Honoring and Remembering 9/11

I wanted to be in NYC yesterday, on 9/11. It's been ten years, and I can still vividly remember being outside hanging laundry on the clothesline when my sister came out and told me that an explosion or something happened in on of the Twin Towers. My mom and most of my seven sisters and I sat around the radio and listened as the events rolled out and it was determined that a plane actually crashed into the building. Once the word "terrorist" was thrown out as a possibility, we got the TV out of the attic and set it up in the living room. School work didn't happen that day. Chores didn't happen that day. And the things I remember most? The moment when we watched live as the second plane approached the second tower. The people who jumped out of windows--alive as we watched them plummet through the air toward the ground...and we knew what was going to happen both times. And we couldn't stop it or look away.

Afterward, I watched as men from our town's fire department went down to the city to help. I later listened to the stories, saw the somber faces, and I continued to wait until the day when I was legally old enough to join the fire department myself. As long as I can remember, I wanted to be a firefighter.

Here we are now, a decade later. I had planned to be in NYC for the 9/11 ceremonies until I found out that first responders were not allowed to attend. So I changed my plans to a local 9/11 services at my church...until another paramedic had to leave his shift at our ambulance company because he was volunteering for disaster relief due to all of the devastating flooding that is occurring in my part of our country. I signed up for his shift, feeling a little grouchy because I thought I would just be sitting on my butt all day doing nothing at an International racetrack near us.

The day before on 9/10, I had missed the funeral procession of a local soldier killed in duty in Afghanistan because I was working. Again, I would be missing something important to me that signified remembering and honoring those lost and those who stand for life and freedom. I wondered if anyone at the racetrack would hold some sort of service or do anything to commemorate the day, and I was quite relieved when I was notified that in half an hour, there would be a service for the first responders. I got up to eat my lunch so that my partner and I could attend, and had just finished when our radio went off.

Someone had crashed their car--not even during a race. It was during a non-event that no one would ever suspect anyone to get hurt in. Not only was this patient hurt, but it was severe. Waiting for a helicopter to come and fly our unconscious patient to a trauma center, I spent the next 45 minutes stabilizing  him along with another paramedic, a doctor, two nurses, and three EMT's. Instead of attending any service, we gave life back to a stranger.

While I was cleaning blood off of things, throwing out used equipment, and documenting the events, I thought to myself how disappointed I was that I hadn't been able to attend any service or even watch one on TV throughout the day. Then I realized--what better way to honor those killed in the terrorist attacks, the standing survivors, and those who are still fighting for life and freedom by their occupations or volunteer work in the US, or their service in the military overseas? Nothing could be more honoring to them than to continue the work, to continue to serve, and to continue to be there when someone needs you.

These words, taken from Fire Wife Katie and her Firefighter/Paramedic husband's blogs, sum it up well:

Potent feelings were awoken that day ten years ago. People who never voiced an opinion suddenly felt compelled to set things right. Our desire to stand up and say something was stirred.

I think the 9/11 generation will be remembered as the generation that cared. Deeply.

To my brothers and sisters that have gone on before me, I will carry on. To the public, when you need us, we will be there.

And we will be here, always ready to give and protect life.

To the 343 NYC firefighters, 15 EMT's, and 60 police officers killed that day, as well as the 2,000 first responders who were injured in the 9/11 attacks: you will never be forgotten, and your brothers and sisters will carry on.

Note: original post written on 9/12/11.

Love Exuberantly

This is what I think...

You should hold your babies more, and never stop kissing them and telling them that you love them. You shouldn't be afraid to rock them to sleep, to let them get messy, or to let them snuggle you in the morning before you get out of bed. It doesn't matter if your floor isn't always spotless or the clean laundry always folded. It does matter that your children know they are loved unconditionally with an agape love. It does matter that you touch them and hold them and giggle with them and smile at them. Remember that the purest form of you is who you are when you're with your children. Let them know that they are the best thing in the whole wide world. Love those children, and make sure they know it. Don't ever hold back; love exuberantly.

This is what I think...

You should spend more time with that person who you are bound to. Whether it's a best friend, a girl friend, or a husband, be with them. You don't know when an accident will happen, cancer will strike, or something unforeseen takes them from you. Cherish your time. Love them. Stay up late talking, watching funny movies, and listening to the rain. Don't be afraid to experience everything possible that life offers with that person. Take every opportunity to love on that person, to fix every problem that hinders your relationship, and to serve that person with bounding joy. Learn to love better, and practice it. Do not take them for granted or take lightly the memories you have the opportunity to create together. Hold on to that person, the one that you can't live without, or at least that you don't ever, ever, ever want to live without. Love that person, and make sure they know it. Don't hold back; love exuberantly.

This is what I think...

I don't know what you felt when you got that phone call, and I won't pretend that I felt your fear. I do know, though, that I will hold your unconscious baby, sing to him, and love him for you when you can't do it yourself. I will do everything that is absolutely possible to give life to your baby, no matter what it costs me in the process. I will always be sure that I know what I'm doing, that everything is ready, and that your child comes first when my scanner goes off and I step into that ambulance. You don't need to fear, because when I get there, he becomes my baby too, and there is nothing stronger than a mama's heart. Know that if anything ever happens; if I can't get our baby to the place where he should be, or if things go wrong and something happens, I will be sobbing too. You may not see it, but I am breaking inside, too.

I won't pretend that I understand what it must be like to see your  unresponsive husband lying on a backboard with blood pooling everywhere. I do know though, that I feel part of your pain when I want him to wake up and he doesn't. When I know that he may never open his eyes again. When I know that you are standing there watching him die while I try to give him life. It's not easy as I gently tell you to hold his hand and kiss him, to talk to him and reassure him. What I am really saying is that you need to tell him goodbye and hold on to him for these minutes that he is still here for. Know that I am doing everything I can, though. Part of a team, I am still watching everyone and everything. I will speak up on his behalf, and I will make sure he is treated correctly. I will talk to him by name as I push oxygen into his lungs, and I will be ready to do everything possible to get him home. But if that doesn't happen, know that I am standing behind you, and that I wanted him to live, too.

This is what I think.
Seize every opportunity possible to love exuberantly. Don't wait for tomorrow, for tomorrow may never come.

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Originally posted at http://OctobersHeart.blogspot.com. 

If you aren't already following my blog there, then head on over! 

A Paramedic's Drive Home

The snow has been furious the last two nights as I drove home. What normally takes me 35 minutes took me exactly one hour on Tuesday night (with my two babies strapped into the back seat) and what seemed like an endless amount of time on Wednesday night as well. For some reason, the plow and salt trucks didn't see a need to be out to clear the road that was covered with snow over a layer of ice which resulted in me driving 20 mph all.the.way.home. Nice. Yesterday, the problem was not the road condition, but the visibility factor. Huge, beautiful, and memorizing snow flakes came at my windshield like a computer screen saver for the whole drive. Not only did you have to fight the hypnotic state it created, but you really couldn't see anything including the lines on the road. Great.

All of this did make me realize one thing, though: there is no better motivation to drive extra-extra carefully than to know who will be cutting your clothes off if you crash.

The drive home of a paramedic goes something like this...

First, I double check my kids' car seats to make sure they're secured properly and that the thermal blanket is within arm's reach if I need it. As I begin my drive, I am extra cautious as I approach the classic crash sites, and I think about the medic that just took my place when my shift ended 30 minutes ago. I warned his partner before I left that they are under no circumstances to cut all of my clothes off in the event my car flips over, and he promised to abide by that. After all, good bras are ridiculously expensive and by no means do I need my coworkers seeing me unclothed either. Seriously.

As I navigate the road, I'm proud that I made it through the curve that my own car crashed on 7 or so years ago. In my mind, I prepare a list of who is home and would respond with the fire department whose district I'm in right now. I think to myself that I would tell the 911 dispatcher to let the fire and ambulance know who wrecked her car so that I'd be sure to have the people show up who I know would do a good job and take care of my kids. As I pass out of my "favorite" department's district though, I enter the next one.

There is no way I'm crashing here, and I slow down to 15 mph even though I could probably go 25. Why? Because I know one of the whackers in this department. Not only would he probably drive too fast for the conditions and slide his own truck into the side of my small car potentially killing my children, but he would have his scissors out before he could unbuckle his seat belt. I taste a little vomit in my mouth at the thought of this...maybe I'll go 10 mph.

The county line arrives now, and my stomach drops as I realize I'm now entering not only the worst part of my travel (including losing cell service), but I have also now changed ambulance districts. I also think about how I'm passing the home of a registered child rapist and that if I crashed in front of his house, he may come out to my car to see what's going on. No, thank you. I continue to drive as safe as is humanly possible, and I think to myself that the "Big & Rich" CD I'm listening to for the third time now is really great music to get you through a horrendous snow storm that no one in their right mind should be out during. Then it hits me: last time I had to be cut out of my car, this CD was playing...I immediately eject the CD and throw it on the passenger's seat.

Into the next district now. Only two more districts to go, and my ambulance partner is one of the chiefs in the one I'm in now (yes, I think in terms of "districts" rather than "miles"). I vow to call him after I get off the phone with 911 if the unspeakable happens. I know he'll run the show right.

Finally, finally, I arrive home and in one piece. I feel so successful that I want to broadcast my status on Facebook as "one more day goes by where my clothes stay intact."

Like I said, there is no better motivation to drive carefully then to know the people who will be cutting your clothes off. Join your local fire department.

Making Milk At A Meth Lab

Working mamas push the limits of where, when, and how to pump milk for their babies every day. A few months ago, I began to think of all the crazy places I've had to express milk for my children. Here was the list I could remember:

1. Public restrooms EVERYWHERE, including while sitting on the floor of stalls because my pump-outlet cord wasn't long enough for me to at least sit on the edge of the toilet seat.
2. In the car while traveling.
3. On the floor of a car in a mall's parking lot with a coat over my head. The mall's restroom was closed, the stores not open yet, and I had no batteries for my pump so I had to sit there and express by hand with a coat over my head, hoping that people walking by wouldn't notice me and call Security.
4. In the "on track" ambulance at the busiest location during a NASCAR race.
5. In the back of an ambulance going to and from calls.
6. Into public restroom sinks because I had no other option (you know, the bathrooms that have everything in one room so you can lock the door!).
7. In an office cubicle.
8. While discussing EMS related things with 5 male coworkers. In person. Thank God for nursing covers--they work great for pump covers, too!
9. And also the "normal" places like my living room couch.

 While some of these places seem appalling and shocking to some, I'm sure, it all comes down to this: you do what you have to do. I thought I had reached the climax of best, worst, and most ridiculous places to have to pump at. And then there was last Tuesday.

My partner and I were attempting to grab a quick lunch when our tones went off and dispatch requested that "the on duty crew call the control center." This generally means a suicide attempt, domestic dispute, or drug bust. I called and was told that we needed to move to standby at a meth lab take down about half an hour from our station. With no time to call in another crew, I grabbed my backpack and we jumped in our ambulance.

We arrived at a nice home with a well manicured lawn that also now included 15 state trooper SUV's, a handful of expensive other "private" law enforcement related cars, and a few fire trucks, a decontamination trailer, and dozens of people in suits, turnout gear, space like suits (decon), uniforms, and camouflage (apparently the Special Op's team from a few hours away). Not knowing what to really expect at such a shin-dig, my partner and I were surprised to learn that this would be an all day event. So, I threw my nursing cover on, plugged in my pump, and made milk for my baby while watching the take down of a meth lab.

No one got shot, no booby traps hurt anyone, and I eventually left unscathed to call in a different crew to cover the remaining hours of standby. And with all that said, I'm pretty sure I have now pumped everywhere possible.

Always Kiss Them Goodbye

Always kiss them goodbye.

The call comes out over the radio and your adrenaline starts to rush. A boat accident. One of the men can't be found, and the other is badly injured. You jump in the back of the rig and start setting equipment up while your partner drives (too fast) to the scene.

Always say "I love you."

One of the men is flown to a large trauma center. My phone rings and my sister is crying. Suddenly, the man we are searching for becomes more than a patient. He is now a name. A face. And my heart breaks for my sister's friend. I tell her that no, they haven't found him yet.

Always make the most of every day.

It's been two days. I come on duty and ask if he's been found. I am told that the hooks found him on the bottom of the lake last night. I think back to when I was 18-years-old and saw the hooks for the first time. Bigger than my head, I had jokingly asked if they were to catch humans. I was unjokingly told that yes, they are designed to hook a person under the knees. And then I was told that whomever is the one holding the other end of the hooking line should never look at the body. Ever. It's too hard to move on if you see his face.

Always make the most of every night.

I think of his wife and their 7-year-old son. I wonder if his dirty laundry is still laying on the floor at home. I wonder if she kept that last text message he sent. I wonder if he stopped to whisper I love you before he left that morning, or if she took the time to kiss him goodbye. And I rememeber that all of my patients are someone's husband, sister, mother. I remember that, God forbid, it could be my husband, sister, mother.

So always, always, always, stop and say "I love you." And always kiss them goodbye.