Ambulance Diaries

Death is a strange workplace acquaintance and a difficult dance partner. I have slow danced with Death as I held the hand of the dying and treated them with dignity while being honest with them and trying to keep them calm, knowing there was nothing else I could do while we raced to the hospital or worked on cutting them out of a mangled mess. I have worked frantically doing everything possible to save the dying in a chaotic, fast-paced dance-off with Death, trying to get them to a hospital in time to keep them alive. I have also arrived behind Death and witnessed the mayhem he has left behind in his wake as he skipped away to another location. I am sure that while Death takes his job seriously, he must sometimes have a terrible, dark sense of humor, or at least that is my image and perception. 

I was a paramedic for almost 20 years. I have danced with Death many times during those years, and many people lived, and many died. Dealing with death, pain, and suffering on a routine basis is like an addiction to a very slow poison. The adrenaline rush is like no other. Helping other people is a definite bonus, but then there are the long and lasting effects that most first responders do not talk about or like to face. I lived that life and drank that pleasant poison for almost 20 years until I met death face to face when he came for me.

There is also a stigma to being a paramedic. When many people find out that I am a paramedic, they are full of questions. I am not alone, many of the EMTs and paramedics I know have noted this behavior, and we have compared the questions we get asked. Many of the questions are the same or very similar. Sometimes I actually try to avoid telling people what I do when I am out in a public setting or get together to avoid this. However, some of my tattoos often make my effort in vain. What do people ask you wonder?

What is it like to be a paramedic? Have you ever seen anyone die? How does it feel to save someone’s life? What is the worst thing you have ever seen? Is it really worse during a full moon? Does your job ever make you sad or angry? Can you hear the sirens inside the ambulance? Do people really do the stupid things you see on youtube or Facebook? Have you ever got other people’s blood or um.. other stuff on you? Do you get paid to sleep? Have you had to take care of anyone you know? Hey, I have this rash in a weird place, would you mind looking at it? 

I honestly do not mind answering most of these questions. There are days, though, when I would rather be kicked in the nuts than answer them. These are just a few of the questions often asked. Hopefully, most of these will be answered by the end of this book. 

I am not a professional author, but I have a story to tell that I hope you will find interesting. If you are looking for a politically correct, sanitized book about a paramedic's life, I will tell you this is not it. Nor will it be a romantic glory filled tale filled with well-spoken, beautiful characters always showing up in the nick of time to break all the rules and save a life like you see on the television. It will be raw at times, graphic, emotional, and yes, there may be some unsavory language. Paramedics deal with the worst things you can imagine in life on a routine basis. Like soldiers, we usually develop a very dark, macabre sense of humor that we hide from those who are not like us or don’t know us very well. We are typically very politically incorrect, crude, and base when together and laugh at the things that make others cringe and cry. I just wanted to give you a fair warning.

For those of you who read this and are familiar with Emergency medicine, please understand that I am writing this for you as well as non-medical and non-first responders that we sometimes refer to as “normal” people. For the flow of my story, I may skip some steps of patient care, skip details of procedures, skip some of the drugs given, and so forth. I am not writing this as a patient care report or medical document that to be sent to QA/QI, so bear with me and read it for the story as a whole. If I skip some steps, assume that everything was done correctly, properly, and appropriately unless I write otherwise.

As I start writing this, I can feel my 12th-grade English composition teacher rolling her eyes at me from her grave as I tell you how I will break one of her cardinal rules again. I still remember her as she sat at her desk with me sitting at the chair next to it. It was just before Christmas. She turned, looking down at me over her half-cut reading glasses, smiling at me but trying not to, gray hair neatly in a bun, and wearing one of her many brightly colored vests over a white button-down shirt. I can hear her soft, raspy voice now, “Mr. Tyler, you are a good writer, but you have to remember there are rules, there is a box, and you have to stay in it. Those rules have existed for a long time, and you cannot just break them when you want to. If you start a story in the present tense, you must write the entire story in the present tense.  And you should never write in first person, even if the story is about you. It is hard to do, and I just don’t think most readers would appreciate it. I love what you wrote, but it is not written in a traditional manner. You will soon be in the real world and have to stay in the box and follow its rules. Thinking outside the box is not a skill most employers find useful.” I feel the smirk on my face as I remember it. I did find a job where thinking outside the box is not only useful but often expected. So with that in mind, I am writing this story in the first person. After all, it is my story, and I will jump back and forth between the present and past tense for reasons you will understand later. I hope you will understand when you get to those chapters. I hope you enjoy my story.

Sincerely,

Liam Tyler