Just Another Day in EMS

Just Another Day in EMS

    I delivered a baby on the ambulance gurney;
    I baptized a newborn whose life ended before it began.

    I hugged a frightened child;
    I was kissed by an intoxicated old man.

    I held the hand of a teenage girl as she delivered a 3-pound baby;
    I listened to the mournful squeak of a stretcher being wheeled to the morgue.

    I gently stroked the fragile hand of a 102-year-old woman;
    I hesitated at the outreached hand of a 300-pound prisoner in handcuffs.

    I trudged for 10-hours in my boots;
    I had a teenager vomit on those same boots.

    I rubbed the feverish body of a 14-year-old cancer patient;
    I cradled the ice-cold hand of a child hit by a car.
    I was referred to as “an angel of mercy”;
    I was called every four-letter word in the book.

    I always see fear in people’s eyes;
    I never see joy or relief.

    I listened to a tormented voice pleading for the preservation of life;
    I heard the threatening words of one bent on self-destruction.

    I spoke with a girl who was hoping she had the flu, not a pregnancy;
    I see innocent people killed or hurt by a drunk driver, and the drunk driver is never hurt.

    I marveled at the genius of a cardiologist;
    I saw a 12-year-old boy who shot himself in the head, and the gun was still loaded at his feet.

    I talked in circles with a schizophrenic person;
    I was horrified at the battered body of a child whose parents were incapable of love.
    I gazed at a horribly burned body;
    I shuddered at a cold water drowning.

    I see women beaten up by their spouses, but they never press charges;
    I walk into houses and do CPR with the family watching over my shoulder in tears.

    I arrive at serious auto accidents and the first words I hear are, “Am I going to die?”
    I found out later they did die.

    I listen to the repeated question, “Why?” from a family devastated by death;
    I search my soul for the answers to their question.


This is just another day in EMS


Derek Perry, EMT-I
Foothill Ambulance Co.
Sacramento, CA

I Wish You Could

This was found on the internet.....It is worth the read and it is so very true!

I Wish You Could

I wish you could see the sadness of a business man as his livelihood goes up in flames or that family returning home, only to find their house and belongings damaged or destroyed.

I wish you could know what it is to search a burning bedroom for trapped children, flames rolling above your head, your palms and knees burning as you crawl, the floor sagging under your weight as the kitchen beneath you burns.

I wish you could comprehend a wife’s horror at 3 A.M. as I check her husband of forty years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping against hope to bring him back, knowing intuitively it is to late. But wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done.

I wish you could know the unique smell of burning insulation, the taste of soot-filled mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your turnout gear, the sound of flames crackling, and the eeriness of being able to see absolutely nothing in dense smoke “Sensations that I have become too familiar with.”

I wish you could understand how it feels to go to school in the morning after having spent most of the night, hot and soaking wet at a multiple alarm fire.

I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a building fire, ’Is this a false alarm or a working, breathing fire? How is the building constructed? What hazards await me? Is anyone trapped?’ or to an EMS call, ‘What is wrong with the patient? Is it minor or life threatening? Is the caller really in distress or is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or a gun?’

I wish you could be in the emergency room as the doctor pronounces dead the beautiful little five-year old girl that I have been trying to save during the past twenty-five minutes, who will never go on her first date or say the words “I love you Mommy!” again.

I wish you could know the frustration I feel in the cab of the engine, the driver with his foot pressing down hard on the pedal, my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as you fail to yield right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic. When you need us, however, your first comment upon our arrival will be “It took you forever to get here!”

I wish you could read my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teenage years from the mangled remains of her automobile, “what if this were my sister, my girlfriend, or a friend? What were her parents’ reactions going to be as they open the door to find a police officer, HAT IN HAND?’

I wish you could know how it feels to walk in the back door and greet my parents and family, not having the heart to tell them that you nearly did not come home from this last call.

I wish you could feel my hurt as people orally, and sometimes physically, abuse us or belittle what I do, or as they express their attitudes of, “It will never happen to me.”

I wish you could realize the physical, emotional, and mental drain of missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition to all the tragedy my eyes have viewed.

I wish you could know the brotherhood and self satisfaction of helping save a life or preserving someone’s property, of being there in times of crisis, or creating order from total CHAOS.

I wish you could understand what it feels like to have a little boy tugging on your arm and asking, “Is my mommy O.K.?” Not even being able to look in his eyes without tears falling from your own and not knowing what to say. Or to have to hold back a longtime friend who watches his buddy having rescue breathing done on him as they take him away in the ambulance. You knowing all along he did not have his seat belt on—sensations that I have become too familiar.

Unless you have lived this kind of life, you will never truly understand or appreciate who I am, what we are, or what our job really means to us.

I Wish You Could!

Asbestos exposure to firefighters what you need to know

Instinct. Training. Adrenaline. Three things no firefighter can live without. It’s not an easy balance to maintain and not many can actually manage all three, at least not the way firefighters can. But there’s one more thing that these heroes need to juggle: health. Every time a firefighter steps into a blazing building, they put more at risk than they may realize.


In older homes, builders used a mineral called asbestos in dry wall and insulation. Though the mineral is fire-resistant, when disturbed or exposed to extremely harsh conditions, fibers become airborne.


When firefighters breathe these in, they become susceptible to a deadly lung cancer: mesothelioma.  Mesothelioma symptoms include shortness of breath and heaviness in the chest area.  These can be subtle and are very often latent for up to 50 years. The greatest danger of mesothelioma is that its generally misdiagnosed, confused with more common, more treatable illnesses.


The government has taken measures to protect our heroes from asbestos exposure. Organizations like the AFL-CIO are rallying behind those who have already been exposed to asbestos and have contracted mesothelioma.


So what can you do to prevent these health risks? Find out more about asbestos exposure and the symptoms of mesothelioma, especially if you or someone you know has been in the business of fighting fires for a while. Search the web; ask a doctor; visit a library. There are resources designed to provide us find what we need to know.


They’ve always protected us. It's time for us to protect them.

**Article is courtesy of Matthew Phillips...Thank you for your Contribution Matthew**