tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48869934129869848292024-03-19T05:27:56.948-07:00Wayward MedicAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-65643343144977247412017-06-07T21:27:00.001-07:002017-06-07T21:28:19.085-07:00Space for Rent! <p dir="ltr">This blog has found a new home on WordPress! </p>
<p dir="ltr"><a href="http://waywardmedicblog.wordpress.com">https://waywardmedicblog.wordpress.com</a></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2p8pK30ZXNJ137KxM97MYkfFmTYhth28QHEd3N4-JCvfWUd3YloOVju7kwjN-3G6ISnB19dXZrkOm-cwE8AoWKuL76oCqg2uADfYi-l-DyPlIndlMqcKJVMeuJ4UHym9IAFjYvnmNKS5Y/s1600/IMG_20170412_182722002_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2p8pK30ZXNJ137KxM97MYkfFmTYhth28QHEd3N4-JCvfWUd3YloOVju7kwjN-3G6ISnB19dXZrkOm-cwE8AoWKuL76oCqg2uADfYi-l-DyPlIndlMqcKJVMeuJ4UHym9IAFjYvnmNKS5Y/s640/IMG_20170412_182722002_HDR.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-54181310899681015662017-05-13T06:04:00.001-07:002017-05-13T06:04:22.048-07:00I've stopped apologizing<p dir="ltr">This blog is incorrect. Misleading and flat out lying to you. See, no longer is this blogger a highschool EMT student. I am, in fact, neither of those things. As of May 6th, I have finished highschool. As of April 13th, I am a licensed EMT.  </p>
<p dir="ltr">Yeah, I think it sounds weird, too. So will  continue blogging? Absolutely. I started off on this adventure to share my experiences in EMT school as an awkward, hopeful teenager. And I survived! I liked it so much, I'm taking more classes this summer. Any guesses? <br>
If you said Anatomy and Physiology and Medical Terminology, you'd be right. My heart still skips a beat at the thought of freshly sharpened pencils and lots of new faces. It's not just me that thinks that, right? I'm fact, as I write this, I have arrived too early for my first A+P class, and immediately decided to come back and finish up this post. Its hard to reconcile the girl walking confidently into class today, with the shy, clueless senior that tiptoed into class last fall. <br>
Little is the same anymore. But I haven't forgotten who I am, as some people do in highschool. Instead, I have <i>found</i> who I am. Here is where my next chapter starts. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-59631655717023214152017-05-07T20:04:00.001-07:002017-05-07T20:04:02.392-07:00Why dirty hands equal a happy heart<p dir="ltr">Tonight, my hands are stained with grease, my clothes are littered with dust, and my hair is a frizzy mess. I'm hardly fazed by my appearance, though. Underneath the dirty nails and wet boots, my heart beats proudly. For a short time tonight, I stopped worrying about college financial aid and dropped whatever else has been demanding my attention. We had our tiny town vol Fire department meeting tonight, something to that h<u>appens</u> once a month, and I joyfully count the days on the calendar. <br>
I bring my hopes and ideas to these meetings; tucked away under a ponytail and a shy smile. If I'm dirty, it means I'm DOING. Not seeing, wishing, or trying. I've wished and watched from afar for too long. I take in the rumbling engines and the tables littered with papers, and smile. I've never wanted anything else. Underneath the flashing lights, I have found my happy place. <br>
So when the front door swings open at close to midnight, a thousand things running through my mind; and I can't seem to find my inside voice, it's not gossip to that's burning on my tongue. <br>
It's joy. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-53480925363638456682017-03-19T20:47:00.001-07:002017-03-26T11:04:00.766-07:00If He Can Do It...<p dir="ltr"><u>The</u> phrase, "If he can do it, so can I" never held much meaning for me growing up.<br>
In my house, it didn't matter if the whole neighbourhood was doing something; if mom didn't approve, you weren't doing it. <u>End</u> of story. So it wasn't until I found myself in the back of ambulance, listening to the conversation with our patient, that the impact of those words hit me. <br>
I was watching the rookie busily scribble on the tablet after glancing at the monitor. He made casual conversation with the young man on the cot, and I watched with quiet interest.  <i>Everything he was doing, I could do</i>. <br>
The thought knocked me back in my seat. Surely there was something he'd done that I wasn't capable of doing. I looked around, but came up empty. <br>
With no immediate crisis to warrant a higher skill set, he performed very few interventions; perfunctory vital signs even I could do. His skills lied in the off-hand questions and the easy silence.<br>
I'd heard that working in EMS took people skills. It's cliche with good reason. Frankly, because it's true. And I'll be the first to admit it's a struggle sometimes. But <u>i</u>t wasn't weird. It wasn't forced. He simply asked questions, and nodded his head at the answers. Besides the fact that our patient was suicidal, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Not yet out of EMT school, those words opened a new door for me. Everything<i> he was doing, I could do</i>. No higher education or years of experience stood between me and the young medic in front of me. He was working with knowledge that I possessed, and skills that I was learning.  </p>
<p dir="ltr">Somehow, seeing this exchange take place, <u>I</u> realized for the first time how close I was to stepping into those shoes. To treat people, and not just patients; because every person that occupies that cot has a story beyond their chief complaint. To walk with confidence, speak with authority, and reassure with sincerity.  They are shoes that I've wanted to fill for so long, and they were finally within my grasp. My heart beat a little faster, and a smile crept onto my lips. This wasn't who I was <i>going</i> to be, this was who I <i>was</i>.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I have a feeling the back of an ambulance holds many more lessons for me. As I await the National Registry test, I'm already learning patience. (<u>That's</u> a <u>virtue</u>, right? ;) <br>
<u>Under</u> 18 and testing? I wish you luck! <br>
<u>Until</u> next post, I'll be trying to contact the folks over at the NREMT, and let them know I exist. And want to take their test. <br>
'Cause that's how you become a <u>REAL</u> EMT. Or so I'm told. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-70464927030568624302017-03-13T10:52:00.001-07:002017-03-13T10:52:38.651-07:00It's A Girl! The members of Plymouth Vol. Fire Department are now the proud owners of a shiny, 1991 Spartan Tanker. 1500 gal tank, at 100gpm. A huge improvement over the 80's era engine we were running on. Driven home all the way from Carroll County, MD, we are excited to welcome this newest piece of apparatus. Can you believe it actually has 4 working headsets?? :P <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://scontent-yyz1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/17103258_1851895101733581_6700398658685548418_n.jpg?oh=55339ef8e394933a811792515084318f&oe=592B816C" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://scontent-yyz1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/17103258_1851895101733581_6700398658685548418_n.jpg?oh=55339ef8e394933a811792515084318f&oe=592B816C" width="320" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-53624661691101535632017-02-08T12:32:00.001-08:002017-05-01T21:52:36.400-07:00-January 30th- <p dir="ltr">Tonight marks the last module exam of EMT Class. We'll never take one again. <br>
The next test we see in class will have 100 questions over 39 chapters, and will decide whether or not we can pursue National certification. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Tonight, we also ran through skills stations. One, for the first time, with a preceptor. First couple stations were combined, with my instructor as the preceptor/patient/assistant. Easy, right? <br>
My hands didn't shake, I breathed slowly, and admitted when I didn't remember something. Yet I questioned every step I took, fretted about the ones I did take, and bumbled through like I'd never before seen the equipment. I could sense his frustration, despite his patient demeanor. I reminded myself that I was capable, smart, and also wired just a bit differently then everyone else.<br>
Somehow, I couldn't assemble the information in my brain into a coherent reply. As I half- heartedly muttered an answer, wanted to shake him, and make him understand just how much I fought to find the right words, and how it felt when I simply couldn't. <br>
I know the skills. I can recite them in my head, and I have no problem performing them. But I was scared to death that I <i>didn't</i> say it right, <i>wouldn't</i> say it right, and so ruined the entire session. <br>
<u>I</u> forced myself to keep a positive attitude as we started over for the third time. <br>
Moving onto CPR, my confidence rose.<br>
I had this down. It was the simple things that got me. Things I didn't verbalize, or forgot to ask. <br>
Didn't check for id. Didn't apply the AED pads efficiently. Bagged my patient <u>too</u> quickly. When I left, he said to write down what I'd missed and review it. With my head down, I told him it'd be a long sheet of paper, and hurried out. <br>
I trotted back to the classroom, wishing I could just out run the anxiety. Why can't I speak right? </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-73428681453915092472016-12-22T14:24:00.001-08:002016-12-28T16:26:33.099-08:00Ready, Set, Go! (And other Christmas shenanigans)<p dir="ltr">Ready, set, GO!</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLBJ-2LhblIykMDpGSmKS9DG8xYZB-Lfw6DsVJCNgyftBVpD1wuDLlKl2fmRoz2mC3Y55p5eVibLoxf3Z6KwcvJfS6nocASMZzuosm6IE269Dy83lkZgZunZJgkiU1BjdwPNskZgNOsYTX/s1600/IMG_20161221_201006469%25257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLBJ-2LhblIykMDpGSmKS9DG8xYZB-Lfw6DsVJCNgyftBVpD1wuDLlKl2fmRoz2mC3Y55p5eVibLoxf3Z6KwcvJfS6nocASMZzuosm6IE269Dy83lkZgZunZJgkiU1BjdwPNskZgNOsYTX/s640/IMG_20161221_201006469%25257E2.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Clamoring. Excitement. That's what filled the apparatus bay as a dozen Explorers scrambled into their bunker gear. We pulled on hoods, threw on air packs, and firmly strapped on our helmets until we resembled something of a team. Alarms beeped angrily, announcing who'd forgotten to close their air valve. For once, it wasn't me! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After tangling my SCABS strap, my adrenaline kicked into high gear. Why couldn't I be faster? But my shaking hands did little to improve my coordination. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My heart raced as I pulled on my gloves and slapped my helmet, announcing my finish. Our advisor spun around. "Minute-forty!" He called out. He held a stop watch on his phone. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I sighed and slipped off my mask, biting my tongue. Really? A minute-forty? It was my best time. Far under the national standard of 2 minutes, but nowhere near where I wanted to be. Sweat licked my jaw as I unbuckled my coat and set it up to try again. I tried to recall how I'd seen it done, and glanced over at Eric's gear. Eric is an assistant advisor, and younger brother to the post advisor. Both have competed with honors, and now work at the same department, bringing high hopes to our messy band of Explorers. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I am glad for that, for their excitement. It sees past the now, and sees what we can become. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Hey, that's a good time." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our advisor walks over to me. I hesitantly meet his gaze. "That's a really good time." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I nod and stay quiet. It is. For now. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'm still learning how to accept encouragement. How to react when people care. It's certainly not something I'm used to! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've never seen the passion they've shown to teach, to grow, and to support us. It's amazing. It's so easy to give up hoping things will change. That people will change. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's easier to feel lonely, than to take a chance with strangers. Yet, taking a chance is exactly what I need to do. Yes, I may have lost hope along the way. But our spirit is growing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They need me to step out, letting go of any expectations; and show them how passionate </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I am to learn. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My teammates see in me, a leader. Someone they are trusting to encourage, teach, and prepare them for the challenges ahead. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">How can I accept that responsibility? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Because someone else is preparing ME. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If I ask, I get an answer. If I voice my ideas, they are respected. When I need help, all I have to do is humble my pride, and my instructors. are happy to show me. Here, amid the chaos and whirring sirens, the beat of my own drum doesn't sound so different. So weird. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That's enough to make me think I can succeed. That we can succeed. It takes trusting the person next to you. Scary? Yeah. But I don't do it alone. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAjBJgiQdmJHgm4Z6kXuNxGNvUtOXR3CGIy4y_0ExYnpyboz9Pgc27ckJZ4x48E9AWfB6TpSlJPWM3_QXDRE4oo76oEZCzuVEPyvqO6440aVz84O3V0ARRvWP4YZI9yJTBnVbeHcWjPQPP/s1600/FB_IMG_1482533479262.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAjBJgiQdmJHgm4Z6kXuNxGNvUtOXR3CGIy4y_0ExYnpyboz9Pgc27ckJZ4x48E9AWfB6TpSlJPWM3_QXDRE4oo76oEZCzuVEPyvqO6440aVz84O3V0ARRvWP4YZI9yJTBnVbeHcWjPQPP/s640/FB_IMG_1482533479262.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-32057916643259786742016-12-19T23:49:00.001-08:002016-12-19T23:49:48.108-08:00Stairs and such<p dir="ltr">Yay for pictures! </p>
<p dir="ltr">Tonight's class saw us wheeling one another up and down the stairs with the stair chair. <br>
As they strapped in and said a prayer, it took every ounce of self control to keep my mouth shut. Laughter bubbled inside me at their fearful expressions, and I stared intently at the wall until I could make a straight face again. How was it that no one ended up in a bloody mess on the floor? <br>
Of course, I could ask that, from my seat on the landing, free from being chosen to ride the clanky contraption. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Ya know, if I didn't trust my classmates yet, tonight could've been a lot more nerve wracking. But I did. After 4 months of grabbing belt loops, tying tourniquets, and lamenting test scores together, this hardly seemed scary. Plus, I have complete confidence in my ability to survive tumbling down a set of stairs; sharp, crooked, or steep as they may be. <u>How</u> did I aquire such confidence? <br>
Siblings. <br>
We pushed/slid/rode countless staircases, never once fatally injuring ourself or others. Thus, I sat unperturbed, even peering casually over the side, as we rolled down the staircase. <br>
. <br>
Really, having a dysfunctionalI family is great practice for EMT school. It's crazy. It's weird. It's what we can't live without. Doesn't your family ooh and ahh over gangrene? Oh, just mine? Who knew? </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-56249889705684198052016-12-17T14:52:00.003-08:002016-12-29T07:39:12.684-08:00My Lightbulb Moments<p dir="ltr">"Do you want to be lead medic?" My partner asked as we headed to our first scenario. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I twirled a pen between my fingers.<br>
"Uh, I can be. If you want." I didn't. Not really. I didn't want to give instructions. But neither did he. So our tentative dance continued until we reached the doorway. We exchanged glances and peered inside. I breathed a sigh of relief. Robert! He sat upright in a folding chair, a slip of paper clasped in his hands. I felt my confidence surge. Laid back and funny, Robert been an excellent patient in the past. Why should that change now?<br>
"I don't really know..." I trailed off. We had yet to decide who would lead.<br>
"I mean, if you insist." He relented.<br>
"Naw, it's okay." I prepared myself for a leap of faith. I could do this. At our whispering, Robert broke character and piped up. "What's wrong"?</p>
<p dir="ltr">"We don't know what we're doing." My partner admitted. I smiled. It was true. How long could we stand in the hallway and pass the buck? If insecurity won this time, it would win again the next time.<br>
"I'll go." I announced and stepped inside. The quicker we got this started, the sooner it would be over.<br>
"So what's going on today?" I knelt by the chair, focusing only on finding out what we needed to treat. Who cared that we had no plan; we'd get through everything eventually, right? Robert peeked at his paper and responded that he had been in a car wreck.<br>
From there, we continued to poke and prod until deciding he needed a KED board; a short, flexible spine board.<br>
"Oh, I got this." I jumped up and dumped out the kit and began strapping it in place. Right there, was my first 'aha' moment. The first time I felt confidence solely in my ability to provide treatment.<br>
Yeah, it was an awesome moment.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Skip ahead to a different patient; our instructor. Red, swollen eyes, and soot around his nose and mouth, he'd walked in on an explosion in the chem lab. My partner had taken lead medic, with me back to my stiff, awkward, self.<br>
"I feel like I should apologize for the awful wrapping job." I admitted as I rolled up the last piece of gauze. It had been a slow assessment, with calculated treatments. Why was it so scary to to act on all the knowledge I had? I <i>knew </i>a lot, but did very little. He shook his head.<br>
"Don't be. So what else could you have looked for in a blast victim?"<br>
He looked so expectant, yet I didn't feel that our answers would suffice.<br>
"Headaches, or ringing in the ears?" I offered. *fingers crossed*<br>
His face lit up. "Yes. What else?"<br>
Second 'aha' moment, right there. Practically using textbook information. I wondered at his expression later that night. I think I actually saw excitement! Seeing the wheels start to turn must be a satisfying moment at as instructor. Maybe we <i>are </i>learning!</p>
<p dir="ltr">A lot of light-bulbs went off for me on Monday. Not the kind you screw in, switch on, and presto! Light! No, this was the kind you turn on, and wait impatiently as it warms up, and it slowly brightens the whole room.  As hard as it is to wait, so many things clicked into place, I wouldn't have wanted it to happen any sooner.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Stay tuned for details on our Explorer Christmas Party!</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-23146041674648442352016-12-01T14:24:00.002-08:002016-12-19T22:47:31.172-08:00-Insert creative title here-<p dir="ltr">Winter Break is looming around the corner, and with it; ER clinicals.  So I thought I'd start a new project on here.  Reflect on the first half of EMT class, and anticipate what's coming up in Exploring.</p>
<p dir="ltr">For Exploring, I am looking into competitions, and what they entail. Multiple <u>posts</u> meet for an event that lasts all day; competing in everything from gear donning and CPR to Public Speaking. Hopefully, we can start training soon!</p>
<p dir="ltr">For EMT class, we're learning 'lifting and moving.' And with half of the class having years of experience, and the other half having zero, things can get interesting. But there's a middle ground to be found. For us, it's Keith. You know that guy?  The guy you swear is the only sane person in the room? Yeah, I found him. A paramedic for years, he is re-certifying after his license expired.<br>
His humble, unflappable personality keeps my sky-high anxiety on the ground.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Tonight, we'll laugh, listen, and hopefully learn how to keep our patients off of the grass, and on the cot.   </p>
<p dir="ltr">-side note- I'll try to post pics soon!</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-86575391116447634632016-12-01T13:41:00.004-08:002016-12-01T13:41:48.264-08:00IEMSA 2016Hey guys! I recently returned from the Iowa EMS Association's annual conference, in Des Moines, Iowa. Two days of classes, exhibit halls, and networking with other EMS professionals. I am exhausted! But also excited. I learned so much! From playing with expensive pagers to stuffing my backpack with free merch, it was a blast from start to finish. In case you were wondering, I did take a few pictures.<br />
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I got to meet the crew of Nightwach! If you haven't seen their show on A&E, go immediately and watch it. No, I'm serious. Come back and finish reading after you've been blown away by their work. </div>
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Now that you've seen Nightwatch, I can proceed. I absolutely loved every minute of their presentation, despite not having the courage to approach them. Actually, any talking I did while I was there was initiated by someone else. I was too busy taking everything in to worry about making conversation! But that's okay; because for the first time, I met people that <i>understood</i> my conversations. These people spoke my language! A language where words like 'LifePak, halligan and HazMat made sense to both parties. It felt amazing. Speaking of parties.. You wanna see it? </div>
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It was so beautiful, I almost didn't know what to do with it. I am still questioning their decision to entrust me with a crystal glass and linen napkin, but nothing shattered, spilled, or otherwise went disastrously wrong. Despite my initial impression, the food was delicious; </div>
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the cheesecake especially so. After being seated with perfect strangers, we did what medical folks tend to do, and started talking about medicine. It was then that the question was asked. </div>
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"What service are you with?" </div>
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Me; "Oh, I'm not with a service. I'm an EMT student."</div>
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"But if you're not graduated yet, are you allowed to be here?" </div>
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BOOM. My 'eligibility was questioned on multiple occasions. By peers, by teachers, by friends. </div>
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I did, actually, discover that the minimum age for a class I attended was 21. It turned out to be my favorite class, with an absolutely amazing teacher. But back to that burning question, was I allowed to be there? Yep. Did I doubt it? No. </div>
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It's a question I've answered many times, and it never fails to make me smile. As an Explorer, I am seen as a young, wide-eyed wannabe. A peg lower than a rookie. People who recognized the department on my shirt were more than happy to hear of this new program. There are many opinions on young people in EMS; especially in high school. Most around here are positive. </div>
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Yes, we can be insecure, shy, and clumsy. But if you see in me a girl passionate about learning, about helping others, then I am content. </div>
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I realize this post rambled a bit, and for that I apologize. If you have any questions, or would like to recommend a conference you've attended, drop me a comment! </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-61401343894512338022016-09-22T18:36:00.005-07:002016-12-29T07:40:50.575-08:00Watch your head! That's what I was thinking as we sped Code 3 down the highway, and I attempted to doff my bunker pants. The floor rattled underneath my too-big boots. I clung for dear life to the bar that runs along the ceiling for just that purpose. To steady the poor fool that thinks his balance is strong enough to withstand the g-forces of an ambulance moving at 60 mph. I was indeed that fool. Actually, I was a lot of things that evening. Why? And why was I even in the back of an ambulance?<br>
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I was wrapping up my first Explorer Ride-Along. For 12 hours, I was the shadow of the medics on rig 24-12. Morning briefings, pump checks, lunch breaks... Whenever the tones called for an ambulance, I was in my seat and buckled before they reached the door. You might wonder why I was donning bunker gear, if I was confined to the ambulance. Two words; Scene, and Safety.<br>
We were responding to a fire call, and unsure of what role I'd play on scene, I decided it was better to be safe than sorry. On went my suspenders, jacket, and bright orange helmet. :P<br>
Spoiler alert- it was a false alarm. <br>
But while I'd love to actually assist on scene, that's a no-go. Opening IV packaging and putting away tools was how I assisted. And that's okay. I was content to listen to the radio reports, having realized that in only a few short months, I would be the one giving those reports! Anyways, I shadowed several different paramedics as schedules changed, and each one taught me something else.<br>
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From Kate, I realized that asking for help doesn't mean you're incapable, only unsure. So ask until your confidence overrides your fear.<br>
From Nate, I learned to be calm. Be honest with your questions, and gracious with your answers.<br>
A little bit of kindness goes a long way.<br>
From the Captain, I was reminded that how we accept new leadership is up to us. Nobody likes change, but let's hope we're known for how well we treat others, rather than how quickly we spread gossip.<br>
In closing, you will miss meals. (I did) You will put somebody else's needs before your own. And you will want to laugh at the worst possible moments. Embrace it. I do! <br>
<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMbCXhqJFa9Y4RpPNYrYPM74etn01mRTlZ30l_ECo66wPehPl_HBkMFMUxFGHDg_sIGr99T9h8pk4arBsO93m2ZPBuW64KEdCetwfMrabw1EDz1AuDnNLEsb5FMzeNLhWJct8SNcDcdEup/s1600/PicsArt_11-10-10.20.50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMbCXhqJFa9Y4RpPNYrYPM74etn01mRTlZ30l_ECo66wPehPl_HBkMFMUxFGHDg_sIGr99T9h8pk4arBsO93m2ZPBuW64KEdCetwfMrabw1EDz1AuDnNLEsb5FMzeNLhWJct8SNcDcdEup/s640/PicsArt_11-10-10.20.50.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-57848754983067963822016-08-22T21:52:00.000-07:002016-12-29T07:52:28.823-08:00New Beginnings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I started my senior year this morning. Armed with a shiny black planner and a seed of hope, I attacked the early morning. New workout? Check. Organize books? Check. Send my sister of to her second year of college? Check. Picture of me hugging my EMT textbook? Check.<br />
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EMT school starts a week from today, and I've never been so ready to become a student again! So many years passed without a vision or hope. I hated life. I hated school. I buried my passion. I stared longingly at people who seemed to find joy, wondering why I never could.<br />
I know the answer now. It's hope. Hope means believing in the sunrise, even when the sky is empty. It's loving a person that could never love you back, because you want to make an impact on their life. I'm learning to let go, and let God. And you know what happened? I am smiling more, and I see clearer. This year means more than becoming an EMT. I am becoming me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-51661924366215732892016-08-22T10:38:00.000-07:002016-08-22T10:38:44.093-07:00It's Awkward"Why is it still awkward?" I wanted to know as I squeezed past my coworker to take a customer's money, my cheeks growing hot. The order I took was wrong on multiple accounts, and I don't want to look my manager in the face. I scrub the spotless counter until I cool down<br />
I've spent countless hours here, learning, growing, failing, picking myself up. Starting a job was a steeper learning curve than I ever imagined. Yet so many of my coworkers seem to think I should be accomplished. I thought so, too! So why haven't I gotten past this? <br />
'It takes time.'<br />
Oh, how I've hated those words. I feel I need to work efficiently and flawlessly, the very first time. I have memorized and exercised and over analyzed every move I have made over the past 4 months. Confidence should be oozing from me at this point! Except, it's not. And I am anything but flawless.<br />
My bandaging is stilted, my gear donning is clumsy, and I long for it to be second nature, to flow easily like I see it do in others. But it's okay. I step back, put down my helmet, and remind myself to exhale.<br />
I tell myself that right now, it's okay to simply learn. To explore and get messy, and to ask questions. Sometimes I am so eager to do excel, I forget it's my first time, and no can know it all. Mistakes happen. They will never stop happening. *sigh* But eventually, they'll happen less. They'll rock the boat, instead of capsizing it. And God never stops teaching me. He patiently waits for me to cry out, and lift my arms for his strength. And He gives it abundantly!<br />
He has been faithful to his promises to show me the way, even when I shook with fear taking the first step.<br />
Life is a journey, to live fully in every moment. Even the learning ones.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4886993412986984829.post-17817345488557069462016-07-31T20:43:00.003-07:002016-07-31T20:44:02.214-07:00Wayward Medic...that's me! And here is where I stand atop my chair and scribble furiously for the world to see. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06196823429159627959noreply@blogger.com1