All by Anna Ryan
We’ve all been in those classes where we phone it in. Someone is going to stand in front of the class, power point slides glowing behind them, and preach about a topic we haven’t heard about since our initial classes. The slides will be lightly animated, maybe there will be a video clip that highlights the point of the lecture (like salt makes sugar taste a little sweeter but in a weird way), and the bullet points will be read out word for word. You don’t even have to make the effort to read. Someone in the back of the room is balancing a checkbook, the co-worker who has been there for 20+ years is knitting a baby blanket, the rest are on their phones in a group chat trying to figure out where to go and get a drink at lunch. The class is required, and man does it feel that way.
“We could fist fight in the parking lot of a “coffee with an officer” event and then wonder why no one takes us seriously…”
My entire EMT class was a blur. The lessons were quick, the skills stations were chaotic, we had two chances to pass a test and if you didn’t pull off that magical 70% you were out! Go sell shoes! You don’t belong here with the road dogs. You’re not part of the elite. Before I knew it, 3 months had gone by and I was ready to sling and swath with the best of them. I was going to save lives, snatch grandma from the jagged jaws of death with nothing but a non-re breather and tube of glucose; I. WAS. READY.
We’ve all had that call come across from dispatch that you know from the start is an overdose. “Man in car in abandoned parking lot, unresponsive and possibly not breathing.” The opioid crisis being what it is, the likelihood that we will be responding to a patient who has had just this side of too much is more likely than not. We go screaming down the boulevard, lights and sirens, and dispatch comes back and tells us that one Narcan has been deployed. Great!