Why do we act like emotions are not a part of this job?
The first patient I ever intubated was 4 years old. Had she lived, she should be 19.
I walked past a bassinet with a two week old baby in it to perform CPR on her mother. She’s 12. No mom though.
I notified a woman that I couldn’t save her husband of 60 years after several rounds of CPR. I’m sure they’re together now, though. The last words he ever spoke were, “Call my wife.” He left behind two kids.
I called a code. The wife was crying. She said, “He was supposed to walk my daughter down the aisle next week.”
I coded her twin brother then transported her. The whole way to the hospital she asked, “How’s my brother?” Her dad died too. And I have twins.
I gave her Narcan. She woke up and cried. She thanked me and said, “Please help me. I just can’t quit.” I did what I could but I’m not sure it was enough.
He seized. I stopped the seizure and saved his career because we found the tumor.
I was bagging the victim when I wound up in the line of fire. I almost joined her on the sidewalk that night. By the grace of God, I didn’t.
We all have stories. I’ve just scratched the surface. I’ve never had nightmares, flashbacks, depression or anything else that would indicate that I have PTSD. But I do have emotions.
I’m pretty tough.
I’ve never cried.
I’ve never lost a fight.
I don’t want to see any of my friends lose a fight either.
Not to depression, or drugs, or alcohol, or to themselves.
Talk about it. Talk to me. And if you need help, call the suicide prevention hotline. 1-800-273-8255.
We can’t lose another one. We need you.
