This isn’t really related to EMS. But this is a BIG lesson I’ve learned recently. Please don’t judge. I realize this is something most people learn earlier in life. But better late than never, right. But I’ve never learned to stand up for myself.

A friend recently was talking to me when he walked a circle around me. He said that this circle was “Christy’s world”. If I didn’t want something or someone inside that circle, I didn’t have to have them there.

The other day I was talking to my therapist. An intern was also there. I was telling them about being raised with the belief that I was to do whatever a man told me to do, because the man was always in charge. The man was always the boss. This belief has made bad circumstances worse and have negative outcomes.

My therapist asked me how I could change that negative belief into a positive. I said “I’m the boss of me”. The intern, who will be amazing as a therapist, said to me that the “I’m the boss of me” was also the boss when the old experiences attempted to make me feel guilty and ashamed of my past. I have never thought of it that way, but it makes total sense.

I am worth standing up for. I am worth fighting for. To the rape victim that I recently transported, you are also worthwhile. You aren’t too dirty or too messed up to fight for. To those who have also been beaten down and walked on, learn to stand your ground and stand up for yourself. You deserve it!

Your phone rings. There’s a knock at your door. Maybe you show up to work for your shift and wonder where your coworker is at. You’re told the news, that I’ve taken another member from your midst. The questions. The emotions. The feelings. The blaming. The anger. The BIG question of “Why?”

It’s easy to be angry at me blaming me for the loss you feel. It’s popular to blame the deceased as having been selfish to have taken their own life, because doing so, passes their pain on to their friends and family. But I’d like to challenge you with a different perspective.

You see, I am a last resort. My victims are very resourceful and try multiple options to rectify their personal problems and individual situations. Many become overwhelmed and weighed down, frustrated by what life has thrown at them. Some give me a thought and move on. Others dwell on me. And some of those follow through successfully with their plans of me.

If the deceased isn’t the one who is selfish, could it be those who are left behind? Let me explain. I hear people say how busy life is for them, but it’s only as busy as you make it. If you are too busy to check in on your friend or coworker or family member, then you are too busy. You are the only one who can control your level of business. You don’t have to know somebody is struggling with something to check in with them. A text message takes a few seconds and can be an encouragement just to let someone know that they are cared for.

When I take someone’s life, I’ve heard it also questioned as to why that person didn’t reach out. Put yourself in their shoes for a moment. If you told your supervisor that you were having dark thoughts but doing so would put your job in jeopardy and you’d be seen as a liability. Would you ask your supervisor for help? You could ask your paramedic partner for help, but you heard him talking negatively about the depressed patient you picked up last shift. There’s no way you can talk to him because he would obviously talk bad about you too. Can’t talk to your significant other because they don’t understand the job. Who else is there????? Possibly nobody.

Instead of passing the blame, accept it, so that the problem can be fixed. Spend time with the people who matter to you so that I become less heard of. Call a friend. Send a text. A matter of seconds goes a long way and could ultimately save a life.

I didn’t know he was there until I slid to a stop in the muddy, grassy median of the major interstate highway. I don’t remember specifically what he said to me but I knew he was a firefighter. My first thought was “I knew the fire department responded fast, but I didn’t know they were THAT fast!”

I had been riding my motorcycle home from a friend’s house and had just gotten on I485. I got up to the speed limit of 70 mph and into the left lane. That’s when the death wobble started. I tried slowing down and shifting down, the only way to get out of the death wobble. But it wasn’t working. I remember being terrified, knowing I was on a major highway, going at a fast speed, and seeing motorcycle accidents as a first responder, I didn’t know how this was going to end. It happened so quickly, and in a matter of seconds, I was face down in the mud of the grassy median with this man talking to me.

I knew I could move everything and wanted to sit up, but every time I picked up my head, my helmet would hit the guide wire of the guard rail, although I didn’t know at the time what it was. I decided I was too exhausted to fight it and would do as this man kept telling me, to be still. I was thankful this man was there. I wanted to cry, but he kept me calm.

The fire department arrived and I adamantly asked them to please not cut my vest. And they obliged. But because of my vest, one of the guys made a phone call and members of my club were waiting for me at the hospital when I arrived at the ER.

I learned later that the firefighter that had been with me on scene was an off duty firefighter who had been directly behind me and had witnessed the entire accident. I also learned that from the details he provided, it looked as if I had jumped off my bike (I don’t know how to do that if my life depended upon it!) and went up in the air about 10 ft., then bounced on the pavement 2 or 3 times before landing in the grass and sliding 25-30 ft where I came to a stop under the guide wire of the guard rail.

Now I understand just a little bit more the appreciation somebody has for me and my fellow first responders when we come and help or go the extra mile. Chances are, my angel would be like me and wouldn’t want the attention. But to me, he will always be somebody special.

You are always there waiting for the moment I need you. The reason why doesn’t matter. Could be a hard call at work, wondering how I’m going to pay the bills, or that my cat died. It could be that I’m lonely or that I’m feeling useless in this enormous universe of life. You listen and let me be, however that is. You hear usually the bad, the ugly, the darkness, but you never walk away. The more time I spend with you, the more it seems that I’m drawn toward you, and the more difficult it becomes to walk away.

You let me cry, scream, or simply just be in silence. You don’t force me to talk, for you already know why I’m here once again. You let me be me. You don’t expect me to be fake, which is good because I detest fake. You don’t expect superficial conversations about the weather, which you know I’d rather have a real conversation about things that actually matter.

Who might this best friend be? Isolation.

I’ll tell you the story of when my sister was shot and survived if you ask or if somehow it came up in conversation. But I’ve never talked about how it’s affected me. I shut down the day I tried to talk about my feelings regarding it with my sister, who I thought would be understanding. Instead, she told me that I was making her shooting all about me when it was all about her. I realize now she was in the midst of deep agony when she said that, but it still hurt deeply, yet it is something I will always remember.

Watching my sister the last 3 years has been gut wrenching yet rewarding. It breaks my heart when she’s lost a career she’s loved. Her certification renewal is approaching but she won’t be able to recertify her paramedic because of what an evil man chose to do to her. But when she does a marathon with her walker I get to say “hey, that’s my twin sister”! It’s been gut wrenching because seemingly the bastard took the pansy way out, and instead of facing the consequences of his choices, died by suicide. He took the easy way out while my sister fought for her life. But it was rewarding when my sister walked enough laps in the hospital to equal a 5k, or the day she was discharged from the hospital only 8 days later. That’s my twin sister!

It’s been heartbreaking from day one really, but no one knows what days or what part of the day will either be heartbreaking or rewarding. And by rewarding, it could mean something as simple as my sister’s headache wasn’t as bad that day, or maybe she actually had an appetite.

But how does one truly describe a TBI that’s totally altered a life and the life of everyone around that person? That is a question I’m not even really sure how to begin to describe.

I really want to ride my motorcycle to Indiana, or really anywhere, and then GPS my way home once I’m really lost in the middle of wherever. But to test the waters, due to recent events, I made a quick trip to Georgia to see a friend.

The trip there went ok. I was stressed but my anxiety behaved. There weren’t any problems until I arrived at my friends and needed to ride up the driveway. My bike hit that bump and in a slow motion sort of way, she fell over. It was as if she said “yay! We’re here! I’m done now.”

I was still debating whether or not I should ride my motorcycle to Indiana when I left Georgia to return home. I was more nervous but I knew I could do it. I told myself that I didn’t have a choice since I had to get back home.

It started with the car that was driving so close to me in stop/go traffic that I could have reached and touched the front bumper. He backed off after my bike fell over on the highway. A man in a pickup truck stopped to help and made sure I was ok. My anxiety was building and my eyeballs may have leaked a little inside my helmet.

I stopped frequently, even if I didn’t need gas. The conditions of the roads in SC were awful, and that doesn’t include the construction zones. The construction is down right nerve racking with uneven lanes, to the point that even the bumps have bumps and unevenness. Finding a flat strip of road to ride on was nearly impossible.

Two miles from the SC/NC state line, I stopped at a truck stop. I chilled a few minutes, my eyeballs leaked, gave myself a stern talking to and then a pep talk. But that apparently wasn’t convincing enough to me or to my bike group since my level of frustration and anxiety must have shown through when I told my bike group about events.

One of the guys said to call him. I had my helmet on and was ready to ride again, I thought, and considered ignoring his request. But looking back, I’m glad I made that phone call. Two guys from my bike group came and picked me up and my bike. I was relieved, yet embarrassed…..because I’m used to doing the helping and not the other way around. But a family has your back, regardless of the time of day/night. That’s what my bike group is….family.

This is a small bump in the road, although it feels astronomical at times. It’s frustrating and exhausting to fight against anxiety and fear regarding something that I absolutely love to do. Writing that sounds twisted. But it’s a reality that I must face. I could be in for a bumpy ride.

We had just parked our bikes in the parking lot across the street from the bar when suddenly, there was screeching of tires and clashing of metal. A lone biker had been hit by a pickup truck also pulling a trailer. We weren’t supposed to have been there. The original plan was to get ice cream but that place had been closed thanks to covid19. Turns out, we were in the wrong place at the right time.

My thoughts began racing when I heard the screeching and clashing. I thought of my own motorcycle accident, even though I don’t remember it, and thought “fuckity fuck fuck fuck!” Several people, including myself, began walking, some running, toward the incident. Who else better to help a biker than a bunch of other bikers!

The bike had been pushed maybe 75 feet down the road and was wedged under the front end of the pickup truck. The rider was also wedged and stuck. But those bikers chipped in and took care of a bad situation. From somewhere they found tire jacks and jacked up the truck enough so that the rider could be pulled out.

Meanwhile, I was holding c-spine, talking to the patient, and making sure no other “medical professional” did anything too crazy. Keeping the patient calm was really something anyone could have done. When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics allowed me to help with taking care of the patient, which doesn’t always happen, and that was cool. I’m not a hero. The patient more than likely doesn’t remember me. I’m good with that. I’m thankful….thankful that biker is still here for their family. Thankful I was chosen to be used.

When I walked away, I realized I was shaking but felt like I couldn’t say anything because I wasn’t with first responders who would understand. Besides, most of the people I was riding with that day didn’t know I was a paramedic before the accident. I still had to ride my bike down the mountain and back home. I sucked it up.

The screeching and clashing is what is stuck in my brain. I hear it in my dreams and in my thoughts. Is it because my brain remembers the screeching and clashing October 21,2019 even though I don’t? Probably. Is it a sound that will never be forgotten? Maybe.

Sandy and Dave entered the woman’s house carrying their medical equipment on the ambulance stretcher. They had been sent by the 911 dispatcher for a woman about to deliver. As a paramedic, delivering a baby was something Sandy had always dreamed of doing, but it had never happened. She soon realized it wouldn’t be happening this time either. These circumstances were different from any previous call.

They found Susan sitting on the toilet in the bathroom crying. Susan was sixteen weeks along in this pregnancy, her longest one yet. Her previous pregnancies had always ended in a miscarriage. Because this one had gotten further along, Susan had desperately hoped her baby would make it. This, however, was devastating to her. Susan’s doctor had said that a miscarriage was possible due to the tumor inside her uterus, but Susan had hoped her doctor would be wrong.

Susan had felt the need to urinate, but when she sat down on the toilet, the fetus came out. As Susan stood, the fetus was lifted from the toilet and wrapped in a clean towel. The umbilical cord was clamped and cut, but unfortunately, it was already dead. It was too small and too young for Sandy and Dave to be able to make an attempt to save its life. Susan was assisted to the ambulance stretcher, and once secured, Sandy and Dave moved her to the ambulance.

En route to the emergency room, Sandy checked Susan’s blood pressure and heart rate, listened to her breathing, and then inserted an IV into a vein in her arm to give her some fluid. It was a quiet ride to the emergency room, but Sandy did what she could to console her.

Susan was wheeled into the emergency room on the stretcher. Once in a room, Sandy helped her get comfortable in the hospital bed. Sandy told the nurse what had happened. Then, the nurse asked Sandy to put the fetus’s body into a small container which could be found in the supply room. As she was doing this, she couldn’t help but be amazed at the small, delicate, detailed features already visible on the tiny corpse. There were fingers and toes and even eyes, nose, and a mouth. It looked just like a baby, only much smaller in size.

Sandy’s heart began to break as her mind raced back to a few years earlier. She had been dating a guy she met at work for about three months, when she told Josh that she was pregnant. He became angry and told Sandy her only option was to have an abortion. He threatened her saying he would leave if she decided to have the baby.

Sandy knew she didn’t want to have the abortion, but she was afraid of being alone. She was afraid of raising a child on her own. “How would she afford a baby by herself” she had wondered. She was afraid of the judgment and criticism she would be sure to receive from her family, especially from her parents. She had felt lost, afraid, and alone. So she had given into Josh and agreed to have the abortion.

Josh drove her to the clinic that fateful day to make sure she went through with the procedure. The staff told Sandy that what was inside of her was just a blob of tissue and wasn’t really a baby yet. Sandy knew that what they told her wasn’t true, because it really was a baby. But allowing herself to believe what they had said somehow made it more bearable to go through with having it done.

Lying on the cold hard table in the white sterile room, Sandy forced herself to think of something else…her trip to Disney World for her sixteenth birthday, hiking in the mountains, the trip to the beach she was planning to take, anything. But just then, she felt a searing pain inside her and screamed out. Sandy heard the doctor as he told her to lay still. The nurse pushed her back down on the table. She heard the noise of the vacuum as the doctor worked. The procedure was over after several minutes. In time the physical pain went away, but was replaced with emptiness.

As Dave pushed open the door of the supply room, the door hit Sandy in her shoulder. “Oh sorry” Dave said. “Why are you in here?” he asked. Sandy mumbled a reply, grabbed the container she had placed the fetus in, and rushed out.

Sandy left the container with the nurse, then walked outside for some fresh air. She had to gain control of her thoughts and emotions and it had to be done quickly. She couldn’t be falling apart in front of her co-workers. They couldn’t know about this. Nobody could.

She was angry at the clinic staff for saying it was just a blob of tissue. The staff seemed to have told her whatever it took just to get her money. She had been told having an abortion would solve her problem. Life would go on just as it had been. They hadn’t been concerned about her or her baby. This woman’s baby, who had been transported, had been perfectly formed. There had been nothing about it that had been just a blob.

She was angry at Josh for threatening her and then trapping her into having the abortion. He should have been a man and accepted responsibility. Instead, he had pressured her into what had seemed to be the easy solution, but in reality, had been a nightmare. After the abortion, he had dumped her and moved on.

She was angry at her family. Her parents had treated a cousin very harshly when she had become pregnant and had decided to parent her baby. Sandy had been afraid that her parents judgment and criticism would be much worse considering she was their daughter and not just a niece. Her parents had always been more concerned about the image they felt they needed to uphold than for their children’s emotional well-being. Sandy had never felt that she had been good enough for her parents. Even her career choice of being a paramedic had been received with strong disapproval from her parents. Because of this, she felt she couldn’t tell her parents of her pregnancy, and now, her abortion.

Sandy was angry at herself because she hadn’t protected her baby. “Wasn’t that what a mother was supposed to do for her child?” Sandy thought. She hadn’t stood up to Josh and hadn’t stood up for herself, even though she had always wanted to be a mother. Although the circumstances wouldn’t have been ideal, still she had thrown that opportunity away. “If only she could go back” Sandy thought. Even now, years later, she still dealt with feelings of guilt, anger, and shame. Once more, she had to find a way to push these memories and feelings away.

Just then, Dave came outside. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine” Sandy replied.

“Good, because we have another call. Its for chest pain.” Dave said. “Come on, lets go.”

It’s said that each of us is born into a family, but is that really true? Sure, in some sense….you get a last name. But those people may or may not truly be your family.

In a real family, you don’t always agree, but you do always have each other’s back. They may make a decision that you don’t agree with, but as family, you stick together.

In a real family, you are allowed to say what you are thinking/feeling without fear of offending someone. But at the same time, you always respect each other. Respect may dictate that you either reword what you want to say or that you keep it to yourself. It doesn’t matter if that person is 5 years old or 97 years old. They are still treated with respect. This also means that if a child isn’t comfortable giving an adult a hug, that child isn’t pressured into doing it anyway. It’s called respect.

In a real family, when one person struggles, the whole family pitches in. Doesn’t matter if it’s just a bad day or a life altering experience. You pitch in and help each other.

In a real family, no one person puts themselves above or better than another. Whether it’s a health issue (made up or real), or making a decision about vacation, nobody is better than another. Nobody. This also means not using your perceived medical issues as a way to manipulate and control the rest of the family.

In a real family, relationships are number one. Whether that’s date night with a significant other or helping a friend with their housework, relationship is top priority. If family needs something, you help.

In a real family, love is unconditional. Love isn’t based upon what you can do for another or how you make someone look. Love is there regardless. Love is a choice made by an individual, not based on an action or word. If I’m angry with you, I still love you. If you hurt me somehow, I still choose to love you. Love isn’t selfish. Love doesn’t lie.

In a real family, I’m allowed to say no. And I’m not required to give you a reason.

In a real family, children are taught how to make their own decisions and given opportunity to do so.

In a real family, privacy is allowed, given, and respected. Just because I have nothing to hide doesn’t mean that you need to know it all.

In a real family, trust is huge! If there isn’t trust, there is no family.

In a real family, those living are more important than those gone.

Blood doesn’t make any group of people family. It just means that group is related. Family takes all these things and so much more. Selfishness, narcissism, and belittling have no place in a family.

My family are the ones who build me up and encourage me. My family are the ones who tell me when I need to get a grip. My family are the ones who I trust with my secrets, dreams, and passions. My family are the ones who have seen me cry and fall apart and have been there in the storm. My family are also the ones who have been there to celebrate the good and laugh with me when I’m laughing at myself.

I’m full of second chances, but there comes a time when enough is enough. And now is enough.

In 19 years of working EMS, I’ve worked with hundreds of people….some were horrible and down right dangerous to the patient, most are good at what they do but may or may not have my back in a situation turned bad, and a very select few are in the category of “favorite partner”.

Hannah is in this category of favorites. When I first started at this department, she didn’t assume I was quiet, like most everyone else, but got to know me. She knows some of the darkness I’ve been through and has been there for me when my sister was in the hospital.

She’s taught me to laugh at myself. Most people act as if they think I’m stoopid when something I do doesn’t go like it’s supposed to or I turn the wrong direction or the words come out weird. I don’t care what most people think about me, and as it turns out, I’m pretty hilarious. At least, I keep myself (and Hannah, at times) entertained.

Hannah has also helped me learn to stand up for myself by being that example and not allowing anybody to talk shit to her. You do teach people how to treat you. And they will take as much as one allows.

On a different subject, I really can’t stand people who are disrespectful, lazy, or who are liars. We all have moments, but step up and apologize. Treat others like you want to be treated. Talk to others like you want to be talked to. When you treat/talk to others poorly, it’s only a reflection of your own true character.