People ask, how do you deal with all the stuff you see? Well, you just DO. My answer usually is this... for the people who die, their death means nothing to me. I didn't know them alive, so their death doesn't change my life whatsoever. It has gotten me through until now. I have an 8 year old who is deathly allergic to peanuts and almonds. We avoid all treenuts and anything that may contain a cross contamination of his allergen. A few years back, we had a teenager who died of severe asthma and had a severe allergy to dairy. We worked so hard, we got to him fast but it wasn't quick enough. There was nothing we could do. We transported him to the ER where the doctors and nurses, the RTs and anyone else could help the best they could. In the end, he died. His mother arrived during all of this and I looked at her, standing at the foot of her son's bed, watching the medical team try to save her son. Images of my own son came to the forefront of my mind. I didn't know this person, I didn't know this kid. BUT, I am a mother. I have a child who has asthma AND a severe food allergy. I personalized the call. I walked into the bathroom and broke down. I cried for her, for him and for my son. I thought, if this happens to my child, I'll be broken. The worst thing ever.
From then on, if we got dispatched to a call where there was anaphylaxis, sometimes unconsciousness, I immediately began to think the worst. The tears would well up in my eyes. My partner would say, pull yourself together, we aren't even there yet! I'd find myself doing a pep talk, taking deep breaths, anything to keep those tears from flowing over. They called us to help in their time of need. They sure didn't need a paramedic coming who was falling apart.
One of my more recent calls was for one of our "regulars". I'd dealt with this particular patient over the past 4 years or so. This last time, this patient died. In. Our. Truck. We pulled over on the side of a busy road and performed CPR, we tried all the drugs used in the ER, nothing worked. So then what happened? Well, to the morgue of course. The MORGUE. OMG, what an awful place. And it was FULL. We were taking up the last space. A coworker joked "hospital was busy this weekend". I started to think. Think about all those body bags. What and who was inside them. Mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts, uncles, brothers, fathers, grandmas, grandpas, friends. They were people. Zipped up in a body bag. With tags on their toes. I started to think of their family and friends who were grieving the loss of their loved one. I started to think of our patient who lay on our stretcher while we got the body bag ready. Their body bag. We couldn't find the toe tags. We have to move this patient off our stretcher, onto this cold metal "bed", into a plastic body bag and ZIP IT UP. I started to fall apart. My supervisor looked at me and asked if I was alright. I shook my head no and left. I left him and my partner behind in that place full of death, because I couldn't do my job.
He came out a few minutes later to talk to me and I just started bawling. How is this right, that we dehumanize someone so much by zipping them up in a plastic bag and put them to "rest" in a fridge?! I let it out for a bit, talked to him, pulled myself together and got ready for the next call.
Fast forward a month and que the hoarder house. This house smelled so bad, I could smell it from outside on the front lawn. I thought, for sure, someone was dead inside. Opening the door, I saw what looked like a scene from the tv show Hoarders. Only this was real life. After putting on a mask and spreading vicks vapo rub all over my nostrils, I took a step in. AND FROZE. The room just past the entrance way was piled about 5 ft high with junk, trash, dead stuff, you name it. Now, if there's one thing to know about me, it's that I'm TERRIFIED of frogs, snakes, rats, mice, the list goes on. There was no doubt in my mind that in this house lived many rates and probably hundreds of mice. I could not move one step further. I could hear our patient calling for help, so, I gave myself a little pep talk and looked to the ceiling... and started walking. It was the worst house I have ever been in. And I've been in a lot over my 17 year career. If you can imagine it, it was there. We called in help to extricate this patient, and after approx 30 minutes or so of me being in that house, I was saying I needed out. I needed a breather, a decompression of sorts. My requests went unheard thanks to my thick mask and I found myself "trapped" behind the patient and the team who was pulling him out. My only option was to follow as they pulled him up and over the mounds of junk in their way. So, now you may be thinking, or not, where my mind was at this point. Well, my mind was racing, I was panicking and thinking.... these mice and rats when they get run over, will scurry towards the path of least resistance, right towards ME. I had to keep focused, breathing, looking up, trying NOT to think of the critters. UNTIL I FELT ONE MOVE UNDER MY FOOT!!! At this point I could see the outside, the front door, my partner, freedom. Yet, it was beyond my reach. I froze, terrified that this critter that just moved under my foot would start to climb up me, would call all it's friends and they would start attacking... yes I've seen one too many scary movies. I could've easily walked around our patient to the outside, but then I would've had to step into that awful living room piled high. All I could think of was no, that's where the critter went. I finally said with tears in my eyes, I need out NOW. Just pull him out! they did thankfully and with that, I took a FFs hand and he helped me out. I knew my partner was with others who could help load the patient on to the stretcher, and I booked it for our ambulance. Coming up the side of the truck, I began sobbing, pulling my mask off, breathing deeply in the fresh air. That same supervisor was there again and was taken aback, startled that I was upset. He'd had no idea I was breaking. I just needed a minute to compose myself. I was safe now, I was outside. I put a new mask on and climbed in the back of the truck and continued my day, thankful I was out of there. I have vowed to myself that I will NEVER enter a home such as that again. Someone can bring that patient out to me. For days after, I would feel movement under my foot, like I'd felt in that house... only nothing was there. It has finally stopped happening.
Enter in a few more terrible calls, calls gone bad, routine calls, and calls where I just wasn't sure. It seemed as though I was finding tears coming too easily. I was asking my supervisor a question and the tears began. I started to unravel, only I didn't know it. He did though, thankfully. He took me off duty and let my coworkers tend calls while I let it all out. He knew about my personal stress, he's known me my whole paramedic career, and he's been with me on some very challenging calls. He gets it. Thankfully he saw what was happening and put things into motion. He, along with a coworker from our peer support group, and another supervisor took me aside and sat me down. As soon as I saw them I started sobbing again. They cared about my mental health. They cared enough to say, enough - you need a time out. So that's what I did. I called my EAP that night, and had an appointment booked for a few days (weekends...) and started my one month of "rest". I worried for a bit what people would think, what they'd say. I was embarrassed to even tell my family. I still haven't told my own sister. I don't talk about it much with them because I don't want to burden them. I don't want to seem weak or small. I'm a strong, independent and smart person. I can't be the one to break when I"m the one who's always strong. But I did break. I talked to my doctor, I talked to my counselor and I talked to my coworkers. I rested. And after four weeks away, I think I"m ready to go back. That's the plan anyhow.
So how does one go on? How do you go back to work, knowing what you're bound to see again, knowing that there will be more death, more heartache and more blood? How do you know you're going to be ok, that you'll be able to handle it? Well, you don't. You just do. And you talk to your coworkers, your counselor, your doctor. You take advantage of your EAP and your peer support group. Because that's what they're there for.
Monday night, I'll be thrown right back into things, like nothing has changed. But it has. I'm aware of the mental health dangers. The dangers of holding it in, of personalizing it and not talking about it. Of trying to be strong when it's ok to not be. I know that my coworkers care for me and will be there for me. I know I can do it, because I want to.
**pictures copied from google search. They are not my own and I do not take credit for them.
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