He is up before the crack of dawn, preparing for the day of vast unknowns.

He may gently stabilize your grandma who has fallen down the stairs. If she’s been incontinent and vomited, he will carefully clean her up…all the while speaking to her as if she was his own respected grandma. He’ll assure that she’s as comfortable as possible, and then ask questions about her life, distracting her from her condition. When she worries, he comforts her with a promise of the best possible care.

She will get the best quality care, regardless if she’s homeless or a celebrity.

He may return to the station to start charts, and before his foot leaves the ambulance, be called to treat a dialysis patient who isn’t responsive. He treats the patient quickly and skillfully, while recognizing the loved ones panic and reassuring them simultaneously.

The patient—and loved ones alike— will receive the best quality care.

He is charting and hungry, but the next call sounds. An attempted suicide, victim is unstable and the unbearable sounds of a wounded soul escape her lips. He holds her hand and speaks gently, firmly, “Look at me. You’re going to be ok.” She grips his hand and doesn’t let go until she’s carried from the ambulance.

The patient is cared for as if she was a sister and his heart is broken with her.

Lunch is half-eaten at 3:00 pm. Breakfast was at 6:00 am.

A bullet wound. An accident or attempted murder…unknown. Careful, concise assessment and skilled care happens within seconds and while the police scene unravels.

He experiences the trauma, and yet will need to separate the needs with his emotions…until later.

The clock shows his 12hr (or 24hr or 36hr) shift is coming to an end. Late call. Car accident. He texts me to let me know dinner would not be 7:30….8:00, maybe later. The victim, dead on scene, reminds him of his son. It could be his son.

He must keep going. Famished and nauseous, he starts home and his mind is weary, yet hyper-alert, replaying all the calls of the day. Was there a better alternative care plan? Was there something more he could’ve done? Was there someone to care for the hurting when the ambulance pulled away?

Pulling into the driveway, he remains seated in his truck. Separating two lives—the transition from saving lives to meeting the needs of a family of six—it’s a tough one. Just as important, more important, but the urgency of the first flows into the demands of the next.

I serve another late dinner. He engages and laughs at the funny stories we tell about our day. There’s a sadness in his eyes…a heaviness he must yet grieve. His day is not over because the mind does not easily put down the heartaches of the day. I unpack his lunch and see food, still uneaten.

And yet, he goes on. He does what needs to be done. He gives his heart, wears compassion like a badge on his sleeve, and skillfully pours out all he’s got, with each and every need.

Skillfully caring for one patient, one loved one, one valuable human life at a time.

-A proud wife of an incredible First Responder

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