The Medic Dad Chronicles

  Saying It Out Loud Men my age grew up with a simple rule set: you’re a man, you don’t show emotion, you put your head down and keep moving. You bury things deep and don’t think about them again. Keeping it together meant you were strong. Cracking meant you failed. You weren’t a real man. And even if you wanted to talk to someone, you didn’t. You didn’t want to bother anyone. You handled your own problems. For a long time, that’s exactly how I lived. I have to give my VA primary care provider credit. With her help, I finally reached a point where I started asking for help — even though I fought it at first. When I initially started seeing her, I still had the wall up. She asked me questions, and I lied. Not big dramatic lies — just the “man answers.” I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong. I’ve got it handled. She gave me a lifeline. All I had to do was grab it. It took several visits, but eventually I let the wall down. I told her I had been lying to her about most of what she had asked me. S...

When Things Got Quiet For more than twenty years after my divorce, I was playing catch-up financially. I worked two full-time jobs just to make ends meet. Did I squeeze every dollar until it screamed? No. I wanted to enjoy life a little. I didn’t take big vacations. I didn’t buy expensive items. I gave my family what I could and kept moving forward. Working that much did one thing very well — it kept me busy. Being busy meant I didn’t have much time to think. I didn’t dwell on the fact that my kids were growing more distant from me. I didn’t dwell on the fact that I wasn’t the husband I should have been. I didn’t dwell on the fact that I wasn’t the stepdad my step-kids needed either. In fact, when I was home, I often made things worse. I focused more on what the kids were doing wrong than on being a steady father figure. I failed to provide stability when they needed it most. For a long time, work kept all of that pushed down. The real shift came when I went from two jobs down to one. ...

  Doubt There was a time when I came to work fully present. I felt good about myself, confident in my skills, and confident in the care I was providing. I knew my treatments, I knew my medications, and I trusted my decision-making. I’ve had some excellent calls over the years — the kind where you know you made a difference. The kind where everything lined up, and the care was spot-on. Then, almost out of nowhere, that confidence disappeared. I started doubting myself before, during, and after calls. That steady feeling I used to have — the one that let me walk into bad situations without hesitation — was gone. I didn’t suddenly forget how to do my job. The knowledge was still there. The experience was still there. What was missing was trust in myself. I’ve always struggled with breathing problem calls. They’ve never been my comfort zone. But after a severe allergic reaction call, that discomfort turned into something else entirely. The call itself went as fast and as smoothly as it...

  A: Function I am very lucky to have the schedule that I do. Working 24 hours on, then 72 hours off, is a pretty good setup for a person like me. I come to work, I do my job, and then I go home. That’s how I have always worked. Show up, handle what needs to be handled, and move on. But there has been a definite shift over the past several years. The way I think about what I do has changed. I used to care a lot more than I do now. Lately, I find myself saying, “I just don’t care” more often than I ever thought I would. I used to concern myself with fixing things — righting wrongs, making places better, going the extra mile. Somewhere along the way, that started to fade. I think part of it is simply getting tired of cleaning up other people’s messes. I would push harder, do more, take on extra responsibility — and all that really got me was more work. Eventually, you learn that effort doesn’t always get rewarded; it just gets expected. Now, I let things slide that I never would hav...

  Talk It Out Years and years ago, I had a run-in with a senior employee who left a bad taste in my mouth for a long time. At the time, I was an EMT on an out-of-town transport with another EMT. We were just coming back into town when a rollover MVC was dispatched. We were close, so we went en route to see if we could help. We arrived on scene, found the medic, and asked what we could do to help. They looked at us and asked, “Are you a paramedic?” We said no. They looked right at us and said, “Then I don’t need you. You can go.” My partner and I looked at each other, got back in the truck, and left. We weren’t happy about it either. That encounter stuck with me. Not long after that, I ended up working with the same person again, and it was even worse. I was scheduled to work a night truck downtown during a large holiday weekend event. This person jumped on the truck with me after already working a full day shift. They were tired. They were hungry. And they clearly didn’t want to be...

Telling Someone Their Loved One Has Died I’d like to thank my friend John for bringing up this difficult topic. Nobody is comfortable with it, and nobody is truly good at it. There is no good way to tell someone their loved one has died. There are only ways that cause less harm.  It’s one of the few moments in life where words truly matter. Not because they can fix anything, but because the wrong ones can cause damage that lasts forever.  This isn’t about saying the perfect thing. It’s about not saying the wrong thing. Families will not remember monitor readings, medications, or protocols. What they remember is the moment you told them. They remember the words you used, the tone of your voice, whether you were honest, whether you rushed through it, or whether you stayed with them afterward.  They will replay that moment for the rest of their lives. You get one chance. You don’t need a speech, and you don’t need perfect words. What you need are a few clear sentences and th...