It takes all types(The One)

The One You'd Want for Your Family

Every EMS service has one. The person who still genuinely loves this job. Not because it's easy. Not because the pay is great. Not because they enjoy being awakened at three in the morning or missing holidays with their family.

They love it because they love people.

They're the person you'd want walking through your front door if your wife, your husband, your child, or your parents ever had to call 911.

You know the one.

They walk into every house like they're visiting someone's home, not entering another "scene." They don't rush past the family to get to the patient. They understand that everyone in that room is scared, not just the person lying in the bed.

They kneel beside patients instead of standing over them. They speak to people instead of about them. They explain what's happening in a way that's easy to understand, and they somehow have a way of making a terrible day feel just a little less frightening.

They don't see "the chest pain in room three." They see Mr. Johnson, who's terrified because he's never felt this before.

They don't see "another nursing home patient." They see somebody's grandmother.

They don't see "just a lift assist." They see a person who's embarrassed because they couldn't get off the floor by themselves.

To them, there really is no such thing as "just another call." They understand something that can be easy to forget after years in this profession. What may be the tenth call of our shift could easily be the worst day of someone else's life.

They're not looking for reasons not to help. They're looking for every way they can.

The funny thing is, these people usually aren't the loudest medics in the room. They don't brag about saves or keep score of the cool calls they've been on. They aren't chasing dramatic stories to tell later.

They're simply focused on taking care of the person in front of them. That attitude spreads.

Work with someone like this long enough, and you start slowing down a little. You listen more. You become a little more patient. You remember that compassion isn't something separate from good medicine—it is good medicine.

Patients may not remember the medications they received or every procedure that was performed. 

But they'll remember how you made them feel.

They'll remember the medic who held their hand when they were scared. The EMT who made their child smile. The crew that treated their spouse with dignity. The person who looked at them and made them feel like they mattered.

Those are the providers people remember. Those are the providers families pray for when they dial 911.

They may never win Medic of the Year. Their name may never be on a plaque. Most of the people they help won't remember their name a year from now. But somewhere tonight, someone is sitting around a dinner table saying, "The ambulance crew that came today was incredible."

Not because they performed some amazing procedure. Because they cared.

If I ever have to call 911 for someone I love, that's exactly who I hope walks through the door.