Need Me

I had a friend over for dinner a few months ago, a fellow EMS-er, and at one point during the evening the conversation shifted to the reasons behind staying with this job. It's certainly not a question I haven't been asked before, and so without a lot of thought, I shared a story with him which in turn had been shared with me by Bat Tziyon (a close friend and co-worker), a conversation between she and her daughter as they were passing the scene of my car accident:

"Mom, what is that pole down there in the ditch?"
"That's where Amanda had her car accident, honey. That pole stands where her friend Derek died."
"Oh." A long and thoughtful pause. As Lindsey, 11 years old, continued to look out the window, she said, "So that must be why Amanda does this job, huh Mom? Because she couldn't save her friend."

I was stunned, as was her mother, at a child's ability to understand the truth of a complicated situation. I have always thought that's the reason, so it was almost automatic to answer my dinner friend as I did. I've come to realize though, after a couple more months of reflecting, that the answer is not quite so simple.

"Physician, heal thyself." My mom likes to remind me of that quote.

I wanted to pay it forward - rescue others because someone came to rescue me. I needed to place my experience in context from the outside, from the rescuer's perspective. I'd always been fascinated by the human body and faithfully watched Rescue 911 as a child. There were pieces of my experience that I wanted to improve upon for the sake of others. I promised myself to never lie to a patient if I knew the truth, to say I don't know when I don't. I promised to always explain what was coming and why I was doing what I was doing. I've kept these promises. I needed a shot of adrenaline in my life to combat the overwhelming sadness. I wanted to say I was sorry for being helpless, sorry for abandoning my friend there in the swamp as the rotors carried me away, even though logic understands that I had no choice.

When I first watched Bringing Out the Dead, years ago and just months into the job, I didn't "get" the film, although I did know what it was to feel haunted. I had a very different experience of the movie while watching it a few days ago with 7 years on the job: "My training was useful in less than 10% of the calls...After a while, I grew to understand that my role was less about saving lives than about bearing witness...It was enough that I turned up."

Now I am tired. Soul-tired. Tired of all the people who want to die. Tired of meeting God, Jesus, and/or Satan and trying not to antagonize him. Hardened by being cursed at or being undressed by the eyes of obnoxious drunks. Burnt out on being expected to fix other people's lack of common sense. Morally frustrated by wanting to explain that mosquito bites (or say, stubbed toes) are not emergencies, but forced to try and transport because the company needs the revenue. Fed up with having such little value in the eyes of ER staff that Bat Tziyon and I should be sent directly into a tornado with a vented-but-stable transfer patient.

Defeminized by wearing a man's uniform. Sick of feeling endangered when co-workers need to drive 85 mph to a "sick one." Weary of lifting loads that are too heavy for me but pretending they're not. Saddened and exhausted when hearing how we shouldn't cry, shouldn't get upset. Outraged when I see the atrocities that co-workers are allowed to get away with, depending which club you fall into: the good ol' boys, the firefighters, or the disabilities. Belittled and disgusted by having to listen to my male co-workers drool and fawn over some cute little thing, at the racetrack or on the cover of Maxim - since when is that a professional journal to be left lying around quarters?

But what if I walked away? Nobody needs me. Nobody is happy to see me walk through the door. Would the world value me for any beauty or feminine quality I may have left, rather than my utility, if I didn't have such a "brave" or "heroic" job? If I quit taking care of others, do I believe that anyone would ever take care of me?

I remember the first 18 months after that day: healing my heart, my mind, my body, finding new hope. Sorting out good influences from bad. It was difficult, and challenging, but so good to have permission to do nothing but take care of myself. I learned to make new plans and to be happy again. It was wonderful.

I wonder how to get back there.