Hemaratt

I couldn’t believe my luck. Next day, I found Eclair's phone on the counter. Nobody else would use a pink phone case with silver butterflies and swirls on it, so it had to be hers. Without hesitation, I pulled out my phone and photographed Eclair’s mobile. Eclair appeared strange in the morning. Yellow hair looked like a dead canary, but her make-up was perfect. I mean, perfectly overdone. Her face resembled a clown. "What are you doing with my phone?" She grabbed her phone as if it were her most valued possession. "Good morning to you as well, doc." I attempted to sound as innocent as possible. "If you broke it..." I smiled, but it was so phony she noticed. "I haven’t touched it." "So why are you laughing?" I shook my head. "Oh, just because." She didn’t buy it. "I don’t believe you. The first symptom of stupidity is laughing at nothing." "But I really haven’t done anything..." Eclair checked her phone and left the kitchen, eyeing me with suspicion. *... yet.* *** An hour later

WEMT stands for Wilderness Emergency Medical Technician. The WEMT course would last for sixty hour, ending with an exam. Ten days in a comfortable wooden hut, with food and sleeping arrangements provided. The day prior, me and other participants—Maverick, Mike, and Eclair—were discussing our travel arrangements. "No problem, I'll take you all to the guesthouse," Mike said. "I have a huge, new, shiny semi-truck with a massive trunk. There is also a roof rack, so we have plenty of room to store our luggage and hiking gear." "That's a good idea." I agreed. "We'll split the gas money, and I could drive you all one way if you wa-" "NO!" They all yelled at the same time. "With him behind the wheel you'll all wind up in the ditch on the side of the road." Eclair snarled, her gaze fixed on her phone. "I can drive." Maverick volunteered. "You'll ride with us, doc?" "No." She didn't bother looking up. "I'd rather take my new car out for a spin." "You got a new car? You

Being a rescuer, EMT, or paramedic means you have to be fit. When I decided to become a rescuer at the mere age of eighteen, I had no idea how exhausting the job could be. A stretcher or trolley is used to transport patients, and you are also in charge of the heavy lifting. You will be driving an ambulance, preparing a landing zone for a helicopter during medevac, performing basic medical procedures, and administering medications. There is no time for a coffee break, and there is sometimes no time to catch your breath either. The majority of emergency calls are made from locations with no lifts or with lifts that are small or broken. Staircases frequently have missing steps and can become dangerous foot traps. Corridors are often dim and narrow. It's difficult to maneuver when you're a large, six-foot-four-inch man like me and another huge person is in a wheelchair or strapped to a medical stretcher. You must be physically fit. Period. As a teenager, I spent a lot of time at the

Have you ever felt like you were standing on quicksand and that if you moved, you'd drown, but if you stayed still, you'd drown anyway? That's how I'm feeling right now. After not showing up for my paramedics' exam, I returned to work as usual, but nothing was the same. Somebody in the office entirely changed my work schedule. I think I’ve stepped on somebody’s toe, and that toe unfortunately belongs to my boss, the Sandstorm. The updated work schedules were printed and pinned to the wall when I arrived this morning. I was no longer a member of ambulance crew 42! I was reassigned to ambulance 72. I racked my brain, trying to recall who the ambulance crew members were, but I had no idea. Since when do we have ambulance number 72 anyway? I double-checked my work schedule to make sure it was mine. It was, and my shift today had begun precisely... half an hour ago! I rushed to the ambulance station, climbing two flights of stairs at a time to get there faster. The new coworkers, team

A buzzing noise woke me up as I was deep asleep on a train on my way home from work. It was my smartphone making sounds because somebody sent me a message. I stretched, looked through the window (it was night and nothing could be seen for miles). It was a long day. Many patients, many interesting cases—unfortunately, most of them had faded into an unrecognizable blur in my memory after so many hours. When I checked my phone, there was a message from "Brutus," a paramedic who had to retire a month or so ago due to health reasons. I smiled to myself, thinking about what the old guy had written, not knowing what to actually expect. Because Brutus is a real mystery. He's sixty-something, with a short white beard and mustache, always neatly trimmed. His hair is quite long and snow white, and from what others told me, it seems that it has always been this way. He has a beer belly. He is a solid, average-sized man who strangely resembles Santa Claus. Now I need to temper your

Rescue work is an extremely rewarding profession, but others claim that it is also very routine. "Everyday is exactly the same," says "Old Pit." " It reminds me of prison." He has been a rescuer for more than 18 years, and he has also served a year behind bars, so he most likely knows what he is talking about. On the other hand, "Sandstorm" says that if you want an easy 9-to-5 job, you should go elsewhere, not in the hospital, because "routine" is not a word you could use here. Of course, there is the usual routine of showing up at work, opening and inspecting the ambulance, making sure everything is stocked and ready, waiting for calls from the dispatchers, having no break for dinner, etc. For me, however, every day is unique in some way. A few weeks ago, there was real turmoil in the hospital. I arrived 20 minutes late (my train got stuck somewhere in the middle of nowhere and I had to wait for it to move). I was desperate. I had watched the hands move on the clock, observed

What a night! It was our last call that memorable day. A 27-year-old man was the unfortunate victim of a house fire. With a young man who had suffered severe burns, we were making our way to the hospital as if the devil were chasing us. Suddenly, our patient abruptly awoke from his sound sleep and sat up on the stretcher, his eyes bloodshot with hatred. "Hem, you idiot, you forgot to give him the sedatives?" Our paramedic "Maverick" seized the patient and attempted to restrain him. "Of course not!" I yelled back, while desperately looking for the IV tubing I'd previously inserted. "I gave him so much that it could have knocked out the elephant!" "Quick! I’m losing... " "Him?!" "No... my.. my neck!" I looked up to see our patient choking "Maverick" with his scorched hands! It does happen rarely, but it does. People who are in tremendous shock can do risky things and usually forget what they did the next day. I had to intervene quickly, which is something I

It happened two days ago while I was on my night-shift twelve-hour duty. We, your favorite team of rescuers in our shiny ambulance, just came back from a very messy assignment, the second that night, actually. The first job that night was an easy one; just a few broken bones from arm wrestling. You would never believe how often there are emergencies like that. Guys apparently prefer to break their elbows than lose a bet. I don't know. I've never tried it with my weight and all. It might not end very pretty. Like my boss, the "Sandstorm," declared recently, "If only your brain was as big as your muscles, you'd be a genius. Hem, if only... " The second call, like I said before, was a mess. Apparently, two guys fought over some suspiciously smelling liquor, and there were some pointy and sharp objects involved in the arguing. Lots of spilled blood, but fortunately, not from any main arteries or other important parts of the body. When we finally found out who was the one losing

When I went to high school, I read a book called "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," written by Robert Louis Stevenson. It was a very interesting horror story about an outwardly good person who sometimes changed his nature and became shockingly evil. A fiction story with fictional characters: I never thought it would be possible to meet somebody like that in real life, though. As far as I know, the "Sandstorm," our Director of Hospital Administration, hasn't murdered anyone yet. But sometimes he has that murderous look in his eyes that just makes you shudder and wonder-did he or did he not? I have never had the guts to find the answer to this question. "Why do you have to use so many gloves/syringes/IVs/whatever? Money doesn't grow on trees! " You can hear his shouting in the hospital corridor in the early morning. Seeing the "Sandstorm" become furious is almost as bad as meeting a bear in the woods. I've actually experienced both such cases, so I know how that feels. No

"PD" is an abbreviation for "Patient Delivery," but some people in our medical community think it sounds boring, so they've changed it to something more appropriate. This is how the name "Pizza Duty" was born. It stuck so well that even our dispatcher writes it down like that while she assigns us the work shifts. So what exactly is a "PD"? Well, it's an ambulance service, where we deliver patients from the hospital back home or we take our "frequent flyers" from their homes to the hospital. The "frequent flyers," as we call them, are people who are, for example, disabled, and can't get to the hospital on their own for their usual medical check-ups. "PD" is considered one of the safest pre-hospital care jobs where there are no life-threatening situations. It's something like an advanced taxi service where instead of a typical car we use an ambulance, wheelchairs, stretchers, trolley beds, a ton of medical equipment, and two rescuers for carrying the patient. Well, almost like a

I saw a forest and a lonely tree. In low clouds fallen from the sky on lifeless branches blanketed in winter’s fog. A crimson sun-like drop of blood, tree trunks, lofty and majestic in their blazing splendor -- its passion burns through my loneliness. A white swirl of piercing cold -- the wind and I are both still and silent. An ancient oak supports a young pine tree. Snow will not melt under the sun's fragile rays. Ice cracks, breaks up, and floats down the river. The ground is cold and wet. First morning larks crawl out from their cozy beds beneath the snow. Thick winter fur keeps their bodies warm for long. I grasped a single thread of the spider’s web. Frozen droplets sparkle like diamonds in the sunlight. My breath creates a trail of white smoke. The fog is lifting above me now. I move slowly against the piles of snow. I'm terrified to step on nature's toes. Life's warmth is closer to me than ever before.

The sea of nonsense washed off my fears. All of the struggles, things never accomplished— gone with one big ludicrous wave of life's mockery. --But still the bird sings, and the sun rises in the east.

Dear Angel, Are you real? If you ever visit the Land of the Living, do you need a visa or passport? Do you have a pair of wings? Are they light and fluffy or do they make your back ache? Do you know how to play the harp? Are other angels happy with your music or do they cover their ears? Do you sound the horn or you just slam the brakes when you over speed on the clouds? With all the wind up there, why do you wear a night-gown? Won't you freeze or catch cold? Do you like your job? Are you making rainbows everyday or only for big important heavenly events? Do you catch the rays of the sun? Are you counting the dots on lady-bugs when you paint them? If you are real, Angel, and we all have one... Where is mine?

The further I go in the game called life the more lost I am. So many things that bother me. The human mind is a beast in disguise, using the strongest emotions to judge, to criticize, to analyze, to radicalize, to scrutinize, and to dehumanize. But the truth is hidden somewhere in the middle of suffering from unfulfilled expectations, from sorrow brought on by feelings of inadequacy. I am an ordinary human being --so imperfect, it hurts to be me.

I am a snow-covered tiny figure at the foot of the mountain. The sun shines from behind it, blinding me. My gloved hand covers my eyes. It is so cold. I open my eyes wide and see the emptiness all around me. Trees like triangles coated in snow on the mountains' gentle slopes. My eyes focused on something far beyond what one can see. The icy blue horizon, with a lack of a howling wind. Frosted grey clouds dense with heavy snowflakes. How is it possible to feel so alone in the world? I look down at my frozen feet as the blizzard approaches. My pulse wanes, and I no longer feel chilly. I must depart. I've got to flee from it all. My apathy will allow my destiny to be predestined. I could do nothing but perish amid the silent storm. The stillness could only lead to my demise. To escape from everything, I must. I have to go. The first step, the hardest one, my feet don't want to move. I move slowly, like a heavy-weight ex-champion after a lost fight. The silence around me is

So vulnerable, so little, the infant cries already knowing, the world is full of suffering.

You are a pebble in my shoe, the stone on which I fall asleep. You throw the rocks at me... Go on, I'll build a castle to stay clear! -- With every step my road is emptier somehow.

Don’t eat Don’t drink Don’t breathe Don't risk Accomplish nothing Pay your taxes Die Repeat

I have changed a lot since the last time we met, Don’t you think my dear soul-guide? The trembling life, Last time you had crushed my ambitious goals, The hopes to reach in the future… No more? With your sour-sweet whispers inside my head, Why do you keep coming here again and again? You used to be amazed at everything you saw, Why do you look so dead-beat now? The breathless breath, Always postponing taking important decisions, Is it hesitation or cowardice? Sucking life away from me, observing my fight, I would rather be far from here… But I keep going. You’re no best friend of mine nor my fiercest enemy, When did you find out I’m afraid of myself? The faulty consciousness, I do everything to stop your threat of expectations, Feel afraid to lose your authority… Now! One can only experience what one perceives With one’s senses truly. You know me all too well. “Everything’s fine with me,” the biggest of lies, All brave deeds earned during our storms and battles, Stop the crowd

The sea awashes all the so-called sins from my too tired self of myself. --And goes back to point blank.