I don’t think I could handle being a paramedic for this reason. The memories just build and they get so many.
I’ve witnessed death myself upclose as family members died. Their final moments burned in forever.
Those memories never fade, you just distract yourself from it. But the memory is always waiting for when you recall a time together with them. There is that fucking final moment again, like a punctuation on a good thought.
To have that be part of a job, even if they are not related has to weigh heavily. They don’t get paid nearly enough for that burden.
… I know I couldn’t handle being a real paramedic.
Made my way as a make shift paramedic, treating various injuries and wounds that people would… appear with, at or near an encampment or something. Usually just field dressing a laceration, jerry rigging a makeshift splint.
Occasionally a gunshot wound.
I always begged people who needed more care than I could provide to go to a hospital.
Sometimss they did, sometimes they or their friends would refuse.
Fentanyl… zombies is actually pretty close to an accurate description.
I’ve seen more necrotic flesh, gray tissue and pus where either a stab wound or injection site once was… than I want to remember.
Your body can’t naturally heal when it’s … hooked on the blues. The stuff was all crushed blue tablets where I was, everybody just called em ‘blues’.
Successfully stabilized a few ODs … not all of them.
Also happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time: drive by shooting.
The streets are basically like a warzone, if you’re in them too long.
Fuck, I’m two years out of homelessness now, and I’m still doing PT to recover from my own injuries.
I knew a guy who, as part of his job, had to clean up suicide scenes.
That really did a number on him. He developed polytoxicomania, hit rock bottom and never really got back on his feet again. These memories must be haunting you forever.
I don’t think I could handle being a paramedic for this reason. The memories just build and they get so many.
I’ve witnessed death myself upclose as family members died. Their final moments burned in forever.
Those memories never fade, you just distract yourself from it. But the memory is always waiting for when you recall a time together with them. There is that fucking final moment again, like a punctuation on a good thought.
To have that be part of a job, even if they are not related has to weigh heavily. They don’t get paid nearly enough for that burden.
I was homeless for a while.
… I know I couldn’t handle being a real paramedic.
Made my way as a make shift paramedic, treating various injuries and wounds that people would… appear with, at or near an encampment or something. Usually just field dressing a laceration, jerry rigging a makeshift splint.
Occasionally a gunshot wound.
I always begged people who needed more care than I could provide to go to a hospital.
Sometimss they did, sometimes they or their friends would refuse.
Fentanyl… zombies is actually pretty close to an accurate description.
I’ve seen more necrotic flesh, gray tissue and pus where either a stab wound or injection site once was… than I want to remember.
Your body can’t naturally heal when it’s … hooked on the blues. The stuff was all crushed blue tablets where I was, everybody just called em ‘blues’.
Successfully stabilized a few ODs … not all of them.
Also happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time: drive by shooting.
The streets are basically like a warzone, if you’re in them too long.
Fuck, I’m two years out of homelessness now, and I’m still doing PT to recover from my own injuries.
I knew a guy who, as part of his job, had to clean up suicide scenes.
That really did a number on him. He developed polytoxicomania, hit rock bottom and never really got back on his feet again. These memories must be haunting you forever.
Fair, but I believe it is different to do this as. a job, with strangers, and to experience it with close people. Still sucks.