Don't be fooled by the title. Take a close look and you'll figure it out :-p
Ever watch that show Rescue 911 when you were younger? Or Emergency! for those who are older? "Squad 51 to Rampart..." Third Watch, which I think was the most realistic of them all? As a kid, I'll admit that, like a lot of people, ambulances and firetrucks fascinated me. I used to chase them up and down the roads. Had my own little helmet, nice red Big Wheel trike...ya know lol. And now look at me, I live the life of a lifesaver. Up and down the roads driving and riding in those monstrosities known as ambulances. So what are these...things?
First thing I'll say is they're not Ferrari's, Maserati's, or Lamborghini's. Kids get these ideas that ambulances are supercharged, turbocharged, rocket-boosted vehicles that can just go wherever they need to. Well, they ARE turbocharged, but that's about it. They're extremely top heavy, easy to flip if you're not careful, and not exactly NASCAR material. If you dissect an ambulance, you'll find that all it really consists of is a basic pickup truck or van frame (ex. Dodge Ram or Ford E350) with a big steel box welded onto the back. Sure they're somewhat fast, but it takes them awhile to get up to speed. That's basically it. They're not bulletproof. In fact, the aluminum and fiberglass box on the back won't even deflect bullets. They'll go in one end and out the other. The FDNY people used to tell us that if you get caught in a shootout (which I have, and it wasn't fun to say the least), the safest place to be is next to the front wheel. Most of these trucks carry heavy-duty diesel engines which are more capable of stopping a round. Hey, it might disable the truck, but you'll still be alive. The solution to this of course if to never get yourself into that situation to begin with :-).
Overall they're fun to drive. They require a lot of skill. And no, we do NOT just flat out run through red lights. Any driver that does should find a new career. While I've driven on the opposite lanes of traffic, I've done it SLOWLY with sirens full blast so drivers know what's going on. There is such a condition known as "sirencide", where a driver will experience loss of judgment and a high of adrenaline while the siren is on. It's a dangerous condition that must be avoided at all costs.
Behind those tinted window doors lies my office. Bandages, slings, stretcher, splints, electricity, medications, narcotics (there's a difference!), bags, masks, air, oxygen, tanks, radios, and oh yeah, the siren. You've gotta know where everything is at all times. No two trucks are the same. What happens in the ambulance STAYS in the ambulance hahaha. A lot of times I just go with the flow, there's no real organization to caring for people, every patient is different. But the end result is the same. I get them to the hospital safely. What's the point of driving 90 miles per hour with a cardiac arrest patient if the rough ride prevents adequate patient care? There is none.
Coming up next, my FDNY EMS days...
Friday, February 17, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
A Soldier I Love Part 2
What do you say to your best friend and brother, who's just been through hell and survived, in a war that he sees an unwinnable? Tells you stories of just what he went through. And now here he was standing in front of you, obviously a changed man, without a scratch on him. But several of his friends and squad mates weren't so lucky and went home in boxes instead of arm-in-arm with his brothers. And he grieved for them weeks after the fact. He'll never stop grieving. The sadness I felt...I hugged him and didn't want to let go. What was that? Friendship? Brotherhood? Camaraderie? Why? How? Perhaps those questions will never be answered. But Ricky soldiers on. He's home and ok, that's what counts the most. But at what cost is this freedom...
He had stayed back at base when his squad went on patrol. He had asked this to be so, as he had a "bad feeling". As if something was telling him not to go. As he sat there and started talking about it, his eyes wandered. His expression changed. He went into a trance, as if it happened yesterday. I realized what he was feeling. I grabbed his shoulder and said "it's ok, you're home now." "Nahhhh dude you've gotta hear this." He persisted, so I relented. He went on. His squad was called to reinforce another group that had taken casualties in battle. As they moved to reinforce, his sergeant (he had paused and looked skyward to say "God Bless that sonuvabitch" before continuing - I knew it was bad news) stepped on a pressure plate, a triggering device for an IED. Graphic as this may sound, it must be said...that man was blown clear in half. 2 other soldiers that went to help stepped on another IED, killing them as well. 5 other soldiers were wounded in the blast. As he spoke, his eyes would continue to trail off. The funerals, the memorials, the site of his dead friends when the bodies were returned to base. Again, I grabbed him and said "You Are OK. You're here with me now. I am sorry about your friends." In the moment, that was all I could come up with. My stomach turned. This kid, who seemed so relaxed and laid back years ago, was now a hardened combat veteran. He spoke of patrols in the mountains where rockets would rain down mere hundreds of feet from him. The sounds of bullets flying over his head ("whizzzzz" "squeaakkkk" "pop pop pop"), that feeling of knowing somebody is trying to kill you. Can you feel the emotions, friends? The man, moment, and machine of those times? Words cannot describe such things.
Was God watching him? A fellow Army soldier who was part of a squad that relieved his at an observation post was killed, sitting on the very same machine gun that Ricky was mere hours before. His pale Irish white skin turned almost ashen, and he choked up. Once again, I hugged him and cried myself. We both had tears. I told him once again "It's over. You're home safe, that's what matters". Finally he returned to his previous mindset and said "I need a damn cigarette." We shared some humorous YouTube videos to break the mood. Seeing him laugh again was a big relief.
What he told me about his family and personal life shall remain private between friends. He has suffered unimaginable pain and sadness, sorrow, and fear. And yet he had survived. As we parted ways for the night, once last hug was exchanged. I kissed him on the neck out of pure instinct. My emotions were flowing, and no I don't regularly kiss guys! This was my fucking brother and I loved him to death. What would I do if something were to happen to him in combat or whatever? I have no answer to that, but I'd rather not think about it. For Ricky is A Soldier That I Love, and his life is one I cherish as much as mine and my family's. God Bless You, Rick You Salty Bastard! And God Bless All Of Our Armed Forces!
He had stayed back at base when his squad went on patrol. He had asked this to be so, as he had a "bad feeling". As if something was telling him not to go. As he sat there and started talking about it, his eyes wandered. His expression changed. He went into a trance, as if it happened yesterday. I realized what he was feeling. I grabbed his shoulder and said "it's ok, you're home now." "Nahhhh dude you've gotta hear this." He persisted, so I relented. He went on. His squad was called to reinforce another group that had taken casualties in battle. As they moved to reinforce, his sergeant (he had paused and looked skyward to say "God Bless that sonuvabitch" before continuing - I knew it was bad news) stepped on a pressure plate, a triggering device for an IED. Graphic as this may sound, it must be said...that man was blown clear in half. 2 other soldiers that went to help stepped on another IED, killing them as well. 5 other soldiers were wounded in the blast. As he spoke, his eyes would continue to trail off. The funerals, the memorials, the site of his dead friends when the bodies were returned to base. Again, I grabbed him and said "You Are OK. You're here with me now. I am sorry about your friends." In the moment, that was all I could come up with. My stomach turned. This kid, who seemed so relaxed and laid back years ago, was now a hardened combat veteran. He spoke of patrols in the mountains where rockets would rain down mere hundreds of feet from him. The sounds of bullets flying over his head ("whizzzzz" "squeaakkkk" "pop pop pop"), that feeling of knowing somebody is trying to kill you. Can you feel the emotions, friends? The man, moment, and machine of those times? Words cannot describe such things.
Was God watching him? A fellow Army soldier who was part of a squad that relieved his at an observation post was killed, sitting on the very same machine gun that Ricky was mere hours before. His pale Irish white skin turned almost ashen, and he choked up. Once again, I hugged him and cried myself. We both had tears. I told him once again "It's over. You're home safe, that's what matters". Finally he returned to his previous mindset and said "I need a damn cigarette." We shared some humorous YouTube videos to break the mood. Seeing him laugh again was a big relief.
What he told me about his family and personal life shall remain private between friends. He has suffered unimaginable pain and sadness, sorrow, and fear. And yet he had survived. As we parted ways for the night, once last hug was exchanged. I kissed him on the neck out of pure instinct. My emotions were flowing, and no I don't regularly kiss guys! This was my fucking brother and I loved him to death. What would I do if something were to happen to him in combat or whatever? I have no answer to that, but I'd rather not think about it. For Ricky is A Soldier That I Love, and his life is one I cherish as much as mine and my family's. God Bless You, Rick You Salty Bastard! And God Bless All Of Our Armed Forces!
A Soldier I Love Part 1
This is unrelated to what I do, but something happened to me last night that I must share. Two-part story.
What happens to a man who becomes a soldier? What happens to that same man who experiences combat for the first time on a tour overseas, and endures unimaginable pain when his friends don't return from a mission? What do you tell him when you see him? What words can we use to show just how sorry we are and how emotional we feel over his loss?
From the scrawny little shy kid you knew in high school emerged a born and bred killing machine, who at the same time swears to preserve the peace of our nation and civilians around the world. A 20-something year old kid who had nowhere else to go in life, living with his parents, going in and out of relationships with people who treated him like dirt and people who seemed like they cared. A man who struggled to stand up for himself. He became a brother to me, to put it simply. We could depend on each other to be there when needed. He was like family. The US Army was his last shot at success. He entered the service, he passed basic training, he was molded from a boy into a man. Afghanistan was calling his name...he answered.
I knew where he was, kept contact with his sister-in-law, hoping to hear that he was OK. I worried. I worried for his safety, just what kind of hell those savages in the mountains of Asia would unleash upon him. Out of the blue, from nowhere, I suddenly received a Facebook message at work. Yes I carry my laptop in my ambulance, some days can get quite boring. It was him. He was taking time out to message me that he was OK and was due to come home soon. The contents of that conversation are too long to post here, but some detail included his first combat, hearing the sounds of bullets flying over his head, knowing that somebody was trying to kill him. In a nutshell he said "This is not fun, this is a war we cannot win." He proceeded to tell me that he had funerals to go to, that 3 of his friends were dead, killed by an IED explosion. Several more wounded but he was not on the patrol when it happened. I sat in my ambulance in tears of joy over seeing him respond to me. Finally, my fears were alleviated. How much I didn't know...I felt terrible already when he told me about his losses.
When he came home, I knew it to be so. He had a family, I was second nature, and that I understood. Last night he texted me and suddenly wanted to meet up. Of course I accepted. When he alone knocked on the door of my fire station, and I walked through that door and saw him standing there...that smile and those Irish eyes...pure emotion. His first words to me were "Goddamn I've gotta piss". I wouldn't let him. I latched onto him and embraced him like nobody else I had before. Tears of joy once again flowed down my face. I didn't want to let go. Have any of you felt like that? Sure, he was a guy and so am I, but I didn't give a damn. He ended up dragging me into the bathroom with him, where I finally let go and let him do his business. He was back. It was awesome. It just felt so good to finally see him again. I feared for his life and now there he was in front of me, back from hell, ready to continue on with his life.
Then the conversation about his experiences started....this was where my sorrow for him really took hold...
What happens to a man who becomes a soldier? What happens to that same man who experiences combat for the first time on a tour overseas, and endures unimaginable pain when his friends don't return from a mission? What do you tell him when you see him? What words can we use to show just how sorry we are and how emotional we feel over his loss?
From the scrawny little shy kid you knew in high school emerged a born and bred killing machine, who at the same time swears to preserve the peace of our nation and civilians around the world. A 20-something year old kid who had nowhere else to go in life, living with his parents, going in and out of relationships with people who treated him like dirt and people who seemed like they cared. A man who struggled to stand up for himself. He became a brother to me, to put it simply. We could depend on each other to be there when needed. He was like family. The US Army was his last shot at success. He entered the service, he passed basic training, he was molded from a boy into a man. Afghanistan was calling his name...he answered.
I knew where he was, kept contact with his sister-in-law, hoping to hear that he was OK. I worried. I worried for his safety, just what kind of hell those savages in the mountains of Asia would unleash upon him. Out of the blue, from nowhere, I suddenly received a Facebook message at work. Yes I carry my laptop in my ambulance, some days can get quite boring. It was him. He was taking time out to message me that he was OK and was due to come home soon. The contents of that conversation are too long to post here, but some detail included his first combat, hearing the sounds of bullets flying over his head, knowing that somebody was trying to kill him. In a nutshell he said "This is not fun, this is a war we cannot win." He proceeded to tell me that he had funerals to go to, that 3 of his friends were dead, killed by an IED explosion. Several more wounded but he was not on the patrol when it happened. I sat in my ambulance in tears of joy over seeing him respond to me. Finally, my fears were alleviated. How much I didn't know...I felt terrible already when he told me about his losses.
When he came home, I knew it to be so. He had a family, I was second nature, and that I understood. Last night he texted me and suddenly wanted to meet up. Of course I accepted. When he alone knocked on the door of my fire station, and I walked through that door and saw him standing there...that smile and those Irish eyes...pure emotion. His first words to me were "Goddamn I've gotta piss". I wouldn't let him. I latched onto him and embraced him like nobody else I had before. Tears of joy once again flowed down my face. I didn't want to let go. Have any of you felt like that? Sure, he was a guy and so am I, but I didn't give a damn. He ended up dragging me into the bathroom with him, where I finally let go and let him do his business. He was back. It was awesome. It just felt so good to finally see him again. I feared for his life and now there he was in front of me, back from hell, ready to continue on with his life.
Then the conversation about his experiences started....this was where my sorrow for him really took hold...
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
What Is It?
You want to be me? Ask yourself this question...do you have it? What exactly is "it"? Those two letters have such broad definition these days. "He's got it." "That's it!" "We did it!". When it comes to my profession "It" refers to several things. It means an iron stomach, for when you have to stare at the bloody remains of a crime or suicide victim. It means nerves of steel, to perform under pressure and not let the outside environment or even other people get in your way. It means a somewhat ice-hearted demeanor, for those times you have to describe your most serious calls, or tell a person that their loved one has died without a hint of emotion, complete professionalism. It means having a sharp mind, to clear your head after a serious call and hit that "in service" button on the truck computer. BTW I'll get into ambulances themselves a little later. Most importantly, It means being...human.
EMS is a rough life. Anyone ever see Star Wars? Episode 1? "Becoming a Jedi is not an easy task. And even if you succeed, it's a hard life". We are not cyborgs, we are human beings. We have heart, lungs, eyes, hands, feet, livers, appendixes (well most of us have those, anyway lol). Just because we possess the skills to reverse a cause of death and prolong somebody's life doesn't make us any different than my next door neighbor. If he'd gone to the same school as me, he'd be the same way. Constantly changing hours, low pay (again it's pride, not paychecks!), inferior equipment (those damn spare ambulances never get checked!), a heavy workload (hey Mr. Corporate Executive. You try lugging 5 people down narrow circular staircases in 4 hours!), being exposed to the most dangerous diseases in mankind's history (MRSA, VRE, Tuberculosis, Hepatitis, and the worst of them all, AIDS). Still want to do it? All the power to ya, and go for it! We could certainly use the help!
Heroism can be defined as going above and beyond the call of duty. "It" doesn't take a hero. In EMS, that happens on almost every call. Don't pin a medal on my chest. I don't need it! I can survive with the satisfaction that I made a difference. A medal on my chest for a patient who died a week later in the rehab facility? No thanks. The only heroes I know of are the ones you find on a deli menu. I'm just doing my job, sir. We fixed you up, be on your way. And by all means, DON'T TIP ME! Money may be in short supply in my business, but please...it's against my morals and ethics...maybe lol.
So, enclosing, It means a lot. For those of you who think they can deal with the substandard and dangerous working conditions that EMS people go through...keep thinking! By all means, I'm not telling people to stay away, God knows EMS is shorthanded and overworked as it is. But be warned that whatever recruiting poster you may look at...the actual job is a lot different than what you see on a piece of paper.
EMS is a rough life. Anyone ever see Star Wars? Episode 1? "Becoming a Jedi is not an easy task. And even if you succeed, it's a hard life". We are not cyborgs, we are human beings. We have heart, lungs, eyes, hands, feet, livers, appendixes (well most of us have those, anyway lol). Just because we possess the skills to reverse a cause of death and prolong somebody's life doesn't make us any different than my next door neighbor. If he'd gone to the same school as me, he'd be the same way. Constantly changing hours, low pay (again it's pride, not paychecks!), inferior equipment (those damn spare ambulances never get checked!), a heavy workload (hey Mr. Corporate Executive. You try lugging 5 people down narrow circular staircases in 4 hours!), being exposed to the most dangerous diseases in mankind's history (MRSA, VRE, Tuberculosis, Hepatitis, and the worst of them all, AIDS). Still want to do it? All the power to ya, and go for it! We could certainly use the help!
Heroism can be defined as going above and beyond the call of duty. "It" doesn't take a hero. In EMS, that happens on almost every call. Don't pin a medal on my chest. I don't need it! I can survive with the satisfaction that I made a difference. A medal on my chest for a patient who died a week later in the rehab facility? No thanks. The only heroes I know of are the ones you find on a deli menu. I'm just doing my job, sir. We fixed you up, be on your way. And by all means, DON'T TIP ME! Money may be in short supply in my business, but please...it's against my morals and ethics...maybe lol.
So, enclosing, It means a lot. For those of you who think they can deal with the substandard and dangerous working conditions that EMS people go through...keep thinking! By all means, I'm not telling people to stay away, God knows EMS is shorthanded and overworked as it is. But be warned that whatever recruiting poster you may look at...the actual job is a lot different than what you see on a piece of paper.
How Did I Get Here?
I figured the best way to introduce myself is to tell you where I've been and how I got here. My name is Dan Campanelli and I'm a Paramedic from New York. Long Island, actually. Where's Long Island you ask? It's the little 2-county island east of the 5 boroughs. You know, the one where half of New York City's workforce comes from ? hahaha. People ask me all the time how I get into EMS as a career. Before I go any further, I'll say this only once...it's not for the money. I work for pride, not a paycheck. I'm also a volunteer firefighter/paramedic where I live.
Rather than bore you with details of my early life, I'll just say this...I was a miracle baby, beat the odds of 5 to 1 survival at the age of 3 months. That's my main reason. I give back to the world that saw fit to keep me in it. My childhood was rough. I was bullied, teased, ridiculed because I never stood up for myself. I survived all my schooling somehow and by the time I was 22, I had a college degree and I was already and Emergency Medical Technician. By 2005, I had a full-time job with FDNY EMS in Manhattan. More on those times later, film at 11. By 2008 I was a Critical Care EMT, my first taste of Advanced Life Support. That's when I realized this is what I love to do. At first it was a side-job. Then it became I calling. Last year I took the ultimate step by becoming a Paramedic, the highest level of prehospital care the state can offer.
I will never claim to have "seen it all". Though I have seen a lot of what this profession has to offer. The excitement and unpredictability is what brings me back for more. Adrenaline junkie? Sometimes, but mostly it's about just getting the job done and moving on to the next call. I've taken my lumps and gone down the roads of life, and I'm not even 30 years old yet. The ride has been rough, at times downright depressing, but here I am in the flesh, doing my thing. Along the way, friends have come in and out of my life like bubbles in a glass of sods. What's in my future? Only God knows. But I'll tell you one thing, the present is exactly that...a present.
Rather than bore you with details of my early life, I'll just say this...I was a miracle baby, beat the odds of 5 to 1 survival at the age of 3 months. That's my main reason. I give back to the world that saw fit to keep me in it. My childhood was rough. I was bullied, teased, ridiculed because I never stood up for myself. I survived all my schooling somehow and by the time I was 22, I had a college degree and I was already and Emergency Medical Technician. By 2005, I had a full-time job with FDNY EMS in Manhattan. More on those times later, film at 11. By 2008 I was a Critical Care EMT, my first taste of Advanced Life Support. That's when I realized this is what I love to do. At first it was a side-job. Then it became I calling. Last year I took the ultimate step by becoming a Paramedic, the highest level of prehospital care the state can offer.
I will never claim to have "seen it all". Though I have seen a lot of what this profession has to offer. The excitement and unpredictability is what brings me back for more. Adrenaline junkie? Sometimes, but mostly it's about just getting the job done and moving on to the next call. I've taken my lumps and gone down the roads of life, and I'm not even 30 years old yet. The ride has been rough, at times downright depressing, but here I am in the flesh, doing my thing. Along the way, friends have come in and out of my life like bubbles in a glass of sods. What's in my future? Only God knows. But I'll tell you one thing, the present is exactly that...a present.
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