a myriad of police officers who nod at me as we sweep through the black curtain. My patient is pale and sweaty, unsteady on his feet. I help him into a chair and start to talk, figuring out what happened. He was just overwhelmed by the heat and noise, a drink of water, cool air and a chair restores his colour quickly. We are approached by a security again, but this time he is the patient. He has smashed his pinky pulling somebody out of the mosh pit, it is easily the size of his thumb. Jack confirms my suspicions that is is broken, then vanishes as a young woman is carried in, shaking and faint. My fainting patient is fine, just resting, so I turn my attention to finger man. I gather him supplies for a splint, he wants to just get back to work and doesn't want the bother of paperwork. If I splint it, that means a form, so he says he'll just do it himself. I check on my knee patient as I pass the splint stuff to finger man and hand faint guy another glass of water. Three patients at once, minor ones yes, but still neat. He's sore but ok, and I discharge him, advising him to come back if he needs more help. (How cool is that - I actually have to give him my medical permission to leave...hehe) He thanks me, but says it looks like we have far more needy patients then he, and limps slowly back to the concert.

Jack runs out again, and I follow him after telling faint guy to rest a bit longer, I'll check on him in a few minutes. An usher has run out of the crowd, carrying a thin young woman who is limp, yet appears to be trying to curl into a ball. He sets her down beside a pillar as we approach, and Jack immediately radios for the stretcher. Her boyfriend holds her close, an attractive young man with reddish-brown curly hair and eyes full of loving concern. She is having an anxiety attack, which apparently happens to her in loud, crowded situations. Good call on coming to a heavy metal concert then! John and Roy arrive with the stretcher, and John beckons me over. As I lean in, he tells me I need to get back to my patient, fill in a PCR and discharge him properly. He wasn't really ill, just need fresh air and water while he calmed down, but I understand the need for paperwork, I should've done it already. I nod, properly chastised, and head back to faint guy, leaving anxiety girl in very capable hands.

We have several other patients, and the other partners were just as busy all night. Suddenly it is 11:00 and the band is wrapping up, we start to slowly clear out. Everyone is amazed that is is over, time has flown. It is estimated that the 8 of us treated around 30 patients in a span of 3 hours. Most were fainting/dehydration/drunk calls, but we had a few that were more serious. Mr. Blue man and a leg injury that Roy treated and sent out via EMS were deemed our most serious of the evening, though nobody really knew what was up with blue guy. We slowly pack up, and head out to grab food after a hectic evening. It is nice to hang out and chat, slowly relaxing. They give us a police discount at the restaurant as we're all in uniform, that was nice. It takes me a while to get to sleep, but I drift off happily. I feel like I survived my first real test, I didn't freeze tonight, and I actually got to treat people myself. It was a crazy, crazy night, but I look back on it with a smile, it was a lot of fun.

The First Patient

2007-09-28T12:46:00.001-04:00

It was a while ago now, but I still remember my first patient clearly. I remember how scared I was, how overwhelming it all seemed. It was a rather intimidating first call, although now I'd probably just laugh....

Everything about this evening has been intimidating. I feel so out of my element. We are sitting below the stands at the truck, laughing and talking, waiting for a call. Every now and then somebody wanders in to watch the show, but I stay outside. I watched for a few minutes and that was more then enough. Wrestling is not my thing, to put it kindly. The fans walking around are huge, dressed in crazy, mostly black clothing, not very friendly looking. After realizing that the vast majority of them could pulverize me with a single finger, I resolve to stay close to my partner.

My partner, John, intimidates me as well though. He is a paramedic, a big guy in comparison to me at over 6 feet. He's been doing this for a while, he knows what he is doing, and the experience shows. I have never worked with him before, but he ends up teaching, training and mentoring me, a really good guy that I look up to a lot. There are several of us here tonight; John, Roy, Ted and another rookie, a good friend of mine we'll call Amelia.

The radio goes off and we head to a call, I am nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect. We get there and a guy is seizing on the dirty floor, my partners spring into action. I am amazed at the transformation that has taken place, the three men before me now starkly contrast with the three men I was with at the truck. Laughing, joking and playful only moments prior, they are now suddenly in charge; confident, competent and full of purpose. I stand back and watch, amazed. John has taken control of the scene simply by his presence, Roy has become incredibly patient, the skill level of both men is made obvious. They know what they are doing, and do so with an enviable calm. Ted has become more gentle then I ever imagined, in voice and manner, a caring touch. All three of them radiate confidence and skill, both of which I am lacking, both of which I strive to attain. Amelia is told to get closer, and John backs off slightly, letting the other partner set take this call. We stand back, watching. Suddenly the radio goes off again, another call, at the opposite end of the stadium. My heart rate triples and my mouth goes dry as John tells me to grab the AED and follow him.

I am walking quickly to keep up with John, I feel like I am rushing, almost running. He, on the other hand, is striding quickly yet calmly through the crowds, the crowds that eagerly part for him, respecting the uniform and the commanding presence. Oh, again that enviable calm! He turns to me now and grins slightly, "Do you have gloves?" I do indeed, pretty blue ones that Amelia and I picked out earlier, almost giddy at the thought of actually getting them dirty. "Yup" I pull them from my pocket now with hands that tremble slightly - excitement, fear, perhaps both. "Good", he responds as he takes the defib from me. "This is your call. Glove up." My jaw drops as a wave of terror and incredible excitement washes over me. My hands are definitely shaking with fear now. Panic as well, a reaction I was not expecting. "You've got to be kidding!" I manage, half hoping he is, half pleading he isn't. "Nope. I'll stand back, this is your patient."
Gulp. John the paramedic, the experienced, the calm, the knowledgeable, has just given me the patient. I pull on my gloves as my mind races. Oh wait, they don't fit. Backwards. Ok, ok, thumb in thumb hole, this is better, I can do this. I take back the defib and run through the patient care sheet in my mind.

Introduce. Obtain consent. ABCs.....uh...ok.....
Introduce, Obtain consent, AB.....uh oh.
Introduce. Obtain Consent......
Introduce....what do I say? How I am supposed to introduce myself? 'Hi, I'm Red, can I help you?' 'I know First Aid, uh, my name is Red....' Eeeep.

I send up a quick prayer for calm and guidance as the aisle numbers get rapidly larger. We're here, no patient in sight. The stadium medical guy is with us now, and together the three of us search for our call. An usher points towards the washroom.
The men's washroom.
The very busy, very occupied men's washroom.
Eeeep again.

We head for the door, I lag slightly behind. "John, I'm coming in......?" Half question, half statement, I am coming in, but I feel the need to ask permission. Girls just don't waltz into the men's washroom, after all. Turning slightly, he responds, "Yup, get in there." OK, here goes. I attempt to hide behind him as we enter, over his shoulder I see men at urinals - very obviously in the middle of business. I quickly avert my eyes. Mirrors...paper towels...hand dryer....bright lights....mirrors....man, I love this uniform....stalls.....stalls.....Wham! We turn the corner and my field of vision is taken up by two very burly cops. Well, there go the rest of my wits. I am intimidated by police officers. I have never spoken more then a few words to one, and quite frankly, they scare me half to death. They are just so powerful, so in charge, so BIG! OK, so now I am supposed to treat a patient with them watching me? Oh right....the patient....
A midget.
A drunk midget.
A very, very drunk midget being held up by the two aforementioned giant police officers.
And he is covered in blood.

OK, my brain is fried. Too many new, strange things at once. I just can't think straight, I stand and simply stare at the spectacle.
Fortunately, the stadium medical guy takes over, it is his call if he wants it, we can do it all, but he is being paid for this. He says nothing, just presses a wad of gauze to the bloody forehead. Wait, he isn't wearing gloves! There is blood all over his hands now, the thin sheet of gauze is bright red as he drops it to the floor. He tapes more gauze over the injury, all with his bare hands. The importance of PPE has been hammered into my skull, and I know I would want gloves on to do that, but it's his call. But seriously, no gloves?

John steps up and begins to ask the patient the questions that have vanished from my head. "Medications?" None. "Medical conditions?" The little man pauses to think, then announces, "I'm a midget." The cops snort with laughter and the smaller yet stockier one comes back with, "I don't consider that a medical condition". Everyone laughs, as the midget revels in his obvious wit. John continues as I pick up the discarded wrappers on the floor. "Allergies?" Another thoughtful pause. "I'm allergic to men.", He announces as the cops snort again. "I like ladies though." I don't look up. I have no desire to see if he was looking at me, the only lady in a washroom full of men. The taller cop says "Well, at least you're on the right track there" as the stadium medical guy finishes the dressing. "Is he cleared medically?", the tall cop asks as John and stadium medical nod.

Just like that we're though. Stadium medical only now hesitates, his bare fingers hovering above the bloodied gauze at his feet. I lean over and pick it up with my gloved hand, "Let me get that". He says thanks as I feel the eyes of the cops on me. Perhaps it is my over-active, nervous imagination, but I do not look up to make eye contact. I toss the blood soaked gauze in the garbage, burying it slightly under the mounds of paper towel. I strip off my gloves as I follow John out the door and can't help but smile. Streaks of red mar the brilliant blue. I got my gloves dirty after all.

Caring

2007-09-26T13:23:00.000-04:00

One of the most difficult and interesting things about being on duty is seeing a side of the world that I had never seen before. Being in university tends to put you in a little bubble, isolated from the real world. I feel like I break out of that bubble every time I put on the uniform, I become somebody more then 'just another student'. It was hard at first to deal with the drastically different world out there, but I feel I am getting used to it.

My first two patients were both very, very drunk, that made me think. Drunk students are one thing, I see them as silly kids who will eventually grow up. It's a whole other ballgame to see adults smashed out of their mind, especially knowing that they do it regularly and will never grow out of it. With the one patient in particular, I felt so sad for her. She was alone and drunk at a festival, bloody from falling down and smashing her head. She had no idea what happened and could barely state who and where she was. She didn't like my male partners or the male cops (one of whom was the most attractive man I think I have ever seen...but that's another story), but she really liked me. While we were waiting for EMS because she was given the choice of hospital or jail, it was quite the effort to keep her calm. She kept pleading with me to "get her away from 'them'", to which I simply replied that I was one of 'them' to. I felt so bad for her at the time, I wanted to know who she was and what had made her this way, I wanted to fix it all for her. I cried for her, she cast such a pathetic figure, so broken and lost.
Now I see things differently. I hope it is not my compassion fading or my empathy disappearing, but rather experience knocking back some of my naivete. I still feel for her, for all of my patients, but I am much more able to just put aside a call. I can come home from a crazy shift with all my calls swirling through my head, and pour them onto a sheet of paper. Then they are over, gone, through. I have not yet seen anything really terrible, so I still don't know how I would react to that, but I don't over-react to everything anymore. I don't lose sleep over a drunk woman with a bloody forehead, I realize that people make their own choices and there is nothing my tears can do about it. I still care, don't get me wrong, but I am now able to cope with how much I care.

So who is this Redheaded Medic, anyways?

2007-09-25T15:00:00.000-04:00

I am a university student at a medium-sized university in a medium-sized Canadian city, taking a biology-based degree. I am a Christian, Jesus has saved my life and guided me into who I am today, and I am constantly thankful for His love and grace in my life. I pray that I show his character through everything I do, and treat everyone around me as He would, with love, patience and mercy.

I volunteer for a community organization that provides medical coverage at fairs, festivals, concerts, sporting events and pretty much everything else. This is where my stories come from. I still have observer status, so it's a bit of a stretch to call myself a medic, hehe. I figure if a certain critical care paramedic can call himself an ambulance driver though, I can call myself a medic. I will have Medical First Responder certification soon, which is the level below primary care paramedic here in Canada.

I love being on duty, I've had the opportunity to learn a lot this summer thanks to a paramedic in the division who made it his mission to teach and mentor me. I've had the opportunity to treat many patients, it's been incredible. Although the calls would be minor by the standards of most, they are all exciting learning experiences for me. I've been told that will change, but right now I'm enjoying my excitement over the mundane, I like being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Now if only I could figure out how to be that excited about my courses, it'd all be good!

So there is a bit about me, enough to perhaps understand where I am coming from. I've been told I have many sides, and I wholeheartedly agree, so this is but the briefest of glances into my character. I am just as much one side as I am any of the others, which is hard for some people to realize when they only ever see me in certain circumstances. I'll elaborate more on this later, I find it fascinating. Not in a crazy multiple-personality kind of way, just a multi-faceted Redheaded Medic kind of way.

First Post

2007-09-25T13:29:00.000-04:00

So, my foray into the blog world has begun. I seem to have tons of stories to share, and people keep telling me I should create a blog. I guess they get tired of hearing about my shifts and my calls, so I'm trying this as another outlet. Hopefully I can post my stories and thoughts without breaking any patient confidentiality laws or offending the people I work with. I haven't decided who I will tell about this, so for now, I'll just see who finds it. Welcome to Redheaded Medic!