Weekends are for Work: some nights

It's been one of those shifts that you just have to laugh at all of the stereotypical calls: the drunk friends, the loud tv's, the chronic lying. the vomit, the blood, the B.O., the "I love you guys." and, "Are you a good driver?" The routine of it is comforting somehow: the feel of Velcro on the blood pressure cuff, the weight of the first in bag, the smell of stale air in the back of the rig, exchanged amused glances and muttered inside jokes. Camaraderie between shift partners, nurses, other ambulance companies, and the cops all are so much "the norm," that I almost forget how much of the awkward I had to go through to get here. I am glad to be done with that phase.

I am glad that my work partners are like a second family, because in the back of my mind I am still carrying the hard, hard goodbyes that I had to tell to my siblings after our short reunion this past week. The fact that we could be together for even just over 24 hours is nothing short of the grace of God. And I was reminded when it came time to leave that sometimes long hugs and quiet tears are all that you can manage when no words will come out and no words could ever adequately express the emotions and feelings that you are sharing at the moment. 

So thanks, team, for the ridiculous jokes and conversations and encouraging moral boosts.

Here's to another night of little sleep and harassing the dispatchers.