Desk Duty

Early this year I met The Lovely Helen for dinner after my Opryland shift. I remember complaining about not having a chance to change clothes (to which Helen countered, “At least I look good.”). I didn’t realize I’d wear that uniform only once more.

My July paycheck was probably my last as an EMS provider. I decided it was time to leave Opryland after I had difficulty assuming and maintaining a crouched position while treating a patient with rapid a-fib in a cramped space. I got through the call, but I realized I could no longer do my job safely. My back was holding me back.

This isn’t a sob story about disability disrupting a promising career. I’m 60. My career started when gasoline cost 30 cents a gallon. I was in grade school when Eisenhower was president. Yes, the one before Kennedy.

The baggers at my local supermarket know I’m old, not just because of the gray in my beard: This year I started getting a senior discount. I wasn’t going to sign up for that privilege until I got really old—say, 62—but then I figured it would help me save for Depends. Funny how you never really finish buying diapers.

Although I joined AARP (Almost a Retired Person) 10 years ago, I’m not retiring. I plan to stay involved in EMS by writing about it and sometimes needing it. I’ll be working from my desk—the one I’m standing at right now. Standing is more comfortable for me than sitting. I find I write better when I’m comfortable, which works against the whole struggling-writer-bares-his-soul syndrome. I’m hoping to avoid the equally compelling intoxicated-writer-bares-his-soul syndrome.

What I won’t be doing is sitting around watching TV. There’s nothing more dispiriting than daytime television. When I was a kid, daytime TV meant quiz shows and soap operas. You only watched those if you were home sick. To this day, whenever anyone mentions Guiding Light or As the World Turns, I feel sick. The Jerry Springer Show has the same effect on me, but the mechanism is different.

I’m a big fan of EMS. I’ve felt that way since my first call two decades ago. I’m sure I’ve frustrated many partners who’ve tried to convince me our jobs suck. Sometimes they do, but I’ve been happier with EMS than any of the other 11 occupations I’ve tried. Even on bad days I figured there was a chance things would get better on the next call. Often they did.

I have so many good memories of being in the field, it would be hard to choose the best. All of these would make the top 10:

I answered my first EMS call—a minor industrial accident—soon after I started volunteering in New York. I remember being encouraged by the EMT in charge to apply my first-aid training. Turns out that stuff worked on real patients. Thank you, Sally.

A year later I became an EMT. Although I was 40 and had been fairly successful in business, I don’t think I’d ever felt as proud as I did when I got my fist card in the mail. I was ready to save the world, one chief complaint at a time. My instructor had a lot to do with that enthusiasm. Thank you, Reeve.

My goal after graduating medic school 18 months later was to learn my trade in New York City. Good jobs were hard to find there, but one referral opened that door. It felt great to make the “majors.” Thank you, Paul.

My last call came a few hours after that a-fib case. The patient had a debilitating chronic condition we both knew was beyond treating. We sat and talked for 45 minutes. It was good for both of us. Thank you, my friend.

I’m sad I won’t be making new EMS memories, but I’m thankful to have come this far without screwing up too much. I always figured I was one big mistake away from notoriety. Perhaps that mentality helped me do better. Or maybe I was lucky. All I know is I won’t be tormented by what-ifs as I continue to write about life from a caregiver’s perspective.

It was worth moving out from behind a desk for 21 years, if only to work with people like you. See you next month.

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