My Heroes

I have it easy.

I’m a paramedic in name only, retired from the field, writing about EMS instead of doing it.

I spend most days at home organizing my thoughts, polishing some of them and sharing the most marketable, risking nothing except my pride. It isn’t a stressful life.

It’s been a while since I took ownership of a stranger’s emergency. Some of what I saw made me lose faith. Now I urge others not to lose theirs. That must sound hollow, like a nonsmoker telling a smoker to quit. I hope my writing is better than that.

I don’t wake to irritating alarms minutes after falling asleep, then respond to ambiguous complaints at unfamiliar scenes that won’t become safe simply by declaring them so. In the middle-class suburban space I occupy, there are no weapons I don’t know about.

I don’t have to distinguish potentially critical cases from routine, less-than-emergent ones based on subtle clues even ERs miss. And I won’t be pushing drugs that are also poisons anytime soon. It’s easy to do no harm when you treat no patients.

I don’t arrive at hospitals that are filled beyond capacity, finish paperwork that’s rarely as accurate as it should be, then try to remove invisible pathogens from ambulances that get recontaminated hourly.

I don’t fight fatigue to maintain confidence and competence in a mission-critical profession—not anymore. I’m usually well rested and stay alert without caffeine boluses. And I take bathroom breaks according to need instead of opportunity, the way normal people do.

I’ve never answered COVID calls, wondering whether I’ll be a vector or a victim while suppressing the notion that I didn’t sign up for any of this. I haven’t worked while wearing cumbersome PPE that would make me look like an extra in a ’50s sci-fi flick. When I used to get home after my shift, a shower and change of clothes could wait until I’d reconnected with the family.

Part of me wishes I was there with you—back in the field, sharing whatever comes. Part of me is glad I’m not. At 68 I’d find it hard to keep up. Twenty years of 9-1-1 left me with physical issues we’d both find hard to ignore. That’s probably why I keep getting rejected, even as a volunteer. Be careful out there; we’re all just a few lazy lifts from irrelevance.

I am mostly healthy, though. When that changes, I know I’ll be grateful for experienced, conscientious caregivers like you who’ll help me. You won’t have to worry about me taking you for granted. And despite my inquisitive nature, I won’t second-guess you. I won’t even try to impress you. Most of what I’ve done in EMS happened long ago in a world far less complicated than today’s. I’d need coaching just to ride with you, what with all the automated assessment and double-protected pointy things on modern rigs. Heck, I hardly ever wore gloves when I was working. As for documentation, this would be a good time to admit I’ve never completed an ePCR. Are you really expected to document everything as it happens?

If I had to climb aboard an ambulance and do what you do, I’m not sure I could get out of my own way, which is one reason I admire your adaptability. It’s harder to be a medic or an EMT now than it was in 1993. You need more hours of training and are increasingly tasked with filling the gap between prehospital care and doctor stuff. For that you’re paid not much more than I was 10 years ago, in dollars 20% less valuable.

Some of your patients don’t believe COVID exists or that vaccines are a matter of public health, but I know that won’t keep you from responding. To dwell on misinformation would merely perpetuate an interminable debate and overshadow your efforts. I’d rather emphasize the lives you risk: your own. The word for people who do that is heroes. It’s overused, but not here.

EMS is in my family. EMS is in my blood. I may have forgotten how to secure a Hare traction splint or simulate a 12-lead EKG with an old Lifepak 10, but I do remember what it takes to excel in our industry: determination, reliability, and when it matters most, courage. You have those qualities. You are my heroes.

Mike Rubin is a paramedic in Nashville and a member of EMS World’s editorial advisory board. Contact him at mgr22@prodigy.net.