The Time Stamp of Death
People have often asked me what it’s like to be a paramedic, or what my worst call has been. It is a human curiosity to wonder what kind of chaos exists in the world and I understand that. When they are satisfied by the surreal details they will go on about their day and maybe never think about the conversation again. For them its like a movie.
This has happened to me countless times. But of all the things that I have described, and of all the people I have described the events too, there is one thing that I have never described. Because it can hardly be described. It can only be felt. It is what it is to be a paramedic, it is what it feels like to be a paramedic.
To be a paramedic is to have a personal relationship with the timestamp of death. Death has happened in an unlimited amount of locations, times, and conditions but no matter where it occurs it will always have certain commonalities.
To be a paramedic, in the face of death is to be a like a lone standing tree in the middle of a wildfire. For all the chaos around the tree it exists calmly while witnessing the beauty and terror as life forever transforms around it.
This is what occurs as a paramedic in the face of death. You are assigned a call, methodically, but in the grand scheme of things it feels random that you would be intertwined in such a grand event. When you get the call of death or other list of general terrors time pauses in its own weird way. Whatever future you have been assigned is almost inescapable now, no matter the terror that it holds. So, time stops. Life all around the event continues as normal, but for you and those experiencing the tragedy a vacuum has been created, for the events to unfold.
You arrive at the call to chaos. The looks on the faces of family, friends or bystanders is twisted with emotion. Shock, fear, denial, and more are all painted on their faces. You may have found yourself
in the presence of a tragic event. A shooting, a serious car accident, or the completely unexpected death of a loved one. This is the wildfire, and you are the tree. You can hear the agony that cannot be stated in the screams of those most affected. You can hear every emotion that cannot be described or named in those howls. You see people fluttering around unsure what to do in an event that has changed their life that they are all but powerless to stop. You feel all of it, and this burden is all on you to change, even if it is not possible.
You step into the place of tragedy. It may be death, it may be someone close to death, or it may be another event that has been so tragic that life will never be the same for that person. In all cases something has died. Something has been taken that can never be returned for those involved. But you don’t think about this. You step into the room, and you get to work.
You identify the problem, and then you begin working to fix it. This is what every call has in common. There is always something to be done. So, despite the gravity and chaos of the situation you are there with a job to do. For a moment you exist outside this bubble as you work, thinking only of what action you should take next and what consequences it may have. The irony smell of blood, the salty smell of urine, and the overwhelming smell of gastrointestinal contents coming from different points of the body. The sight of broken and disfigured minds or bodies does not lull your rhythm.
At some point when you have finished doing what was immediately needed you find yourself in the ambulance. Often there is more work to do. But you are away from the initial chaos. In some way you feel the gravity set in. You are still caught in the vacuum of frozen time, but in a different way. For a moment the thoughts of the lives that have been changed and how they have been changed weigh on you. You reflect on the form of innocence and abundance that has been robbed from the victims.
Ironically the most peaceful person you will see in this chaos are the dead. Their bones may be broken, they may have blood seep from their face, or they may be cold and pale, but they are always still. Perfectly at peace.
You eventually arrive at the hospital and after giving a report of the events to the staff you walk away. You clean your equipment, and you go back to the ambulance like it never happened. Then you make yourself ready for another call over the radio to perhaps experience the same thing again.
Sure enough, the time will come again when someone will ask you to describe the events that you have seen. But they will never understand how it felt. You have been marked forever, by the timestamp of death in that moment. As long as you live, in some way when you think of that moment you will carry the energy of the things you felt. It is your mark; it is your scar.
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