(no subject)
We deal with some of the worst. We deal with it at all hours, in all conditions, at all times. We risk our health and even our lives for complete strangers. Some people call us heroes but we would never call ourselves that. That is part of draws us together in the family of EMS, we face the worst the world can throw at us and we wash it down with bad jokes and strong coffee. We hold ourselves apart, our hardened hearts and endless appetites are the invisible scars we wear that define us as a group always slightly removed from the rest of the world.
But sometimes the tragedy his too close.
I had to watch the daughter of one of us die. She died for no reason, while under the care of someone who was supposed to keep her safe from the day she was born. Bad choices, stupid mistakes, and a wonderful 8 year old girl is dead.
To my shame, her death does not bother me that much.
But how can I face her mother and tell her that I could not save her daughter.
She was one of us, and this kind of tragedy is not supposed to touch us. We dance around sorrow and loss, like the moths that are inexplicably drawn to the flame that could set them ablaze and yet never seems to scorch them. We are supposed to be charmed, untouchable, and eternally strong for others. We are not meant to be subject to harrowing loss. We sacrifice our humanity and even our very souls on the dark, blood stained altar of the call gods. Is that not enough? To willingly be robbed of our empathy, to smash part of what makes us human, forever removing ourselves one small step from our fellow human beings. We reforge ourselves into sociopaths as a survival mechanism, so that we can keep you safe and maybe even save your life. Have we not paid enough?
How do I look her in the eye the next time I go off duty, handing over my radio and keys, knowing I could not save her child’s life.
I can not stop feeling guilty for not being able to save the life of her little girl.
Does she hate me for not being able to save her daughter's life? Because I hate myself for not being able to.
I can not stop being there, in the back of that ambulance trying in vain to save that young life.
For the first time in almost 20 years I could not finish a shift. I had seen too much.
Now it is almost midnight, sleep is as elusive to me as the darkness between the stars. Trying to get these thoughts out. My family sleeps in the next room, safe, warm, and alive. Tonight my sister in EMS mourns her loss, and I can do nothing for her. In a few hours the sun will come up and the world will move on, in defiance of the shattering of the compact between my brothers and sisters of EMS and our dark gods. An atrocity has been committed against the nature of reality and the earth turns blithely on indifferent to our wrong.
Sometimes the bad jokes and worse coffee are not enough, sometimes the scars on our souls are not the armor we thought they where. Sometimes our masks slip and our hearts break at our own inadequacies. Sometimes the gods throw down their javelin of tragedy with such awesome force that the very impact splits not just our hearts but our very beings. Now my sister stands impaled on that sorrow, unable to fall, unable to die, unable to rest. Pinned to the ground by that very flame we dance around every shift of our careers.
While she burns in that flame of sorrow, I feel as if I am holding the match.
But sometimes the tragedy his too close.
I had to watch the daughter of one of us die. She died for no reason, while under the care of someone who was supposed to keep her safe from the day she was born. Bad choices, stupid mistakes, and a wonderful 8 year old girl is dead.
To my shame, her death does not bother me that much.
But how can I face her mother and tell her that I could not save her daughter.
She was one of us, and this kind of tragedy is not supposed to touch us. We dance around sorrow and loss, like the moths that are inexplicably drawn to the flame that could set them ablaze and yet never seems to scorch them. We are supposed to be charmed, untouchable, and eternally strong for others. We are not meant to be subject to harrowing loss. We sacrifice our humanity and even our very souls on the dark, blood stained altar of the call gods. Is that not enough? To willingly be robbed of our empathy, to smash part of what makes us human, forever removing ourselves one small step from our fellow human beings. We reforge ourselves into sociopaths as a survival mechanism, so that we can keep you safe and maybe even save your life. Have we not paid enough?
How do I look her in the eye the next time I go off duty, handing over my radio and keys, knowing I could not save her child’s life.
I can not stop feeling guilty for not being able to save the life of her little girl.
Does she hate me for not being able to save her daughter's life? Because I hate myself for not being able to.
I can not stop being there, in the back of that ambulance trying in vain to save that young life.
For the first time in almost 20 years I could not finish a shift. I had seen too much.
Now it is almost midnight, sleep is as elusive to me as the darkness between the stars. Trying to get these thoughts out. My family sleeps in the next room, safe, warm, and alive. Tonight my sister in EMS mourns her loss, and I can do nothing for her. In a few hours the sun will come up and the world will move on, in defiance of the shattering of the compact between my brothers and sisters of EMS and our dark gods. An atrocity has been committed against the nature of reality and the earth turns blithely on indifferent to our wrong.
Sometimes the bad jokes and worse coffee are not enough, sometimes the scars on our souls are not the armor we thought they where. Sometimes our masks slip and our hearts break at our own inadequacies. Sometimes the gods throw down their javelin of tragedy with such awesome force that the very impact splits not just our hearts but our very beings. Now my sister stands impaled on that sorrow, unable to fall, unable to die, unable to rest. Pinned to the ground by that very flame we dance around every shift of our careers.
While she burns in that flame of sorrow, I feel as if I am holding the match.