ACHILLES' BRAIN
Greek mythology is full of lore that remains metaphorically as relavent today as when it was current; so much so that its cultural referencing is probably second only to the Bible, and maybe Harry Potter depending on who you ask. Many of the great heroes and fools are used so often that they have their own adjectives: hurculean, sisyphean and so forth. Every pretty face we see could launch a thousand ship, and one pretty face in particular, Pandora, brings out the problem with this lazy language. She was made by Zeus as a punishment to man, invested with horribly lovely gifts from every god so that her wonder took hold of gods and men alike when they saw her. And while it is true that she was filled with the curiosty that unleased innumerable sorrows upon the earth, she is also the giver of hope, the most forgotten gift of her nature. Without the whole story, she, the gods and the rest of mankind are little more than shadows.
Another, better example is Achilles and his tender heel. He is oft remembered for the single point of vulnerability on his body, and as frequently forgotten for being the most tragic of heroes of the Trojan War. Achilles was a conflicted chieftain who wrought vengence on his sworn enemy only to relent to the slain man's father and halt the fighting so he could be mourned. He travelled between rage and remorse not from indecision, but from compassion even in the face of his own fated mortality. There was a place in Achilles' heart, not his heel, that was softer still and more vulnerable to the things he couldn't fight because he could not imagine them in the first place.
In all of us is something, simply called gumption, that keeps our forward momentum through soft grass and briars alike. But deeper is a soft part that we let no one see because we do not see it ourselves. This dark place is held behind a lock whose key we do not have and do not know. It is only undone by another and when opened, like Pandora's box, unleashes sorrow we cannot conquer because we did not know it was possible.
Caring for the sick and injured can be like this. Choosing to heal often means choosing to hurt some of the time as you share another's pain and grief for a short time. This is part of the job and part of the bargain. What none of us sign up for are the atrocities that derail rational thought and threaten in a flash to push us from competent to fetal, or worse. We never know what we will encounter that will open that lid, because it is different for everyone. For some, it is simple and grotesque as a mangled body. For others, it is more visceral, like the bite marks left on a small body by the one trusted to care for her. Whatever the trigger, what separates the good from the great is the knowledge that no matter what you just saw, you have to push forward regardless of the mark that it will leave on you.
A favorite quote of mine is "Everything worth knowing leaves bruises". In the dark places, the bruises are deeper and last longer, and they leave an enduring soreness of spirit which is not easily forgotten. But they also toughen the skin they wound, helping us to heal and to keep healing those who cannot do what we do because they do not see as we see.
HANDS OF FATE
"Cradled by the hands of fate the faith that sometimes wraps around too tight - so tight" Train "Free"
A Google search of "hands quotes" returns about 20 million results, most of which refer to things we hold in our hands. We can hold our future, love, another's heart, fear, a weapon...the list is endless. But what of the hands themselves? In the lines and creases and veins live the words of each of our stories; words that cannot lie or embelish or hide the deeds that bore them. These are the words, more than the ones we speak, that speak what we are.
Like many, my hands are vital to what I do to live and for a living. Without their strenght and sensitivity, I could no more be a paramedic than I could fly without mechanical wings. But my livelihood is only the smallest fragment of what my, or your, hands know.
More of what I've learned can be attributed to putting my hands where they didn't belong rather than where they did, and that's OK because, right or wrong, they have been in some pretty amazing places, and some equally dark ones. But I am defined by these places and the marks they have left on my hands. There are scars from a childhood accident I don't remember and more recent ones I remember all too well. My fingers know of unzipping a dress and helping it to the floor; they know of zipping countless body bags and lifting them away. My hands have reached into my son's crib to lift him from his nap; and a dozen other cribs to carry away those who will not wake. My cold hands have found warmth in many places, just and unjust; and have spread their own warmth of better days to those in need. My hand has cut the cord, cut ties, shook hands over a promise and acted to break one. My fingertips hold memories my brain has pushed away, only revelaing these reminded places when they find them again, reminding me that the words are on my skin, in my veins and on every other hand that I touch.
A good friend of mine always talks about the details in everything we do. She believes, as I do, that the most important intricacies are found in the places most people don't care to look. Often these places are the hands, ours and others. Many would say that scarred and calloused hands are imperect and need to be fixed. For them, I am sorry for it these hands that fix things, and it is in these places, this character, these words, that human perfection lies.
Do good things, learn something, and be safe.
"Cradled by the hands of fate the faith that sometimes wraps around too tight - so tight" Train "Free"
A Google search of "hands quotes" returns about 20 million results, most of which refer to things we hold in our hands. We can hold our future, love, another's heart, fear, a weapon...the list is endless. But what of the hands themselves? In the lines and creases and veins live the words of each of our stories; words that cannot lie or embelish or hide the deeds that bore them. These are the words, more than the ones we speak, that speak what we are.
Like many, my hands are vital to what I do to live and for a living. Without their strenght and sensitivity, I could no more be a paramedic than I could fly without mechanical wings. But my livelihood is only the smallest fragment of what my, or your, hands know.
More of what I've learned can be attributed to putting my hands where they didn't belong rather than where they did, and that's OK because, right or wrong, they have been in some pretty amazing places, and some equally dark ones. But I am defined by these places and the marks they have left on my hands. There are scars from a childhood accident I don't remember and more recent ones I remember all too well. My fingers know of unzipping a dress and helping it to the floor; they know of zipping countless body bags and lifting them away. My hands have reached into my son's crib to lift him from his nap; and a dozen other cribs to carry away those who will not wake. My cold hands have found warmth in many places, just and unjust; and have spread their own warmth of better days to those in need. My hand has cut the cord, cut ties, shook hands over a promise and acted to break one. My fingertips hold memories my brain has pushed away, only revelaing these reminded places when they find them again, reminding me that the words are on my skin, in my veins and on every other hand that I touch.
A good friend of mine always talks about the details in everything we do. She believes, as I do, that the most important intricacies are found in the places most people don't care to look. Often these places are the hands, ours and others. Many would say that scarred and calloused hands are imperect and need to be fixed. For them, I am sorry for it these hands that fix things, and it is in these places, this character, these words, that human perfection lies.
Do good things, learn something, and be safe.
CLARITY
Coming out of paramedic school, I was unwittingly handicapped by two unfortunate notions; #1-I knew everything and, #2-I really could save them all. #2 rather depends on #1, and #1 is always the first to go. I have a very clear memory of the day both notions died, and it remains one of the most transformative days in my career, if not my life.
Less than six months had passed since graduation to this beautiful, sunny autumn day when we were dispatched to a medical alarm activation. Well over 90% of this type of call results from an accidental activation, so it is fair to say that even exuberance of youth could not help me find much urgency. My partner and I approached the scene with local first responders in front of us. As we turned down the long driveway to the reported address, the dispatcher calls to tell us that infant CPR is in progress at that location.
Oh, there's my urgency. And my stomach.
Let me stop here for a moment to say that this would not be my first time doing CPR on a baby and, I'm sad to say, would not be my last. But this would be the first time I was the only paramedic.
I leapt from the ambulance and ran for the front door, passing the first responders in their church clothes gathering equipment from their truck. Bursting through the door, I saw something I would not realize the sadness of for many years. A man of about 30 performing CPR, incorrectly I would add, on his lifeless baby boy. From the baby's dusky torso ran wires to a monitoring device which connected to a help center very much like the medical alert buttons we've all seen on TV. This one; however, was not for an aging grandmother trying to keep her independence, but for a six week old baby at risk for SIDS. I asked the father what happened while scooping his child from the table in a single fluid motion and carried him like a football towards the ambulance. I passed the first responders standing on the porch holding I believe every bag, case and gadget from their truck. Without breaking stride, I yelled at one of them to come drive and bounded into the back of the
ambulance where my partner was waiting.
All the specifics escape me of that trip to the hospital except the sun streaming in the windows of the truck to illuminate the absolute horror in front of me.
The hospital staff worked as diligently and unfortunately, as vainly as we had, and it was done. A few minutes later I was sitting on the bumper of my truck trying to organize the thoughts in my head to put on the run report when I heard the ER doors being knocked off the hinges from the inside by the father of the now deceased infant. His anger, certainly misdirected, was justified and sought only a target. Being the 22 year old kid who had held his child for the last time made me the natural choice, and even through the arrogance of youth I saw that. In the moments between the unhinging and a superbly executed tackle by hospital security, I found clarity.
Webster's defines clarity as "the quality or state of being clear", and everyone seeks clarity in their own fashion. Many find clarity of purpose through intense self-purification, while others look for God through the 'clarity' given them by
mind-altering drugs. Conversely, those in the grip of addiction may find their way out through lucid periods often referred to as moments of clarity.
My own clarity came from knowing I was about to take a punch meant for Death himself, and knowing that the man I was only an hour before would have hit back. There is really no way to quantify how much I grew in that awful spin of the clock, but it was enough to know that whatever was about to happen, it wasn't about me at all.
This moment of clarity allowed me to let go of the aforementioned ideas and find two new ones which I carry with me still today. #1-the majority of learning lies in front of me rather than behind, and 2- in terms of saving lives, the L's will always outnumber the W's. Sometimes people just die and, at particularly grisly times, they are babies and it is my job not to interrupt or intervene but to learn and grow and, sometimes, to take it on the chin. Since that day I have held quite a few babies in the moments preceding and following their deaths, and I'm continually amazed how well I remember a face I only saw once for an hour.
American businessman Thomas Leonard said "Clarity affords focus", and I believe it is our job to focus not on the loss, but the wisdom gained from understanding your place in the natural order.
Then, all will be clear.
Do good things with the week to come, learn something new and be safe.
Coming out of paramedic school, I was unwittingly handicapped by two unfortunate notions; #1-I knew everything and, #2-I really could save them all. #2 rather depends on #1, and #1 is always the first to go. I have a very clear memory of the day both notions died, and it remains one of the most transformative days in my career, if not my life.
Less than six months had passed since graduation to this beautiful, sunny autumn day when we were dispatched to a medical alarm activation. Well over 90% of this type of call results from an accidental activation, so it is fair to say that even exuberance of youth could not help me find much urgency. My partner and I approached the scene with local first responders in front of us. As we turned down the long driveway to the reported address, the dispatcher calls to tell us that infant CPR is in progress at that location.
Oh, there's my urgency. And my stomach.
Let me stop here for a moment to say that this would not be my first time doing CPR on a baby and, I'm sad to say, would not be my last. But this would be the first time I was the only paramedic.
I leapt from the ambulance and ran for the front door, passing the first responders in their church clothes gathering equipment from their truck. Bursting through the door, I saw something I would not realize the sadness of for many years. A man of about 30 performing CPR, incorrectly I would add, on his lifeless baby boy. From the baby's dusky torso ran wires to a monitoring device which connected to a help center very much like the medical alert buttons we've all seen on TV. This one; however, was not for an aging grandmother trying to keep her independence, but for a six week old baby at risk for SIDS. I asked the father what happened while scooping his child from the table in a single fluid motion and carried him like a football towards the ambulance. I passed the first responders standing on the porch holding I believe every bag, case and gadget from their truck. Without breaking stride, I yelled at one of them to come drive and bounded into the back of the
ambulance where my partner was waiting.
All the specifics escape me of that trip to the hospital except the sun streaming in the windows of the truck to illuminate the absolute horror in front of me.
The hospital staff worked as diligently and unfortunately, as vainly as we had, and it was done. A few minutes later I was sitting on the bumper of my truck trying to organize the thoughts in my head to put on the run report when I heard the ER doors being knocked off the hinges from the inside by the father of the now deceased infant. His anger, certainly misdirected, was justified and sought only a target. Being the 22 year old kid who had held his child for the last time made me the natural choice, and even through the arrogance of youth I saw that. In the moments between the unhinging and a superbly executed tackle by hospital security, I found clarity.
Webster's defines clarity as "the quality or state of being clear", and everyone seeks clarity in their own fashion. Many find clarity of purpose through intense self-purification, while others look for God through the 'clarity' given them by
mind-altering drugs. Conversely, those in the grip of addiction may find their way out through lucid periods often referred to as moments of clarity.
My own clarity came from knowing I was about to take a punch meant for Death himself, and knowing that the man I was only an hour before would have hit back. There is really no way to quantify how much I grew in that awful spin of the clock, but it was enough to know that whatever was about to happen, it wasn't about me at all.
This moment of clarity allowed me to let go of the aforementioned ideas and find two new ones which I carry with me still today. #1-the majority of learning lies in front of me rather than behind, and 2- in terms of saving lives, the L's will always outnumber the W's. Sometimes people just die and, at particularly grisly times, they are babies and it is my job not to interrupt or intervene but to learn and grow and, sometimes, to take it on the chin. Since that day I have held quite a few babies in the moments preceding and following their deaths, and I'm continually amazed how well I remember a face I only saw once for an hour.
American businessman Thomas Leonard said "Clarity affords focus", and I believe it is our job to focus not on the loss, but the wisdom gained from understanding your place in the natural order.
Then, all will be clear.
Do good things with the week to come, learn something new and be safe.
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