It was half past midnight. Back on my campus, the city would have been alive, awake, and active, but here in the suburbs, I was reminded all too well that the outside world does not live on a college schedule. My throat and ears were itchy, my tongue felt swollen and uncomfortable. The Benadryl was not working, there was no other choice but to call 9-1-1.

This was not my first allergy attack. Over the course of 18 years I have had hives, irritations, rashes, itchy ears, and worst of all, stopped breathing. I am allergic to hazelnuts, walnuts, macadamia nuts, pecans, chemical sprays, certain types of dogs, the list goes on. I have been to the hospital upwards of four times, I carry an Epipen, Benadryl is my bestie. But this post is not about me, this post is about all those people who are responsible for my life.

The first person to come is always the police officer, he has his oxygen tank and is ready to use it if need be, until the paramedics get here. The police wear many hats, and medical training is involved for quite of a few of them. Next, the paramedics arrive. They take my blood pressure (pro-tip: if you are taken by an ambulance to the hospital, you will have your blood pressure taken so many times you get dizzy just from the tightness of the cuff on your upper arm every 10 minutes). They ask me questions, they compare notes with the police officer, they ask me to spell my last name.

The ambulance comes, I tell them I can walk, but they put me on the stretcher anyway. It's now 1am. I think about how at 1am I'm usually still studying, or with friends. My blood pressure is taken again. So is my pulse, twice. The woman sitting next to me is from Belgium, she is going to South Africa this summer, she tells me. She ties her shoes; both laces were undone. She says something about having been in a hurry. This is a volunteer ambulance corps, these people were at home, asleep, talking on the phone, watching "Friends", and they all rushed out of their doors when I put in the call.

I am lucky enough to have access to adequate medical care. There are paramedics and policemen and ambulance drivers and nurses and doctors all ready to help me. People prepared to drop their lives at a moment's notice and make sure I keep breathing. But I know these people have their own lives, families, birthday parties, movie nights they could be attending. So thank you to those brave men and women who wake up at 1am in order to keep us alive and safe and well. Thank you for slipping into your shoes and not bothering to tie the laces because you are in such a hurry.

Thank you for checking my blood pressure a million times, ready to take action at the slightest worsening of my condition.

Thank you for talking to me as we drive to the hospital, soothing me, distracting me. Thank you for the blanket, the stuffed animals you used to give me when I was little and scared.

Thank you for the stickers and high fives that time when I was seven and had to come in. Thank you for telling me it wouldn't hurt, thank you for being awake, thank you for being quick, thank you for keeping me alive.

To all the doctors, the ambulance drivers, the paramedics, the police, the nurses, the emergency phone operators, the EMTs: thank you.