For three months, I’ve taken care of a lady with Alzheimer’s who was also on hospice. Joanie had a dog named Sampson. Wherever Joanie was at, Sampson was there too. He was stuck to her like velcro.

December 27, 2021 was my last day to care for her, but I didn’t know it would be that way at the time. Joanie needed complete care….giving her a bath, dressing her, changing her diaper, moving her to her wheelchair, feeding her….everything needed to be done for her. On the bad days, I’d have to remind Joanie to chew and swallow her food. She usually didn’t talk, but some days she would try. But everyday, she had a smile.

Sampson was always happy to see me. Sometimes he would greet me at the door when I arrived. Other days, I’d find him in bed with Joanie. But he always had good morning kisses and demanded rubs and luvs. When I’d let Sampson back inside, I’d always kneel down and give him a back rub. Sometimes I’d throw a toy for him to fetch. But his mama and knowing where she was, was always his top priority.

Once Joanie was dressed and fed, she would sit in her recliner and watch Golden Girls all day. They were hilarious! I’ll never watch the Golden Girls again without thinking of Joanie.

My time with Joanie was short, but she will always have a special place in my heart. She was a beautiful, sweet lady. But here’s the thing, I didn’t know that December 27 would be the last day I would see her. She was going to hospice for a week so her husband could go visit his other daughter out of town. Joanie came down with aspiration pneumonia and never came back home. But in my mind, she should have.

I wish I could see Joanie one more time. I wish I could spend one more day with her. If I had known my last day with her would be the time I saw her, there isn’t anything that I would change. I’d still take care of her and love every minute of it.

Think about it….we never know when the last time we see someone will be the last time we see and talk to them. We should spend each moment as if it may be our last. But that also means treating each encounter with a person as if it could be the last time we see them, the last time we get to spend time with them, the last time we get to hug them. Nobody knows when they will die.

If you knew the last time would be the last time, what would you do differently? Hug those you care about tight because you never know when that hug will be the last one you gave them.

Recently, I responded to a rape call at work. It wasn’t my first by any means. But for whatever reason, this one made my eyeballs leak while returning to base from the hospital.
It was the first time in 22 years of EMS that I hadn’t been able to keep my emotions in check until I had headed home.

My partner that day has been in EMS since Noah built the ark. He noticed I was struggling and asked if I was ok. Of course, I said I was.

We ran another call before making it back to the base. When we cleared from the hospital, our supervisor advised dispatch to take Medic 11 and 12 out of service. When I asked my partner about it, he acted as if he didn’t know why. Arriving back at base finally, I was going to restock the ambulance from our three calls we had run that morning, but my partner said I should follow him to the supervisor’s office.

It was me, my partner, the supervisor and the medic from the other truck. Our supervisor and the medic from the other truck were both trained in CISD. So am I. LOL!

My partner said that he had asked for this get together because he had noticed I was struggling after the rape/assault call we had ran that morning. They all wanted to make sure I was ok. I was dumbfounded really. Never have I worked for an agency that had cared enough to notice and then take me out of service to deal with a call. I’ve always had to “run the next call” and then deal with the bad call on a day off. This was new territory.

The other issue I was mulling over in my head was how was I supposed to talk about rape with 3 males present? Now, these 3 guys have been in EMS or fire for a lot longer than me. All three I know would have my back when I needed it, and I guess I was needing it. So, I took a deep breath and shared a tiny snippet of my past.

Two days prior to responding to this assault/rape call, I had told my therapist about a rape that I hadn’t told a soul about. That scar had been opened and was raw. Then this happened. They got it. They were willing to stay out of service as long as I needed to be and talk. They said they wouldn’t tell anyone the reason behind being out of service, and knowing that, made me feel safe.

These guys have checked on me and have listened since then. They’ve helped me to keep moving forward. I owe them because I wasn’t alone in that dark place.

It’s ok to be strong, but even the strong have moments of weakness. We just have to be willing to be vulnerable and accept help when it’s offered.

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.”