The Crucial Work of this World

My student and I were standing in Starbucks, waiting for our coffee and our breakfast, reeling a little from the start of our day.  My student was in a kind of daze, and I was repeating to myself, "Ugh please hurry with the coffee...coffee...coffeeeee..."  Unfortunately, being in uniform makes you the center of attention and someone that everyone wants to talk to.

A perfectly nice older couple greeted us cheerfully: "Good morning!  How are you today?"

I cringed inside.  But I put on my smile and said, "I'm good; how are you?"

"It's a great morning!" the man replied.

I'm sure I said something like, "Yes, it is!"  At least I hope I did.

What I wanted to say:

"Well, since you've asked, sir, what I've done so far today is told a man that his wife is probably going to die."

What I did this morning was arrive at work nearly late at 0558, get greeted by a surprise student waiting for me in the cold, and find myself without a partner.  Said partner was out already on a cardiac arrest, and he was calling for more epinephrine on the radio.  I got in the spare truck with my student to bring the supplies, to assist, hoping for a learning experience for my student.  And then, after they loaded her in the truck for transport, having lost her pulse a second time, I offered to stay on scene to talk with the patient's husband while they took her away.  I took an elderly man's hand, introduced myself, and told him what was happening: my coworkers would occasionally get a pulse back when we pushed that one drug, but we kept losing it, so we were taking his wife to the hospital to see if the doctors had any further suggestions.  I told him I wanted to be truthful, but not falsely hopeful.  I told him her heart had been stopped for a long time.  Then I asked if he had any questions for me.

With tears in his eyes, choking on his words, he answered, "No, I understand.  I am really going to miss her."

With my heart crumbling inside me, I said the only thing we can say, the only thing that's true.  "I'm so sorry we couldn't do more."

His son entered, and I offered the same to him.  Then I picked up our terrible, terrible bloody mess in the living room and moved some of their furniture back into place while they got ready to leave for the hospital.

Welcome to EMS, new student.  This is the reality.

I feel like a shit for wanting to answer that way.  The couple was certainly right: if you wake up in the morning, you've half the battle won.  I also felt like a shit for thinking in regard to my student, "Trial by fire.  If you last today and come back tomorrow, you're gonna be fine."

Do I hate being that person, to say the words, to watch all the hope disappear from a face?  I do.  I am so tired.

Would I want it to be anyone but me?  I would not.

Could I not wait to take off the uniform when I got home?  I couldn't get it off fast enough.

Sometimes I can't imagine not putting it back on though.  Who will do the gentle, important, crucial work of this world?