I crave anonymity. I love to blog, and most recently, podcast… but I don’t want to have to make my “identity” known to the masses (very small ones, at that) just yet. People ask me why.

I feel like Superman, and not in the cool way. I feel like Superman, because I too, am Clark Kent- average citizen with relationship problems, love for photography, and a little bit on the geeky side. I also have a uniform that turns me into someone that is noticeable the moment I put it on. Everyone knows Superman- the big “S” on the chest may just give it away, and no one knows Clark. What a frustrating life. People always wish to be like him- the super strength, X-Ray vision, the flying, etc. But people never wish for the secrets for a reason.

Not that I feel like putting on my uniform is a secret- but it is a whole new world of responsibility. When I am in my uniform, I am no longer that geeky micro blogger kid who loves Twilight and Grey’s Anatomy a little too much. I’m the person who is going to save their baby, their mother, mend their twisted ankle, or simply give them a ride to the hospital (sadly). On duty: I am Superman in a great way. I feel good about what I do, I feel like I can fly, and start IV’s while leaping over buildings in one bound, and dodge speeding bullets… well, maybe not. I was stabbed after all so that proves that I’m not the quickest. Anyways- I don’t mind it those moments.

But it’s when I’m at the convenience store that I visit every morning, whether on shift or not, buying my morning usual of a fresh fruit cup and Dr. Pepper Icee. In my normal clothes- I am MsP… just another customer in the store with an odd eating habit. In my uniform, Superman’s proverbial cape, I am a Paramedic. People either hold the door for you, or eye you angrily. Most of the time, this anger is off balance- they probably had a family member pass away while under a Medic’s care. Not always our fault- but I can see where they come from. My aunt still blames the Medics for her husband’s death 6 years back and I can’t convince her otherwise. C’est la vie.

Off topic, I apologize. My point is that when I wear my uniform, there is a spotlight on me. Can I handle this? Yes, I have learned to. Believe it or not, there was a time in my life where I was extremely shy. It wasn’t until I was in college that my shell finally broke.

I have learned to listen patiently when in line at the grocery store check out when an old lady is telling me her symptoms and asking my advice. In my head, I’m thinking about going home and sleeping after a brutal 24 hour shift where I told a mother that there was nothing that I could do for her baby and had to comfort them once the doctor pronounced their precious child dead. But Superman would never blow off an old lady. So I smile and tell her that it sounds like she’s describing a Urinary Tract Infection and that she needs to see her physician and “no, ma’am, I can not prescribe you any medications for that but I’d be happy to give you a urologist’s number.” People in line look at me awkwardly and I smile at them, hoping that they can’t see through my rough exterior to the small and tiny girl inside.

On the other hand, when I am in Clark Kent mode, sometimes I crave to be known as Superman. Once, I rolled up to a serious MVC in my hometown. I knew that this particular curve was known to be a killer, and parking on the side I saw that it could have proven it’s name again. As I thanked the stars that I at least had a pair of gloves and a trauma bag in my car, I ran down the steep hill to the bottom of the ditch where a car laid on it’s roof. I looked around and saw an empty car seat. My heart dropped. I also noticed a lack of driver. Looking at the in tact windshield, I knew that they hadn’t been ejected through the front.

I stood up and saw a father cradling his toddler about 30 yards away, near the woods. I started talking to him calmly, asking if he had called 911. He shook his head “no,” so I pulled out my cell phone and approached him again. “Sir, I have 911 on the phone. Are you injured?” I gave the dispatcher our location and waited for his answer. He said he was fine. “How about your little boy?” I could now hear the child sniffling, obviously he had been crying, but at least I knew he was breathing. As I reached out to touch them, he pulled back. His words stung me as he said, “Who are you and what do you know about this kind of stuff. Thanks for calling for help, but I’ll let the real help check us out.” I smiled and said calmly that I was a Paramedic, I was just off shift and that if he didn’t mind I could help the medics out and let them know what to expect before they arrived. Reluctantly he nodded and I gave them a quick once over and asked a few questions. They were lucky and hadn’t attained any serious injuries that I could see. Still, this man was very uncomfortable with me for some reason and I really couldn’t get great detail from him. I told the dispatcher all that I could and hung up the phone.

Fifteen uncomfortable minutes later, the ALS crew arrived and it just so happened to be my old preceptor, Ray, and his partner working that day. I told Ray what I had rolled up on and how I had found everyone and let him get on with his assessment. The man looked up at Ray and asked if he knew me. Ray told the man that I had been his student once and “one of his best ones, at that.” The man looked at me and said to Ray, “She’s just so young. She looks like my little sister. When did they start letting babies become medics?” I watched Ray finish his assessment, he thanked me, and I stepped out of the back of the rig that I had come to know very well and looked back at the father and son. The little boy waved to me and the dad gave me a cold smile. He never thanked me, but I didn’t need that.

It was at this moment that I learned that my cape wasn’t a weight, holding me down. My cape, my uniform, makes me part of a special and interesting community. So the next time I didn’t have time to change out of my tactical pants and polo with the blue and gold shiny patch on the arm, I didn’t cower in line at the store. I stood there proud to know that even though Clark Kent could live with the secrets, I didn’t have to. I could be proud of what I do, even if it is just giving someone a ride to the hospital or holding someone’s hand who is scared.

We are medics. Our job is never easy, but if we do it with a compassion we might make someone else’s a little bit better.

Remember: “Patients don’t care what you know until they know that you care.”

Well, for now I’m stepping back into the phone booth and donning my geek glasses again for the time being. Until next time, blog world!

Clark Kent

uhm, sorry.

MsP

December 23, 2009
Categories: Uncategorized . . Author: msparamedic

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