Living The Dream

I've started doing something that I've wanted to do since I was 9-years old, to learn to fly. When I was growing up I dreamed of being an Air Force fighter pilot. My adolescent career path had me attending the US Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, which in my opinion was the most efficient way of getting me into the cockpit of an F-16. When it came time to start getting my ducks in order and to apply for a Congressional nomination, I did not. I chose to listen to people around me stating that it was almost impossible to get in, that my grades were not up to par, that I wasn't doing enough extracurricular "stuff", or that the odds were too long. In the end I walked away from my dreams of being a pilot.

Oddly enough, years later when I was a Green Beret officer I met several Air Force and Naval aviators, only to discover that they were no different than me; not any smarter, no less motivated, and often less skilled. I painfully realized my error of youth, I let someone talk me out of something that I desperately wanted, and since that time I've counseled countless young adults to never let it happen to them. "Never, ever let someone talk you out of your dreams".

So here I am thirty years later making amends and finally living the dream.

Guinness and Atrophy

I completed my last triathlon of the '09 season sixty days ago, and at the end of the race I was not only physically exhausted but mentally burnt out as well. The endless days and weeks of 2-3 workouts a day had taken their toll, and as I crossed the finish line I told myself that I was done, that the next workout will be sometime in January.

For the last two months I've eaten anything that I wished, tipped back a bunch of Guinness and Laphroaig, and worked on other interests like bagpiping and getting my private pilots license. Last night I had a huge bowl of cookie-dough ice cream, the tan lines have all faded and the hair on my legs has returned with abandon.

This morning before dawn I laced up the running shoes for the first time, and headed out on a run that two months ago would have been so inconsequential that I would have passed on it; 4 miles nice and easy. I was shocked to see how much my condition had atrophied in the weeks that I had taken off. My knees hurt due to the muscle imbalance in my legs, my core was all over the map, and leg muscles were string-tight threatening to pull at any moment. At 46-years old I can see now how fleeting physical condition is.

Five to six hours a week; that's what I've now promised myself until January, enough to stop the free-fall of my physical condition. If not, it'll be a long, painful haul back into race shape for an early season half-Ironman.

A Life

“Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in that grey twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.”
-Theodore Roosevelt

Karma's A Bitch

An elderly woman lies strapped to a bed in the emergency room. She's taken a fall at her house and has severe injuries to her face and head. She is alone in the room; tubes and monitor wires run out from underneath the sheet that is supposed to keep her warm. The monitor glows green with her "numbers", and the 1,000 cc bag of normal saline has almost run it's course.

In her loneliness she cries out in pain, begging God, or anyone for that matter, to help her. Tears run down her cheeks. The neck collar prevents her head from moving but her aged eyes move back and forth searching for someone that can alleviate her pain. Moans turn into screams...desperation and agony set in.

I asked the nurse if we couldn't give the elderly lady something to make her more comfortable. Through the backdrop of screams the indignant nurse informs me that "She's 90-something years old, she doesn't feel any pain", and makes her way to another room. Huh?

I walked into the Doctor's Lounge and found the attending physician. "I'm giving the lady in Room 6 five of morphine". The doctor looked up from what he was reading, "OK".

I demanded the morphine from the same nurse, invoking the physician's orders and soon the patient was blissfully asleep.

I've run into this grotesque attitude before from nurses, physicians, paramedics, and all other manner of heath care "professionals"; that of compassion equates to weakness and inexperience. Many try to pretend that they are so endowed with medical knowledge and experience that only they can recognize the true medical emergencies worthy of their limited compassion. All others are pushed to the curb, compassion be damned. Karma's a bitch!

"They'll Fight Over It When You're Dead".

I ran across a signature in a blog the other day that stated, "When discussing the shelf life of Twinkies, the limiting factor is the life of the shelf". This made me laugh because I've always been attracted to things that are designed to last longer than I am.

Not too long ago I discovered Saddleback Leather's briefcase; 100-year guarantee. I think I just bought a present for my great-grandson (or daughter). I hope they enjoy it.

Happy Birthday

Maine in the fall. I love the crisp air that bites at you in the early morning and the leaves under feet.

I was speaking with a fellow paramedic yesterday and we were relating calls that just make you cringe. As a very senior medic, hers won. Apparently she had been called to the scene of a domestic dispute where an intoxicated guy threatened to cut his unborn child out of his 24-week pregnant girlfriend. In his rage he broke a beer bottle and sliced open the girl's abdomen.

When the paramedic arrived the police had the guy in handcuffs, and the girl was taking her last breaths as she lay in a massive sea of blood. The crew quickly loaded the woman in the ambulance and rushed the 30+ miles to the hospital, doing CPR the entire way on the obviously dead woman in an effort to supply enough oxygenated blood to the tiny fetus struggling inside.

When they arrived at the hospital the surgeons completed the cesarian section and delivered the fetus, about the size of a small hand.

That fetus is a 24-year old woman today. Simply awesome.

Sunset

The sun sets into the Jordanian desert.

I just got back from a week of working as a paramedic on the 911 trucks in extreme rural Georgia. To say that it was "eye-opening" would be both a cliché and an understatement. I worked hard, pulling some long shifts on sparsely equipped ambulances; treating and transporting patients to distant, austere emergency rooms.

No one particular patient stands out from the dozens and dozens that I treated. I know that two had died despite my best efforts. I'm still struck by the fact that I don't remember them, even though I was there beside them for the second most important day of their lives. I know that I tried, desperately to breath life back into limp bodies, pushing countless medications, electrical shocks, CPR, oxygen. Repeat over and over again, looking for the right bleep on the cardiac monitor or the faintest of pulses. They never came. The end of someone's life is best described as a whisper and not a thunder clap. They go quietly despite your pleas otherwise.