Every person will experience at least one major moment in their lives that will leave an indelible mark on them forever. It will inevitably change a part of who they are. What was that one moment? A childhood crush that checked the “No” box on the note passed at recess? Or did they check the “Yes” box? Did that lead to a walk down the aisle many years later?
As we get older, the moments become more significant or perhaps even life altering. Was it the moment that a full-ride scholarship to a University was achieved? Or was it becoming Prom Queen? (Both weren’t too shabby!) Then there are the momentous decisions of marriage, children…or just cats (Don’t judge! I ended up getting some dogs, too!)
One never knows when something will rock them to their core. I certainly never expected my life (yes, you read that correctly) to change that one night. First, allow me to give you a brief peek into who I was… I have always been the girl to follow all the rules. I never wanted to disappoint my parents (That came a bit later…please refer to “About Me” story.). I adored my grandparents. In fact, all of my favorite memories somehow revolved around spending time with them. I loved animals…all animals (ok, maybe not spiders and snakes). I have always had a soft spot for elderly people. I always think of my grandparents and how I would want someone to treat them, and that is how I strive to act. All in all, my parents raised three pretty good kids.
So, sit back, relax, and take a trip down memory lane with me. I will tell you a story that explains a little bit about who I am today.
Like most of these stories, this one takes place at the early onset of my career. I was a “seasoned” paramedic of about 8 months when “that shift” happened. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that night. It wasn’t Friday the 13th, it wasn’t a full moon, but I woke up with a feeling of dread. I couldn’t put my finger on why, though. Even with my nerves wound tighter than a drum, I was feeling particularly cute as I walked into Headquarters with a baseball cap on (hair in a bun sticking out the back); neutral makeup artfully applied; sweatshirt tied around my waist. I was starting to have the look of a “seasoned” paramedic. No ironed uniform here…but my Dr. Martens were nice and polished.
I headed straight for my rig. I hopped into the back of the ambulance and hoped that the routine of checking out my rig would settle me down. Nope. I finished my task, and hopped up front. I keyed the mic, and put us in service as my partner pulled out of the garage. Dispatch sent us on an MVA with only minor injuries involved. The next call was a frequent flyer that smelled like a distillery. To the hospital we went without incident. Ok…perhaps I had been overreacting earlier.
BEEP. BEEP. Unit 121 respond non-emergency to 10th and Bristol. Patient is being transported to Brookwood Manor for hospice. No equipment needed. “Unit 121 responding.”
I figured a transfer would keep the night flowing along without incident! We pulled up on scene. The home was a beautiful, older, two-story stone house with a wrap-around front porch. The yard was immaculately kept with a variety of rose bushes lining the wrought iron fence. We brought the cot up to the front door, and just as I was about to ring the doorbell, a well-dressed gentleman opened the door. He introduced himself as Mr. Brown, a family friend and the DPOA (Durable Power of Attorney). Mr. Brown explained that our patient had terminal throat cancer, and we would be taking her to the nursing home for hospice care.
He led us into the next room where our patient was lying on the couch. Ms. Gertie. She was 80 years old and barely bigger than a child. She was skin and bones under the clothes that hung off her frame and the blanket that seemed to swallow her. I introduced myself, and told her that we would be taking her in the ambulance. For some reason, I could not make myself say that we would be taking her to the nursing home. She nodded, and asked if we could make sure to grab her one small bag.
Mr. Brown told Ms. Gertie that she would have to say good-bye to her dog. I hadn’t noticed the little ball of fur partially sticking out of the blanket until that moment. She called the dog up to her lap, and put her hand under the white furry chin. “I love you, my girl. You take good care of Bobby for me. I will see you in Heaven.” She looked at me, and told me that she has had her “Twinkle” for 14 years. I had to turn away. My heart broke for both owner and pet. What were they going to do without each other?
Just as my partner was reaching for the patient’s bag, a man walked through the swinging door from the kitchen area. The DPOA advised us that this man was Ms. Gertie’s son. He appeared to be about 50 years old, but when he spoke, he sounded like a boy. Mr. Brown told us that Ms. Gertie’s son “was a bit like Forrest Gump” (yes, that’s what he said!), and she had been taking care of him his whole life. “Bobby, come and say good-bye to your mother.”
Oh. Mother. Of. God…. I stood rooted to the same spot. I watched as the man/boy walked over to his mother. She patted the couch next to her, and he sat down. She put her hands on either side of his face. “Mama, where are you going? I don’t want you to go,” he told her.
“My sweet boy, my time on earth is done. I have raised a good son. Do not worry. And I will save you a place in Heaven.” She kissed his cheek. He stood up and shuffled awkwardly over to the doorway. I hadn’t realized that I was crying, tears streaming down my face, until Mr. Brown handed me a tissue. I turned away, embarrassed. He assured me that it meant a lot to them that they had a crew there that was caring and “feeling” (My partner had been clearing his throat, and turning away to wipe his nose.).
We situated Ms. Gertie on the cot, and wrapped her blanket around her to keep her warm and toasty. We started off for the nursing home, and she asked if she could hold my hand on the way. I held her hand as she told me all about her husband “that was waiting for her in Heaven”. She talked about her son and how much she loved him. She talked about death, and how she was not afraid to die. I never let go of her hand.
When we arrived at the nursing facility, we got her settled in her bed. I straightened the sheets several times. I wrapped her blanket around her. I asked her if she needed any water, or anything else. I was so reluctant to leave her. My heart felt heavy…it was like I was losing a loved one. She grabbed my hand one last time. “You go now. I will be fine. And I will save you a place in Heaven, too.”
I walked out crying (Heck, I have been crying while typing this.). Every time I have told this story over the years, I have the same reaction…waterworks! Some First Responders will tell you that they are forever changed by the horrors that we see on the job, but my “trigger” is the elderly. I know it is because I think of my own grandparents, and my wonderful memories of them. It ties in to Rule #4: Don’t Put a Life to the Dead…but I tied my memories to the living.
(What Are PTSD Triggers? By Mary Jo DiLonardo Medically Reviewed by Smitha Bhandari, MD on May 15, 2021 “Certain triggers can set off your PTSD. They bring back strong memories. You may feel like you’re living through it all over again. Triggers can include sights, sounds, smells, or thoughts that remind you of the traumatic event in some way.”)
https://www.webmd.com/mental-health/what-are-ptsd-triggers#:~:text=What%20Are%20PTSD,May%2015%2C%202021
