It’s dark outside, although the clock reads just past six. Outside the narrow hospital windows, the sodium lamps in the parking lot glow yellow through the fog. My partner Seth Barnes has a new baby in the NICU, and we’re hiding out there, cooing over his little girl as we try to duck the inevitable call for yet another drunk. It’s Christmas Eve, for pity’s sake. You’d think people would go a little easier on the eggnog. Wishful thinking, of course. The good citizens in our response district are wont to partake of a bit much holiday cheer this time of year, and their eggnog is a usually a little light on the egg. And the nog. In fact, it looks and smells a lot like Boone’s Farm or Mad Dog 20/20, but there’s no doubt it’s quite a festive libation. The last patient sang carols to us all the way to the hospital, in fact; a lively holiday medley of “silent nights and holy muhfuckin’ nights and God rest ye merry gentlemen cuz I’m gonna sue all you sonsabitches…” … and apparently there are more out there who can’t wait to spread some holiday cheer to the staff at the local ER, because Podunk Ambulance has called us twice on the radio, asking when we’d be back in service. “We’re out of service for OSHA cleanup,” I lie. “My rig is a mess. We’ll let you know when we’re ready to go.” I wink at Seth and his wife as he rocks his little girl. “We may get to bring her home tomorrow,” Seth whispers. “Some Christmas present, huh?” I nod and look pointedly at the clock on the wall. “I know,” Seth sighs. “We gotta go.” “Sorry Melissa,” I apologize as he hands the baby over. “There are little old ladies out there who have fallen and can’t get up.” She says nothing, just smiles and hugs Seth with one arm. Later that night, we get called to stand by while the local police deal with a hostage situation. Seth parks the rig on a side street several blocks away, turns off the lights and settles back into his seat. After a while, he turns to me and asks, “How long you been a medic, AD?” “Fifteen years,” I sigh. “It feels like more. It seems like I’ve always been a paramedic.” “What did you do before you got into this line of work?” Seth asks curiously. “I was a professional retriever trainer, if you can believe that,” I laugh. “Some switch, huh?” “I’ll say,” Seth chuckles. “What keeps you doing it?” “The great pay and the chicks, of course,” I say, deadpan. Seth just frowns. “Come on man, I’m serious,” he says. “I mean, here we are sitting in the dark on Christmas Eve, waiting for some guy to either shoot someone or get shot by the cops. Today an alcoholic nearly puked blood on us. You deal with drunks and derelicts and drug users. You pull broken bodies out of wrecks. You do boring transfers, shuttling little old folks back and forth between the hospital and the nursing homes. How do you do it without getting burned out?” “Why are you a cop?” I retort. “You see most of the same things, and you just took an EMT class. Why do you do it?” He pauses, reflecting. “I guess I just want to help people. But I’ve only been a deputy for two years. I haven’t even taken my EMT exam yet. But you’ve been a medic for ten years. So stop avoiding the question.” I stay silent for a while, unsure how to answer. Why do I do it? Not for the money, certainly. I make good money for a paramedic, but it’s hardly what I’d make as a nurse or physician’s assistant. I dropped out of college, and I keep finding excuses why I can’t go back. So why do I do it? “I’ve been burned out,” I begin, not sure of what I intend to say. “Maybe six years ago. The job just wasn’t fun any more. I didn’t feel appreciated, I wasn’t getting paid much, and I didn’t feel as if I made a difference. I took some time off, and I got over it.” “How?” Seth presses, unsatisfied by my answer. “I figured out that I don’t save lives,” I explain. “Sometimes I get lucky, and we resuscitate someone successfully. Mainly it’s luck and good timing”. “I came to realize that what we do isn’t life saving. My job isn’t about blood and guts. It’s about helping people just like you do as a deputy. Your job isn’t all car chases and armed standoffs. You may go your entire career and never fire your weapon. There’s more to it than the adrenaline rush.” I look at Seth and see that he still doesn’t get it. “Look, two weeks ago I delivered a baby in the middle of the ice storm. It wasn’t fun. The fun part was seeing the mother’s face after I handed her the kid.” “Two days ago, I took an old lady to the clinic for wound care on her bedsores. They stunk, Seth. She stunk, and she knew it. But I cracked a joke or two, made fun of her nurses, and I made her laugh. I held her hand on the way to the clinic, and she smiled at me when I dropped her off.” “I started an IV on a six-year-old kid yesterday, and he didn’t even cry. He was more scared of the needle than his broken arm, but I talked him through the stick, and he figured out that the needle wasn’t so bad.” “We picked up a combative Alzheimer’s patient this morning, and the nurses were sure we’d have to restrain her, that she’d fight us. We talked to her for a bit, and she went with us without a fuss. We earned her trust.” “Today I got to teach you something. That’s why I do it, for stuff like that.” “And what about the ones without happy endings?” Seth asks darkly. “What about the ones that you can’t do anything for – the ones that die?” “Well, you remind yourself that it isn’t your disease,” I answer. “You do the best you can. And you don’t let the things you see harden your heart.” “Base to all units, stand down,” the radio crackles. “Repeat, stand down. Suspect is in custody. Channel is cleared for non-emergency traffic.” Seth grunts in surprise and flips on the headlights. “But that stuff will just eat you up,” he protests as we drive back to our station. “I didn’t say let it eat you up, Seth. I said don’t let it harden you. You know those big, tough Paramedics that don’t let anything bother them? They never last, or they stick around but nobody wants to work with them. They never cry, but they forget how to smile, too.” “Keep looking for the good stuff,” I advise. “You can always find something good, if you just take the time to look.” Just then the radio crackles, and an anonymous voice floats over the airwaves:
“And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord… Merry Christmas, everybody.”
The radio clicks again and again as units around the parish key their microphones in response. I look at my watch. It’s just past midnight. The dispatcher transmits a moment later, adding only a quiet “Amen.”
“See what I mean?” I smile. “Merry Christmas, partner.”
