A fork in the road...

I read a quote by Teddy Roosevelt today that sparked nostalgic for me:

"Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorius triumphs, even though checkered by failure... than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat."

Now, introspective as it is, it bears the question of what kind of person do we consider ourselves to be? I would like to think that within me there are characteristics that bear importance: truth, honor, courage and faith. That I possess these qualities in the smallest form and that I may call upon my moral code to help me navigate seemingly impassable situations...

I remember crawling into overturned vehicles to comfort a pinned victim; starting an IV blindly on my belly in the dirt while being coached by a fireman who was scrunched in what was left of the backseat.

I remember holding partners as they cried, being held while I cried and holding bereft family members left behind in their grief. I have comforted when need be and been callous when my safety depended on it. I have done CPR on infants who were angelic in their neverending slumber. I have rejoiced with patients when pain ebbs. I have washed my hands in the lifeblood of those lost in vain. I made peanut-butter sandwiches and cups of soup for lonely, little old ladies and talked to them when they had only EMS to call. But do those memories really mean anything if they are done in stagnancy?

I can remember calls, and I have forgotten hundreds. But those that go forgotten have left their imprint, they have left their mark. For me, it manifests in my desire to see the people be kinder to one another, to show compassion- as that, in my career, is what has been lacking overall.

I remember saves and losses, triumphs and senselessness, victory and defeat. In the summation of human lives, I remember my career. I remember wanting to be better so defeat wouldnt come so quickly the next time. I remember struggling to learn everything there was to learn because if I could be just two-steps ahead of Death, then Death might think twice about tangling with me.

I think that as an intercessor, we are tasked with being our personal best. If we know that we've done everything we could, then I think that it lessens the pain and misunderstanding when the call goes awry. I think that as a business, EMS can do more, that we can be more and it is my hope that we can unfuck ourselves long enough to see where we need to go.

I think victory in heart is measured in the desire of man to do the impossible, to take the risk despite the unknown of the outcome. To choose to fight, and better ourselves for the battles of the future. For that, I think we can call ourselves courageous and worthy of honor. It is those in this business that have laid down their lives for strangers that light the flame that we follow. It is up to those of us that remain to make them proud and step into the light of innovation.

I suppose that it's a personal decision for each of us...I hope that we make the right one.

House of Cards

One of my best friends who has been my mentor my entire career ran a call this week that undoubtedly will change his life. Setting: a family gathering in the front yard where an eight year little boy is playing. He runs out into the street, with his father chasing him and telling him to come back. Suddenly, from around the bend comes a car, that doesn’t see this child, and hits him.

I don’t think it’s respectful to tell the details of the call, and in any case, it isn’t my place because I wasn’t there. And I am certainly not trying to capitalize on someone else’s pain, but it does make me think about all of those times I came home from work frustrated with “the system”, heartbroken or just flat-out crying from the senselessness of it all.

There isn’t one call that sticks out for me that haunts my dreams. I never was one to get caught up in the overall picture. In order to block out the tragedy, I focus on the task at hand. For example, I once had an EMT-Basic partner run a pediatric seizure call with me. I had to start an IV on this 4 year old while she was actively seizing and it took me two tries, but I got it. My partner later said: “I don’t know how you stayed so calm and got that IV. I would’ve been scared to death.” Now, I am not trying to inflate my ego or make myself into a Paragod that I obviously am not. The point I am trying to illustrate is this: I knew I needed an IV and all I saw was the arm. The child, her seizure and her frantic mother all faded away. I focused on the arm, and nothing else mattered. Because I am able to do this, I can block out horrendous injuries that people suffer and if I have to treat that injury, I try to focus on that and block the person out. It’s a broken leg, just a broken leg, like there isn’t a person on the other end of it. It sounds heartless, and it makes me look like I don’t have empathy; on the contrary, I am deeply connected to my patients. But when it comes to tragedy, I have to separate the two.

I am a heart-sleeves person. I envelope the pain of others and I want to ease their suffering. Our job is to intercede: between life and death, pain and relief, grief and resolve. Being an intercessor is the most amazing part about this job, methinks. When we are on a call, we may see the most amazingly painful thing someone has ever gone through and we are lucky enough to be the person they turn to for comfort. We hold their hands, hug them, wipe their tears. We are there for some people at the end, whether it’s too soon or not. We see the way force is applied to the human body, we see accidents, crimes, hate and anger. We see every rotten thing human beings can do to each other, intentional or not. We are there to pick up the pieces, to intercede on behalf of the victim, or their family.

We reassure people on every call, no matter how miniscule it may seem to us. We walk in, professional, with an air of confidence and we smile at them. Our patients may think that this is a huge emergency, but we portray the attitude of: “I’ve seen this a thousand times before.” And they are relieved. We do this because, inherently, we all have a humanity streak. There is humanity in compassion and it is our compassion for others and not our technical skill that makes us good clinicians.

Joseph Butler said: “Compassion is a call, a demand of nature, to relieve the unhappy as hunger is a natural call for food.” And so we go. We go to these disasters, not knowing what to expect and not anticipating the emotional burden we will face. We go, in my mind, like warriors: bow-chested, strong-jawed and erect and we stand in between these people and their individual darkness. It seems less than altruistic, certainly, fantastically dramatized versions of a sometimes thankless job. But…is it so far from the truth? And if it is, what harm does it do to romanticize this evil if it gets you out of bed in the morning for a repeat dose?

We are left battle-scarred from careers spent watching, protecting, interceding. We have nightmares, though there are those of us who won’t admit it. There are people we tried desperately in vain to save, there are circumstances we struggled to prevent. We sometimes feel alone, because the events we witness are not things we want to bring home to our families-we don’t want that evil to pervade our house. We cry for them and mourn them, just as their families do. Their faces may blur for some of us over the years, but we do remember. And if we think hard enough, we can remember that punch-in-the-gut feeling we got when we first surveyed whatever mess we had been called upon to handle. We never forget them and we never let them go.

And so, on the phone with my mentor, I comforted as best as I could from far away. He is the best Paramedic I have ever known and I would trust him with my life. I believe, I told him, that there is a reason that child died and that he was the Medic. One day, the purpose of this will be clear. Will it make my friend a better Paramedic? Will he go on to teach, with renewed vigor, the young faces of this industry and train a person who is so inspired that they will save hundreds of lives? Or will this tragedy be for the molding of the child’s father? We aren’t to know the plan that’s in store for us, only that we trust in that plan and the tests we are given that make us who we are. There is solace in that.

After I hung up with my friend, I said a silent little prayer for him. When you have been in the field for any length of time, you have amassed quite a collection of human tragedies, like a hand of "Go-Fish":
"Do you have any senseless death?"
"Boy, do I!"

I know how he feels, how we all feel in those times of helplessness, when the deck is stacked against you and you are working feverishly for a result that will never come. What we have to strive for is the resolve to carry on through that call that threatens to break us and the strength to survive that call when it is done.

The Giving...

So, the following lines sparked my desire to write this note:

"...I'm too old to be chasing burdens by the riverside at night
A watershed waste deep with friends turning cheeks
As I'm chasing trains that never end..."

As usual, I am going through something not the least bit fun, and it is times like these when I am reminded of who I am. I am NOT defined by what I do or how people perceive me, but only by the definition that exists within me. How I define me is truly all that matters and on the eve of my recent troubles, I notice that I am not satisfied with myself.

I have allowed myself to become passive: to not say what I think when sometimes it matters. Leaving doors open when they should be closed, being noncommital instead of decisive. It seems to me that if you want to be in my life, you should choose to actively participate and not be a willing bystander. Relationships, personal and not, are reciprocal and not parasitic.

I am truly blessed, honored and thankful that I have the people in my life that I do, that have lifted me up in this time of uncertainty and been the proverbial rock against which I lean. It is these relationships that will forge my courage in the fire of my fear. I do not thank you enough, give to you enough or tell you enough just how much your words and actions have humbled me and made me feel as if my skin shined like gold, like I had eyes of diamonds. It is an amazing feeling of love and kindness that I feel from you and small words such as these do not express my gratitude.

I am also proud to say that I am shedding the weight of wasted effort. People seem to think that I sometimes want more than I do because I make the effort to be there when others wouldnt. Insanity on my part? Maybe. But I choose to be this way and in selflessness sometimes comes the disaster of being rejected or taken advantage of.

I know that I am not a saint, on the contrary, I make plenty of mistakes. I do try to atone for those as soon as I recognize that a sin has been committed. As I see it, I have been given a precious gift. I have been reminded that life is sweet, precious and transient. It is to be lived, enjoyed and savored. It is not to be pissed away on the crumbling foundations of mediocre relationships. To work and enjoy it is one thing. But to never take any time for ones self is both inappropriate and cruel.

I vow to learn that some people are arrogant. That some people choose to believe that they are being chased for something they themselves are not willing to give. Instead of seeing an act of kindness for what it is, they are fickle and self-aggrandizing. Eventually, I have to learn that I cannot help or fix everyone. But it will not stop me from trying.

I still believe that I can save the world, one person at a time. The Butterfly Effect on which I am consistently found ranting WILL work, eventually. Call it naivete' if you choose; I call it faith. Those who strive to tear me down will not break my faith in my G-d, my way, or myself. I never give up, I am always here and I will survive this.

It's a beautiful day in MY neighborhood...

So, I had this fleeting thought this week that I couldn’t remember what day it was…and rightfully so, considering I didn’t leave my desk all day Friday unless I had to go to the bathroom. This is because I was teaching CPR all week while simultaneously serving on a committee for the College and not having been in my office since 8 May. I had to at least get ONE office day in there to return the 23 messages I had gotten and file the mountain of paperwork that had amassed itself on my desk, who, by the way, was complaining about the ridiculous amount of weight from aforementioned paper.

I know there are those who laughed pointedly at me upon finding out that I took this job. They pointed their fingers and raucously told me that I was getting myself into trouble. That the meetings and committees and red-tape would be so overwhelming that I would one day turn the lights off in my office and slit my wrists with a letter opener. And then there were others that told me that I was made for field-work and that being a desk-jockey would lose its luster after the third day of high-heeled, foot-throbbing agony. And of course, let us not forget to pay an homage to the contingent that thought that make-up and skirts were the antithesis of my fashion sense. Silly, mocking people! I have JAP (Jewish American Princess) tendencies in the deep recesses of my id! I CAN pull off high-heels and make-up and pretend to be high-maintenance, though I do still refuse to accessorize…

Despite the stark change in surroundings, the disappearance of my comfort-zone (AKA the ambulance) and the necessity of pantyhose, I am in love with my job! I look forward to going to work in the morning despite the fact that most of the time I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when I get there until I look at my planner.

Most people think that I write contracts all day and answer phones, but no (!), there is SO much more to it than that! I won’t bore you with the sordid details of “A day in the life of the EMS Coordinator”, for I know that what is terribly exciting to me (writing policies for the EMS program, for example) would make most people fall asleep while eating and cause them to wear cornflakes on their foreheads from slamming their heads into the bowl. There have been SO many activities that allow me to be creative and take me outside of my comfort-zone. They are challenging and force me to think, and let’s face it, the more practice my brain gets, the better! (Some of you that really know me understand that last statement…)
Now, I won’t say that there isn’t some red tape…I still work for the G-O-V…so it’s inevitable. Meetings, committees and seminars, oh my! They do sometimes clog up what could be a wonderfully productive day. Some of them are necessary, I must admit, much to my chagrin. Most of the time, a meeting is like communism: well-though out, well-planned and bulleted nicely on clean paper, but when implemented practically, becomes a bona fide “Charlie-Foxtrot”. I once had a supervisor (Sir McDuffie) who advised me to blindly run, screaming and arms flailing from ANY meeting that I was destined to be a part of. Though I now completely understand that sentiment, I do find some of them necessary.


I will say this: EMS Education is loads of fun and though I know that NONE of you envy this position, it has been a little, girly ray of sunshine for me. I miss being a street soldier/ditch-doc, but I have found quite the niche’ at the college. Let’s just hope I can convince them that I am something worth holding on to…

I will say, Hooray for Insomnia! It has become a new friend recently as tasks begin to mount, and I must adjourn this little Ginny’s-life-peepshow so I can get a few hours of sleep before going in to write more policies. Somewhere inside, I think it’s just plain WRONG to be excited about that….But you know what? I don’t care.

New Lease...

What an interesting year it’s been…I know I haven’t blogged since I got the job at the College and rightfully so: I’ve been CRAZY busy!

I figured the way I feel today is poignant, considering that today is my wedding anniversary. DO NOT be scared! DO NOT hurriedly click the “back” button. There will be NO melancholy here! But there will be plenty of introspection, as is my nature. Wink wink…

I recently read through some of my older blogs, and oh boy, was there pain . There was confusion and heartache and betrayal not so much hidden anywhere. It was scarily observant if you spent more than 5 minutes with me. I would admit that I was a scary person back then: quick to jump, quick to get my feelings hurt, quick to walk away.

Now, though, on the anniversary of personal tragedy, I find myself not sad that its over or reminiscient of fond memories gone wayward, but I feel liberated. I feel content. I feel new. Isn’t it something?!

I am settled into the BEST job I could’ve ever gotten for myself and I find that it offers me so much time to focus on personal goals for myself. There is so much opportunity for growth for my little EMS Program as well as for my professional self. Now, I have NOT buried myself in my work and I refuse to become the “crazy cat lady” at the end of the road who mutters to herself and dresses in flowery frocks with socks and sandals. I also will not become Mad-Maxine. But I will become something great.

There was a time that I wondered how in the hell I had gotten where I was. I took more than a wrong turn at Albuquerque, I ran right off the damn road…I hadn’t the slightest idea on how to pick myself up, I only knew that I would have to get to know me again and that it would take time. And look at what a little time can do! I won’t say I’m well-adjusted (we all know that that is a statistical impossibility), but I am having FUN with my life!

Blessed am I to have gotten through some “rough stuff” for the trials are over and the sun is bright!

There's an MCI in my head...(How to survive an interview)

And so begins another rant of surprising charisma on my part. Really, it is a peek into the vast chasm that beholds my ineptitude….try to keep up with the tenacity in which I seem to screw myself….

(Insert corny flashback effect) It all began on Monday afternoon, around 1530 hours, to be exact, as I sat, patiently waiting in the lobby of the community college waiting to be called in for my interview. Now, for those of you I haven't spoken with, I was urged to apply for the position of EMS program coordinator at the college by two separate individuals whose opinions I respect. I "threw my hat into the ring", although it was more like tossing gingerly….and prepared all weekend for what would be the biggest interview of my career up to this point.

Now, I know how to prepare for an interview, and I know how to deliver a great, professional performance in an interview. I took a class on resume writing and professional interview techniques. I went to mock interviews. I learned the fine art of schmoozing like a good Jew from my father, who is the original bullshit artist. I can talk to ANYONE, about ANYTHING at least once and get on their level. I'm good at it and always have been. It's called moxie.


I spent 5 hours writing and revising my resume. (Most of that time was spent altering margins in Word because the maniacal imbeciles that set the regulations for resume writing expect 10 years of work experience and accreditations to fit on one page of 8.5 x 11 sheet of paper…) I would like to state for the record that it is exceptionally demeaning when your computer can outsmart you…

I then went out and bought matching, YES, matching paper and folders which I then printed labels with my contact information to put on the front. (I'm nothing if not irritatingly professional when it comes to my resume'.) Of course, then I have to interview and we all know how professional my mouth is. (I'm not going to dignify my own comment…)

I dug the one suit that I own out of the back of the closet and planned my attire, a black pinstripe suit, black heels and I actually put on make-up. I KNOW! If I do say so myself, I looked good.


So back to the lobby… Up from the stairs walks a distinguished man in a suit who introduces himself as the President of the college. He asks me to follow him into his office, where we sit and chat about the passions of teaching and where the college is going. He is a jovial fellow and I instantly like him. I tell him that I am concerned about one thing: As most of you know, the EMS Program Coordinator position is normally beheld by an out of shape man in his mid-forties or early fifties who is burnt out of the field and has no interest in doing anything but sitting at his desk and pretending to work, when in fact he spends 9 hours shuffling the papers from the left side of his desk to the right side of his desk. If he has been productive, those papers may make it to the floor, or perhaps, back to the left side of his desk. I am 26, and I am NOT burnt out. I LOVE paramedicine and I have a lot of great ideas. But I'm about 15 years early. Most 26 year olds still binge-drink at bars on Friday nights and play video games while eating Doritoes or cereal with water because they havent had milk in their studio apartment since the first week they owned the place. They do NOT normally acquire and maintain post-secondary administrative positions. But the President assures me that if I am the best candidate, I have nothing to worry about. They want ambition, and passion, and age is not a factor in experience. This excites me.

He takes me to the interview where I am seated at the head of the table in the conference room, a chair which I refer to as the "hot seat". The Dean of Continuing Education is there, as well as the Administrative Assistant and the acting Program Coordinator. The Dean tells me a little about the Continuing Education Program and then explains the interview process to me. There will be 14 questions. They will be asked in round-robin format. They will take notes as I speak. It was as perfunctory an explanation as possible. And here come the questions.

I suddenly found myself unable to speak intelligently. I would like to segue here and say that people call me "The Human Thesaurus", and without warning, the $20 words I have in my repertoire were suddenly as elusive as the Mexican Chupacabra and the filter from my brain to my mouth suddenly malfunctioned. Also attached to this filter is the reservoir that catches unnecessary words and keeps me from rambling. I knew immediately that I was in big trouble. I began to ramble, first just a little bit and then it seemed to grow exponentially, like a snowball rolling down Mt. Everest. And of course, trying to stop a snow-ball rolling down Mt. Everest would accomplish as much as trying to stop a city bus by stepping in front of it. I had ensconced myself in a vicious cycle consumed with the inability to keep my mouth shut.

A friend of mine recently gave me some unsolicited advice. He said to me: "There are three things to remember when interviewing: 1. Set the pace. 2. Be Succinct. 3. Be Aggressive. Now, I can always handle number 3. It is in my nature to be aggressive. This type of interview made it impossible for me to control the pace because when I finished speaking, I would wait in silence for 10 or 15 seconds for everyone to finish hurriedly scribbling whatever oral diarrhea had spewed forth out of my mouth. And it was impossible for me to be succinct. I am long-winded anyway and I was rambling. (See earlier comment about broken filter.)

At one point, one of the interviewers asked me a question that I simply did not understand. I had to ask him to repeat the question and then I had to ask him again to define what exactly he was asking me. Every time he opened his mouth to repeat this particular question, the whole scenario was instantly reminiscent of an interaction between Charlie Brown and his teacher, and I was dumbstruck. Now this was not the interviewer's fault. I know this particular person professionally and he is very well-spoken and articulate, but for some reason, my ears had suddenly turned against me and they had recruited the neurons that are responsible for my cognitive reasoning into staging a revolt. I silently willed them to participate with platitudes of a quiet evening spent at home with a glass of Beaujolais, some Etta James and a crossword puzzle. They considered the offer while I asked my interviewer to please repeat the question. And finally, a treaty was reached, signed and notarized, although the neurons flat-out refused to fix the filter problem. (Guess they wanted to see me suffer...) And I think they knew I had to work that night at the Fire Department and my platitudes were merely a political maneuver to assuage their mutiny. It is truly hell when your own brain stages an insurgency….forget insurgency, this was an all-out coup.


I concluded the interview with firm handshakes and smiles though I was silently plotting revenge tactics against my various uncooperative body parts. I managed to leave with my head high and back straight (they refused to abandon me) until I slunk into the seat of the car and let out a huge sigh. Amazingly, everything worked again and I cursed my nerves for getting the better of me.

By Tuesday morning, I was frantic with worry and apprehension. I didn't interview for the job thinking I would get it, but I interviewed with an intense desire to make this program amazing. I KNOW I have good ideas and I just wanted the opportunity to affect change in more student's lives than just my personal classes. This was as unique an opportunity for me as it was a huge leap in the career ladder. I wanted this job.

And then a call came on Thursday. I GOT IT! Now, how in the hell did that happen???

Why Chimpanzees Answer Phones...

July 27, 2008 - Sunday
Why I think chimpanzees answer phones...(warning: this one is lengthy)

For those of you in EMS, I offer this simple story as an homage to the glorious goverment society full of red tape that we are all victims of...I mean, party to...
Recently, I began the exhaustive effort of becomming a Level II Instructor. I have been an EMS Instructor for the last 3 years and in that arena of my career, I have been fairly successful. I spent a year teaching AMLS at the Durham Fire Department, and I spent 3 years co-coordinating the EMS program at Duke University. Now, I have put up with, I mean, instructed hundreds of students. I loved most of them when they werent trying to get away with shit. I have dealt with attendance problems, problem students, trouble-makers, holier-than-thou-ers, cheaters, stalkers, sleepers, and the list goes on and on...I am fairly adept at uncovering someone's bullshit excuses for far less than altruistic motives. I can politely listen and nod my head, all the while thinking to myself: "You have GOT to be kidding...you cant come up with anything better than that??" I've even had students ask me to reschedule the final exam so they could all traipse down to a kegger on the quad, underage. Or: "Please will you cancel class on Thursday? I know that one of the Duke ER attendings is guest-lecturing, but Duke is playing UNC." I never budged, but I did respectfully listen to their whining.

I said all that to preface the experience I am about to share with you. I am NOT gullible. Furthermore, I would like to think that I am neither stupid, nor naive. Sometimes, admittedly, I get a little punchy, but its more the "window-licker" variety, not the "frosted-blonde" archetype.

Let me give a little background for those not in the field: For one to teach EMT classes, they must possess an instructor credential issued by the NC state office of EMS. For one to receive said credential, one must be a provider at the level they wish to teach for at least 3 years. They must also be endorsed and have 100 hours of volunteer teaching experience. There is a mildly annoying process to achieve this credential but it basically allows you to circumvent the whole "Masters degree" to teach at the post-secondary level.

So now the story begins: (I apologize profusely for the long-winded background)... I went to work on Thursday and printed out the 12, yes 12 page application to become a Level II Instructor. As it was printing, I was thinking to myself: "Good Lord! Did I inadvertently begin printing someone's manuscript?" The next thought was that I would have to print and sign my name on said manuscript 147 times because once per page would just be too easy. Perhaps it's a game the state office plays: to see how many times they can commit acts of redundancy to see who really is serious about achieving the aforementioned credential. Or perhaps they enjoy the thought of someone slumped over a desk, surrounded by 12 sheets of UNNUMBERED application, silently weeping at "Print Applicant Name" number 145 as they try to put pen to paper with shaky hands. Bunch of masochists, they are.

After retrieving my novel from the printer, I actually begin to read the requirements for the Level II Instructor position. Now, 3 years ago, the only requirements were that you were a Level I Instructor for 2 years, and had a degree. But alas, it could not be that easy...
Here are the updated requirements:

1. Current EMS credential at level of application or above.
2. 2 years of teaching experience as a Level I Instructor.
3. EMS Education Administration course
4. Associate Degree or Higher
5. Level II EMS Instructor Workshop

Now, this is the "Highlights magazine" version of requirements because people in general are, how should I term this? Umm, not perceptive. I believe that to be diplomatic enough for the purposes of this communique. There are, in fact, a few sheets of the manuscript which outline the requirements in a much more detailed format with instructions to see paragraph 4, subsection H for the Department of Homeland Security cavity search. I was more than concerned when I noticed that a fat-fingered, 400 lb Swedish woman named 'Helga' would be performing this test. (This is in the fine-print for those of you who don't read it…) Also listed were: a request for a blood-draw, a full psychological profile to be performed by an FBI agent in Wyoming who only comes to North Carolina on the 3rd Tuesday of November in a leap year, proof of possession of a commercial fisherman's captain's license, Rorschach test results, a gynecological exam, and a billiards tournament trophy (only first or second place accepted).

My first question was, of course: What the hell is an EMS administration course? My supervisor, who is already a Level II was as perplexed as I. I called our Training Officer with no luck. So I decided to call the State Office of EMS. Surely, since they listed this course as a requirement, they would be able to give me details, right? Perhaps there is some naivete lurking in the deep recesses of my psyche after all…

I spoke with a…well-intentioned young man who actually spent quite a bit of time on the phone with me answering all of my obviously stupid questions. He hesitated a bit when the stupid question about the administration course was raised and then put me on hold because he too, had NO IDEA what I was talking about. Informing him that it was listed in bold print on the front of the form did nothing to spark memories on his behalf about the institution of this now very elusive administration course. After being on hold for some time, he returned to tell me that he didn't know what was involved in the course, but that at EM Today (the state conference in Greensboro), the State had contracted a company to come in and present materials similar to what was required in this administration course that he was unfamiliar with. Anyone still following this? Its quite comical in its idiocy… He assured me that he would call me back to let me know if this contracted course (which is 4 months away) would meet the requirements of the course that I obviously need because the manuscript says so.

I then decided to be proactive and call the regional EMS office to see if perhaps, they could confuse me further. I spoke to a lady there who advised me that the community college in Jacksonville was putting on a conference the first week in August and she gave me the contact number of the course coordinator there. To further confound things, (by now, I am really dwelling on the cavity search and not paying attention to much else…), the man I am supposed to call has a female name (Amie) and I am worried that I will say something stupid, like: "Yes ma'am" when I get him on the phone. I was assured that he would register me in the class and then all I would have to do was show up.

I call Amie, who advises me that I have to call the Continuing Education Division of the Community College and explain to them that I wish to be enrolled in the EMS administration course. Then, as is my nature, I have to further confuse things:
I ask Amie: "Am I fee-exempt from the course?" Now, usually, someone who takes a continuing education course and is in the employ of a rescue agency in NC gets 'free learnin' in the community college system.
The response I got: "Ahhh….fee….what?"

And then I was forced to repeat myself, but I refused to change the structure of my sentence because being a college graduate, he should've understood me just fine. For the record, I had to ask him 3 times before clarity thundered into that noggin of his. And for those of you hanging on the cliffs of wanton longing, YES, I was fee-exempt.

So I call the Con-Ed department. A small melee and several hold sessions ensue as the women of the department struggle to understand which class it is that I want to take, why they can't find it and: "By the way," one of them asks me, "what is EMS?"
I would like to sidebar here that at this point, I was seriously considering gouging my eyeball out with a rusty spoon to dull the pain of the stark stupidity I was encountering. Then I considered nasally intubating myself but quickly dismissed it because it would force me to put down the phone and at least if I gouged out my eye, I could do that one-handed. I was definitely beginning to understand the combination of high-powered rifles and college clock towers.

Back to the story: The ladies that lunch in the Con-Ed department gave me the generalized speech. "Please go to the college's website. On the main page, you'll click on quick links, then go to the Continuing Education Department webpage. From there, you need to click on the link that takes you to the Forestry Department of Alaska webpage, which will direct you to the international Ping-Pong Association membership page, click on the data form tab and please don't click on the data form entry tab, as that will reroute you to Jenna Jameson's pleasure site. Once you click on the data form tab, you will be redirected to the I Love Cheese homepage (this actually exists) where you can download the application and fax it back to us. Which I did, 4 times. Apparently, in the desire to utterly piss off and deter all future Level II EMS Instructors from actually filling out a registration form because its so hard to find, the powers-that-be in the Con-Ed department forgot make sure the fax machine was working. But at least I now have a class to go to, even if I cant get registered…

During all of this insidiousness, I received a phone call from the well-intentioned fellow at the State advising me that the conference being put-on in 4 months in Greensboro that they were spending a small fortune on, did NOT, in fact, meet the educational requirements of the EMS Administration course. Instead of determining why they were wasting tax-payers money, I decided to let it go...

The only thing I have left to do is an Educational and Technical Scope of Practice, which my supervisor has offered to complete for me. Although, I don't quite understand why I have to prove to the state that I am both a good instructor and a capable Paramedic… I just navigated the I LOVE CHEESE homepage for chrissakes and consented to Helga's disgusting fetishes to get where I want professionally. Isn't that enough??? Though, kudos to my supervisor for saving me the torturous hell of asking someone from administration to perform my scopes of practice…I might have brought my rusty spoon in that case.

Now all that's left is to call Wilson Tech to get my college transcripts. If agencies were roller-coasters, the State Office of EMS would be the Tea-Cups at Disney World and Wilson Tech would be The Freefall at Six Flags. You haven't seen a bona-fide clusterfuck until you've gotten on the phone with Wilson Tech. Ahhh, another maze to tackle on Monday….

Woman Be Strong...

So, here I sit, as is usual for me: alone in the house, listening to the dark, vocal stylings of one, Will Hoge. At present he is singing "Woman Be Strong" and I am introspectively tumbling around inside my head. Please bear with me, as I have fallen victim to my own rambling nature tonight.

I can often be found sitting on the couch pontificating on the proverbial meaning of life. "What does it all mean?" or, better still: "Where am I going?" Two very grandiose ideas that I am no closer to understanding though I have spent countless hours dedicated to that subject matter. I feel as if I were floating in the empty. No definitive current in one direction or another, just aimlessly floating without a landing strip to stop every once in awhile.

Life feels very surreal to me. I get up. I go places. I do things. But I wonder: "Is this all there is?" I find myself wanting more. Not in a materialistic sense, but more in a social/emotional way. Though my profession is the least predictable of professions, I feel a monotony in it. And it is of my own doing, as I have worked to simplify my life to the point of being largely uninvolved in working altogether. I want to DO more to help people. Granted, there is a huge opportunity to help people in my line of work. I know that there are people walking around today that would otherwise be dead had I not been there. I am a good Paramedic and I have worked really hard to get where I am. But, I still find myself wanting. My favorite calls are the ones where I feel I have emotionally helped someone. I know I have helped someone when I have eased the suffering in their mind. The body is relatively easy to fix, but the mind...it is a conundrum of jumbling thoughts and memories and feelings.

I know I have been the way I am my entire life. I consistenly lock myself inside my head and float in that empty. I can usually be found there when one of life's hard knocks has whalluped me in the back of the head and sent me sprawling. I have been there for over a year now. I value the time that I have had floating there to learn many intricate things about my personality and who I am and what I want, but I have yet to figure out who I want to be.

Now, literally speaking, I know who I want to be. I want to be the person that other people seek out for advice, not because I necessarily give great advice, but because I can empathize. I want to be the person that changes the world one person at a time by infecting everyone I meet with niceties and engaging conversation that normally wouldnt occur with the rampantly running apathy in todays society.

I think I seek outwardly what I am lacking inwardly. Since my separation, I have felt somewhat apathetic. SO many emotions have usurped my proverbial heart, that I have been left vacant in my empathy for others. I know there are bigger problems out there and sometimes, I just can't bring myself to care about them. It is perhaps my greatest fear: to become apathetic to the suffering of others.

I recently had a discussion with a friend and I was telling him about the horrors of the job. That they are not, in fact, the decapitations, dismemberments and "stinkers". It is the look you see in a childs eye on Christmas morning when youve arrived at their house, a poor replacement for Santa Clause, because they just witnessed Daddy beat the hell out of Mommy in front of the Christmas tree. It is a look of age and a plea for mercy to "please make this memory go away so Christmas isnt ruined for the rest of my life." You give of yourself to these people who need hope and solace and in doing so, lose a little part of yourself. This friend of mine said that I should keep my professional distance, medicine is, after all, a business. I recoiled. I feel that if losing that little piece of myself helps anyone survive those kinds of horrors, then its well worth the loss. Or, perhaps, that is the justification for knowing that there is no professional distance in a situation like that.

The only "give" I have left in me is the "give" at the job. I feel I cannot abandon the people that call on me in their hour of need and so, at a price, I ignore myself.

On my last interview, I was asked to tell the interviewers who I was as a person and I honestly didnt know what to say. I settled for: "I'm getting a divorce, and that leads to reevaluation. When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

I strive everyday to do something nice for one person. Something I dont have to do but something that enriches someones life in some way. In trying to do that, I retain the hope of the person I wish to be inside. I, for some insane reason, feel like there is a wildly spinning clock controlling my life. Like I dont have the time to accomplish the things I want for myself. I have deduced that this feeling of constraint and a rushed hurriedness to "live" stems from a decision to start over. My life had a direction when I was married. My "fairytale" (HA!) was at the "The End, and they lived happily ever after" stage...and my happily ever after became separation and embittered feelings of insecurity. Perhaps I feel rushed at having to find, nurture and live all over again. My life died and I have mourned it sufficiently enough to start over. Now is the time I emerge from the black, empty I have created to comfort me and shine.

But I feel as if I have an appointment to get to and I am standing at a bend in the road with 5 routes, like the tines of forks, splitting in plethora of directions. Which one do I choose and will that path be the path of enlightenment, grace and love? Who will I become?

And as for what I want for myself, I choose true love. I choose to continue to hope that it exists, that I will find it and I will not settle for less until I do. I will not let the cynicism of the world overtake me and I will not let my fear of that pain be a barrier in my journey.

I dont have to become ensconced in the societal norm to live fully. I will be who I want to be, whoever that is. Woman, Be Strong.