Honestly, I feel like I kind of stumbled into working for the ambulance service. It wasn’t a “calling” or even a stepping stone to another medical career, the way I watched it be for other people I worked with, who’d go on to medical school, though lots of them just became alcoholics, dying young of cancer, cynical till the end…
But no, really, for me, I learned that I had a built in talent, thanks to a childhood of neglect and violence, for being the only calm one who knew what to do in impossible situations and who, most importantly could “shut down” my emotions and go numb. I was built for this work baby!
I began working part time on a small gulf island, enjoying driving the big awkward rig and wearing a cool shirt with a badge on it and most of all, I liked being able to sit down and talk with people, who thought I was smart, kind and important. I even started believing it myself.
I was moving back to Vancouver and got into a busy station right away after calling the unit chief who told me, “Sure, we could use some more “girls” around here.” So without calling him on sexism and just being grateful for the job, I dropped into a culture of numbing out feelings, while doing the impossible. It was perfect for me.
At first doing twelve hour day shifts and fourteen hour night shifts was great. I was young and getting lots of attention for being one of the only “girls” at the time doing the job and also being able to lift the stretchers, charm the drunks, soothe the old ladies, make the children laugh and make everyone feel cared for, except myself.
We’d either get a call when we were in the ambulance or when we were at the station when the “hot line” rang and dispatch would tell us where to go and what kind of call it was, “routine” or “code three” which was lights and sirens. My favorite!
My nervous system was primed for the familiar fight or flight of emergency calls. Immediately my mouth would go dry, sweat would drip down my sides, my heart pounded and hey! It was just like old times, just like growing up having to defend myself from the violence and abuse at home, just like surviving on the streets when I was a teen…my nervous system knew exactly what to do, get going and go numb.
Driving home from a shift, usually too fast, like I was still in the ambulance, I’d often get pulled over for speeding, then when the cop saw my uniform I’d get the same line, “Hey, slow down eh? You wanna get home in one piece.”
So I’d have a shower, sit down and drink beer or wine to unwind, try to eat and then the phone would ring…
And because my nervous system was so well trained, so used to coping, so used to reacting and defending at any cost, my mouth went dry, sweat dripped down my sides, heart pounding…Yet, I was at home. No one to save here. Just me. And that’s when I started to realize that maybe I was good at my job but maybe I might not be well enough to do that job…
But did I quit? Not for another thirteen years or so…But that’s another story. For now I’ll just say that I learned a lot about how trauma is the most amazing teacher if we pay attention to the lessons. And nothing is all one way or another. I know I was good at my job as a paramedic and inside the trauma and hurt is humility and caring, but caring for ourselves is first, so we are well enough to do the job of caring for others. Still working on that one. It’s a lifelong learning.