The Accident Of Emergency Medical Technician

As my car climbed the hill, my heart sunk into my stomach. I parked as far away from my friends as I could and quickly exited the car, not once looking at them. Now it was every man for himself. Emerging into the open air, I suddenly became aware of myself. I could feel my puffy, blood-shot eyes. My palms became slimy. My fingers clinched into a fist and my nails dug into my skin. My sight blurred and my tunnel of vision tried to focus on the front door. Every step seemed more awkward than the last. Eyes pierced me from all sides. I felt naked. My body trembled like a sheep in the midst of wolves.

I kept my eyes closed shut on the way in. I held my breath as If I were going diving, but I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I knew I had to stay still or else, so I peeked and I saw the red light. It was beaming down on my chest, as I lay there, hopeless as the bed shifted side to side. The only thing that came to mind was the panic button, a grey clicker with a large red button. Yet, all I could think of is if I pressed it, I would have to start all over.

Clipboard and stethoscope in hand, I walked toward the double doors that flashed emergency in bright red letters above. It was my first clinical shift as an EMT student, and first day jitters flittered around in my stomach, I had no idea what to expect. However, I was not expecting to witness the fragility of life. About a half an hour into my shift the rapid response alarm blared through the emergency room. I turned to my preceptor and quizzically asked what this meant. “A rapid response is a patient who is in need of immediate medical care and intervention. As an EMT who is part of the rapid response team you will be expected to assist with vitals and chest compressions. Let’s head toward the recess room, and I’ll explain more there.” Eventually, we reached the recess room, and the rapid response team was already there preparing for the arrival of the patient. A nurse was on the phone with the firefighters that were bringing the patient in. Seconds later she announced “It’s a STEMI”. Then fright ran through my veins. A STEMI is medical jargon for a segment elevation on an EKG. In other words the patient’s coronary artery is completely occluded. The patient is suffering from a heart attack. Prior to this, I had never seen someone who was having a heart attack. However, the thing that terrified me the most was that I knew I would be expected to perform chest compressions. I had only ever performed chest compressions on a dummy.

Uncle Jake and Aunt Leah were playing golf last week. On the sixth hole, Jake told Leah that he was having unusual pain in his left arm and chest. All of a sudden he felt weak and complained that his shirt was much too tight. A dentist playing one hole behind them examined Jake and found he was short of breath, pale, and sweating. He called 911 on his cell phone and told Jake to lie down and wait for the ambulance. The paramedics rushed Jake to the hospital where he was evaluated by a cardiologist. The tests showed that he had four clogged arteries. He was scheduled for surgery the next day.

The clock struck 3am; I jolted out of bed. Normally, I would be fast asleep dreaming about what I was going to awake to cooking on the stove, but this night was different. An immense pain struck me, so strong I couldn't bear to lie back down. The look of confusion and terror on my face must have been one to please even the likes of Stephen King himself.

The article “What Broke My Father’s Heart” by Katy Butler is a memoir that describes the deterioration of her father Jeffery along a seven-year span. He was full of life and mentally engaged well into his 70’s until the age of 79 when he suffered a stroke. The stroke left him with considerable problems. Despite his drive and determination to overcome the strokes after effects, he deteriorated. Jeffery told his wife, “I don’t know who I am anymore.” After developing a painful hernia the following year that required surgery to be repaired, Jeffery’s cardiologist requested a preoperative cardiology clearance. The cardiologist stated he would not perform the surgery unless he received a pacemaker for his slow heart rhythm. His wife consented due to being overwhelmed and fatigued. The pacemaker insertion was apparently successful, but Katy’s father continued to go downhill. Four years after the pacemaker was put in, Katy’s mother asked her husband’s cardiologist to turn off the device, but he denied her request. Eight years after his initial stroke, Jeffery passed due to pneumonia. But even after his passing, Jeffery’s pacemaker continued to work flawlessly.

“MUM! Wait!” I yell. My throat is sore, partly from the yelling, but mostly from the running. The thick, night fog blocked my vision of the path ahead completely, only allowing the occasional glow of the street lamps barely come in sight. I don't remember why I’m running or where I’m headed exactly, just that something is going to happen. Something bad; but what? I trust my instincts to guide me through the maze of eerily empty streets and parked cars. I thought I’d seen something move in the corner of my eye, that’s when I hear the deafening explosion to my right. I cower beneath my arms, ready to anticipate the blazing heat of the supposed flames. I don’t feel anything. I realize why. Towering above me, a pair of worried eyes cautiously

I woke up in a cold sweat, screaming and struggling to move my restrained arms. The night guards ripped open the heavy steel door to see what was wrong. The creature was standing in the corner looking right at me. I was pulling my arms against the leather restrains trying to point the naive guards to the cause of my appalling state. The

Most people stopped smiling. Screams were heard. Dancing stopped. Why were people screaming? All I heard was the beat of the music. People began running towards the front door, into the bathroom, behind the bar. Anywhere they could hide. I stood on my tiptoes to see the commotion, A guy was holding a gun, shooting us. Bodies dropped rapidly. My heart sunk. Where was Travis? Kendra? I couldn’t find my best friends. Still on my tiptoes, I looked around. I saw Kendra. Then a crowd of people engulfed her and I could no longer see her. I hoped that my friends would be okay before I rushed into the bathroom. A small pile of people cowered together upon hearing the bathroom door swing open. They thought I was him. Once seeing I held no weapon, they yanked my t-shirt sleeve and pulled me into the pile of crying, shaking, scared friends. I pulled out my phone, clicking it on then opening the thread of messages between my mom and I. Quickly, I typed a brief explanation of what was happening and where I was. I sent an ‘I love you both’ before shoving my phone back in my pocket. I gripped a stranger’s hand tightly, tears rushing down my face like a waterfall. A sob choked in my throat, causing my breath to hitch, letting out a hiccup. A stranger hugged me closer. The shouts wouldn’t leave my head. I heard them all over, I heard the shrieks, the calls for help. Why is this happening? was all I could think. I squeezed my eyes shut, throwing my hands over my ears,

As I walk down the hallway, I feel the fear creeping over me, it's almost overwhelming. I have to remind myself to breathe, I have it written on my hand “just breathe.” Sometimes the hallway is wide and it’s easier to breathe, but other times, it is so narrow I feel as though the walls are coming together to crush me. People are often flooding the hallway making me drown, and gasping for air. My friend Haley is beside me and I reach for her hand so she can guide me through the flooded hallways. I find comfort and a little confidence with the little human contact I allow.

In February of last year my grandfather was having problems with his heart. He often complained about the feeling of pressure casting on to his chest so he went to the doctors in pursuit to figure out what is causing these menacing pains. To his discovery, the doctor examined his heart and explained to him that he would need to receive coronary artery bypass surgery. My family and I were scared of the risks involving the surgery but the doctor assured us that it is not as intricate as it sounds. So on February 23rd My grandfather went into have coronary artery bypass surgery and regrettably did not make it out alive. In tears my mother screamed at the surgeon who gave us this terrible news, demanding answers. The surgeon explained to us that

It was the winter of 2013; I could hear the beat of my heart get louder and louder as I was anxiously waiting to hear back from the doctor. Not a second went by that I was not praying for my dad’s life. Finally, a kindhearted nurse practitioners walk in the door to give us the latest update on my dad’s condition. Her optimistic words and positive attitude gave me every ounce of hope I needed to cling onto. My dad was fighting for his life in the operating room. This was his second open heart surgery caused by a rupture mitral valve. The urgency of the situation was intensified by the backflow of blood to his lungs. My family and I had no other choice but to consent to the risky operation that had only a fifty percent survival possibility. Prior to the heart attack that left him in critical state he had given up on doctor prescribed medication and instead turned to herbal therapy. He was consuming some unusual looking liquid contained in big amber bottle that he had brought back from Pakistan. Upon asking he expressed his frustration in complying with his doctor prescribed heart regimen. He said he found ease in taking the liquid herbs and also felt much better without all the side effects. At the time I tried my best to convince him of the danger of discontinuing his heart medication but all in vain. After the nightmare we all went through, he has promised to comply with his medication. He nonetheless still constantly complains about the side effects he experiences and

This spring semester makes my third semester attending College of the Canyons, or any college for that matter. It has been a wonderful experience for I've managed to build relationships with a diverse group of both students and instructors all working towards their goals as well as achieving a milestone in my ultimate pursuit to become a physician. This previous fall semester I undertook the challenge of becoming an Emergency Medical Technician and I am proud to say that I succeeded, for I passed the course and received my certification in early December. In late January I took my National Registry in order to be certified as an EMT-B on a national level, and as I skimmed through the results I experienced tunnel vision with the word ‘congratulations’ in the center.

Under the rising sun in Grant Park, I bent down into a calf stretch, reminding me once again I’d forgotten to put underwear on. I’d gotten to bed just a few hours earlier after spending a night out with Mia at a new club, Z’s, only to wake up after falling from my bed onto the floor, terror seizing my breath while blood rushed through my ears and my heart galloped out of my chest. It’d taken a few heart-stopping minutes to realize it’d only been a nightmare. I couldn’t remember much other than the primal fear of being chased by a beast with a desire to rip out my throat as I screamed for my life, and then relief at being saved by a man in black. It’d left me unsettled enough I couldn’t go back to sleep, so here I was. At six in the morning. Apparently trying to run off my dream.

One early, April morning, people came for me in the dead of night to take me to school. The tinkling sounds of their key inside the lock to the door of my bedroom woke me from a sound sleep. They fumbled with it, betraying their unfamiliarity with the lock, while I rolled over in my bed and half dreamt of reminding my mom that the handle had to be held slightly upwards. When the door opened full there was a pause as light and cool air entered my room, and I propped myself up on my elbows to see why I was hearing such heavy breathing. A tall, middle-aged man approached the foot of my bed, while a short and unfamiliar woman lingered below the doorframe.