I look outside and see nothing but the glare of fire truck lights and police cars. My watch reads 3:00 in the morning. The air is stained with unruly smells, and I can feel the sweat dripping down my back, despite the air conditioning being on full blast. My gloves and pants are tainted with blood. The patient lies on the stretcher in front of me, unconscious, his femur protruding from his leg and blood pouring out of his arms. The paramedic yells instructions to me as he attempts to intubate the man on the stretcher. The man’s car lies in the trees, a crumpled heap of metal past the point of recognition. This scene of devastation is not strange to me; ironically, it’s a place that I love to be.
The man on the stretcher is young, and after I perform my initial assessment, it becomes clear that he may never wake up. You might say that seeing this man near death motivated me to help him, and you might say the fact that he lived must have caused me to feel an incredible sense of accomplishment. However, after such an event becomes so routine, emotions seldom play a role in my performance. I maintain composure not because I don’t care, but because I do.
No, this place I love is not a beach, a vacation spot, or a place I go to hang out with friends. It’s quite the opposite. But it’s the experiences I’ve had there that give me confidence that can’t be taught in school and confidence that can’t be found in most 17-year-old boys. It’s the type of confidence—a familiarity and comfort—that allows me to remain unfazed by the fact that this man’s life is in the hands of me and my crew.
If there is one thing that I have learned from working on the ambulance, it is that you can never be too relaxed. I was surprised to find out that fewer than five percent of ambulance calls require rapid treatment and transport, and I have recognized that your mind can work wonders when it is quiet, even in the most intense situations. I am at ease in the back of the ambulance so I can perform deliberately and successfully do my job.
I am content in a lot of places: my bed, my car, my back porch, and in the seat of a classroom at school. However, it is easy for me to feel content in those places, and I have felt that way all my life. The feeling of contentment I have in the ambulance is one I had to earn, and thus is far more satisfying. I am proud of the fact that as I stand face to face with these devastating images, I am in control and can maintain a calm demeanor.
At the end of every shift, I pack up my things and head home. Over a late night dinner with my family, I reflect on the previous night’s events. Sometimes I surprise myself with what I was able to accomplish. And although I wish I could share my experience with my family, it is often difficult to completely express. What I can explain is that I was able to carry out my responsibilities due to my ability to remain calm, and to keep my mind quiet. A mind at ease, is a mind at work.
