I’m a New Medic. And I’m Scared to Death

On day one of recruit school my training captain asked us to write down three things we wanted to accomplish during our time in fire/EMS. The goal was not only to get us excited, but to get us thinking about potential avenues we wanted to explore down the line.

I remember a lot of talk about technical rescue, the fire marshal’s office, hazmat, being an engineer, being an officer, on and on. But there was only one job I was interested in: being a paramedic.

After graduating from recruit school I worked tirelessly to check this goal off my list. I applied to multiple paramedic programs, took loads of prerequisite classes, practiced IV skills, taught myself how to read 12-lead EKGs, the whole nine yards. This past fall, after almost four long years of waiting, I finally got the call. I'd been accepted into paramedic school.

I was on cloud nine for weeks on end following my acceptance. In less than a year's time I would have it all. I would be the very thing I’d dreamed of since day one.

I spent the next six months drinking three textbooks’ worth of material through a fire hose. I learned anatomy, physiology, drip rates, drug dosages, ACLS algorithms, trauma protocols, the whole shebang. Despite the long nights, exhausting clinicals, and constant stress, I got through it all with a smile on my face and a heart full of optimism that I would pass all of my exams and come out as the big bad medic I‘d always dreamed of being.

Everything changed the day I officially became a certified paramedic. I remember the moment very clearly—opening my mailbox, seeing my name with “NRP” printed next to it, and feeling a sudden wave of anxiety crashing over me.

I don’t know why it didn’t hit me sooner. Why didn’t I recognize the sheer magnitude of it the moment I pushed my first dose of ketamine? Why didn’t I realize the intensity of it when I intubated my first patient? Why didn’t I fear the road ahead when I called my first time of death?

When it finally did hit, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

For weeks this feeling haunted me. Anxiety, inadequacy, ineptitude, being an imposter. Though I knew the material backward and forward, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t cut out to be a paramedic, that I was going to kill every patient, and that I was a ticking time bomb.

I remember lying in bed on multiple nights, obsessing over when I would be faced with my first multisystem trauma, my first shooting, or my first pediatric cardiac arrest. I dreaded coming into work every day knowing that today might be the day I kill someone. Though I knew I was more than proficient in my skills and knowledge, I couldn’t ignore the fact that I was ultimately on my own. That if things went south, it would all be my fault.

In spite of the paralyzing fear I have continued moving forward. Day by day I get a little more confident and a little more comfortable. Though I’m still very much scared of my own shadow, and of a STEMI alert on every hint of elevation I see, I am making progress. I am learning that being a good paramedic does not mean being perfect. As anyone who’s worked in EMS for more than five minutes knows, there is nothing perfect about this job.

My advice to all the new medics out there: Stay the course, keep pushing forward, and have faith in yourself. Though it might not feel like it now, you’re better off than you think you are, and things will eventually get better. The job will slow down and you will find your groove.

Stay safe everyone, and watch your six.

Kevin Freier is a career firefighter/paramedic with Albemarle County Fire Rescue in Central Virginia.