Epijunky

She was one of my first blogchildren.

She doubts herself.

She wonders if she’ll be able to handle the Big Bad Call, when or if one finally comes her way. Sometimes she obsesses about it.

She doesn’t think she knows enough.

She struggles with striking a balance between compassion and professional distance. And sometimes, she falls on the wrong side of feeling too much. Yet somehow, she still manages to do the job, no matter how much she cried or how much her hands shook as she was doing it.

She takes crap from her coworkers and past employers that she really shouldn’t. I’m constantly telling her to stand up for herself.

She calls at odd hours of the night, seeking reassurance or wanting an answer to a technical question. Sometimes she wants to talk about a particularly bad call, or a good one. And she has this maddening habit of apologizing for the contact, despite my having told her a thousand times that i don’t mind. In fact, I’m honored.

And sometimes I give her that reassurance, and tell her that she did okay. Other times, I plant my foot in her ass and tell her to suck it up and pull up her big girl panties and start acting like a medic.

And she tries to play like a badass and snarl back, hoping that will impress me. But on the Threat Scale, she ranks somewhere between garden slugs and baby ducks. She might be able to whip the Snuggle fabric softener bear, two falls out of three. Maybe.

She always seems surprised that I’ll answer my phone when I see her number on the caller ID. . She’ll IM me, and then sign out before I get a chance to respond. And sometimes she wonders why I put up with her at all.

Well, this is why.

They don’t teach that in paramedic school. Either you have it, or you don’t.