Woft--

I have several dear, close friends who are Paramedics (one of whom passed away earlier this year). While I envy their skills, I don't envy their jobs. Though they tell me I could indeed do their job, I'm not so certain.

One of them sent me the following, & I'll pass it along here, in tribute to them, and to their brothers & sisters who might see it.

Good luck to you.

David

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When God Made Paramedics


When the Lord made Paramedics, he was into his sixth day of overtime
when an angel appeared and said, "You're doing a lot of fiddling around
on this one." And the Lord said, "Have you read the specs on this order?
A paramedic has to be able to carry an injured person up a wet, grassy
hill in the dark, dodge stray bullets to reach a dying child unarmed,
enter homes the health inspector wouldn't touch, and not wrinkle his
uniform."

"He has to be able to lift 3 times his own weight, crawl into wrecked
cars with barely enough room to move, and console a grieving mother as
he is doing CPR on a baby he knows will never breath again." "He has to
be in top mental condition at all times, running on no sleep, black
coffee and half-eaten meals. And he has to have six pairs of hands."

The angel shook her head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands...no way."
"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," said the Lord, "It's
the three pairs of eyes a medic has to have." "That's on the standard
model?" asked the angel. The Lord nodded. "One pair that sees open
sores as he's drawing blood and asks the patient if they might be HIV
positive, " (When he already knows and wishes he'd taken that accounting
job.) "Another pair here in the side of his head for his partners'
safety. And another pair of eyes here in front that can look
reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, "You'll be all right ma'am
when he knows it isn't so."

"Lord," said the angel, touching his sleeve, "rest and work on this
tomorrow." "I can't," said the Lord, "I already have a model that can
talk a 250 pound drunk out from behind a steering wheel without incident
and feed a family of five on a private service paycheck."

The angel circled the model of the paramedic very slowly, "Can it
think?" she asked.
"You bet," said the Lord. "It can tell you the symptoms of 100
illnesses; recite drug calculations in it's sleep; intubate,
defibrillate, medicate, and continue CPR nonstop over terrain that any
doctor would fear...and still it keeps it's sense of humor.

This medic also has phenomenal personal control. He can deal with a
multi-victim trauma, coax a frightened elderly person to unlock their
door, comfort a murder victim's family, and then read in the daily paper
how paramedics were unable to locate a house quickly enough, allowing
the person to die. A house that had no street sign, no house numbers,
no phone to call back."

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the
paramedic. "There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told you that you were
trying to put too much into this model." "That's not a leak," said the
Lord, "It's a tear." "What's the tear for?" asked the angel. "It's for
bottled-up emotions, for patients they've tried in vain to save, for
commitment to that hope that they will make a difference in a person's
chance to survive, for life." "You're a genius," said the angel. The
Lord looked somber. "I didn't put it there," He said.