Sometimes we’re asked, “When did you first want to be a paramedic/nurse/firefighter/police officer… and why?” We can probably all trace back to a single moment in time when we knew it was our calling, an “Aha!” moment that sealed our fate. In my case, I knew I wanted to heal people, psychologically or physically, since I was four or five and there has been much internal debate about the logistics and specifics in the application of that desire that continues today.

I didn’t know that I wanted to be a paramedic until I saw Roy and Johnny on “Emergency” (1972 - 79) when I was a junior in High School. That show was an epiphany for me, a leap of understanding that remained a secret from my family for many years until I had the opportunity to pursue that particular career path. Being a medic is my greatest accomplishment and the hardest job I’ve ever loved. Although I work as an ER nurse now, I am and always will be first and foremost a paramedic (my EMTP license is still current). This is where my personal story began and how it affects me still.

And Puppy Dogs’ Tails

Picture, if you will, a brunette pixie of a child who spent her first few years happily riding piggyback, viewing God’s Creation over Mama’s shoulder. Extremely shy and the youngest of four children, I had somehow been granted access to the greatest of secrets; there was an indisputable, undeniable truth in the magic of Merlin and Oz. No wound was too great to heal. If things were not as we wished it was because something far better was yet to come—there would always be happy endings—and love conquered all.

Our biological father moved out in the summer of 1960, so we practiced “do the best you can with what you’ve got.” I didn’t know that we were materially deprived or different from other families, because those things didn’t matter. What mattered to me, at four years of age, was entering any unknown alone and without my siblings; a frightening prospect. School was an unknown—the beginning of “reality” as other people knew it—unlike my own innately cognizant and creatively balanced world. Kindergarten? Get a rug and take a nap… learn the rules and you’ll do fine—two cents for white milk, three for chocolate. Learning that there was an accepted algorithm for functions and behavior gave others comfort, but they frustrated the free and artistic spirit inside me that wanted to explore the infinite beauty and wonder of the world. That September dragged on while teachers hovered to assure the completion of tasks, focusing on behavioral order, painfully oblivious to fun or adventure. I made the best of it.

October and my fifth birthday came together. As each new day welcomed additional instruments in the forming symphony of color, my trek home changed. The pathway was filled with fallen leaves and discoveries of every sort, a certain one quite unexpected: a small dog was lying in the leaves. I reasoned that if Mom made all of my sicknesses and pain go away, then of course she could do the same for this poor mongrel. Any medication delivered by the hands that pushed unruly wisps of hair gently from my eyes, mended each wound, and made every hurt disappear could certainly help that puppy. I carried him home and put him in my mother’s bed, carefully covering him with her clean, crisp white linens and searched for aspirin.

Maybe I was experiencing some early stirrings of the healer within. Perhaps the innocent soul that believed in supernatural powers, who listened for sleigh bells on Christmas Eve, saw beyond the stiffened, decaying corpse that filled my arms. I don’t remember what Mom said when I offered her that eyeless, mange-ridden body. She probably disposed of it with as little outward repulsion or comment as possible. Of immediate concern to her was the child, intellectually ahead of her years but emotionally fragile, who would realize for the first time that her Mama was not omniscient or omnipotent, that a harsher reality existed than her knowledge or kisses and hugs could make “all better.”

I’ve since learned of a mercifully protective emotional barrier, one that holds reality at bay when viability won’t be commanded into a lifeless form. Actuality dictates that in spite of intentions, equipment, knowledge or skill, a child who stays beneath the cold, murky waters of Lake Huron for three hours may not live. If an unsuspecting pedestrian has been hit by a van, introducing catheters, fluids and drugs into his veins, intubating his trachea, forcing oxygen into his lungs and manually compressing his heart may not prolong his life. Sometimes, however swiftly and expertly functions are performed, they may not result in what we perceive to be a positive outcome. Sometimes we cannot make things all better, and it is a daunting realization that sets one upon other paths of introspection and growth. It also provides for a personal empathy to deal with other’s pain in the aftermath of trauma and loss.

That autumn afternoon was so many years ago, but in spite of the failure to obtain a consistently successful medical outcome I’m still trying to effect healing; the tools are shinier, the methods more technologically advanced and some results are accepted as being beyond mortal control. Experience can be the harshest of teachers, though; hard-learned lessons are often unforgiving, depleting an inner store of innocence. My inner child has outwardly grown and gone and there is wonder now—and hopefully not fear—in the unknown. I face challenges with an understanding that my younger years lacked, a forebearing which keeps me safe and points me toward help when situations are beyond my control, understanding or ability to handle physically or emotionally.

I’ve been told that part of the reason people desire to become a rescuer of any type is that they have common personality traits, a theory that while yet unproven still makes a lot of sense to me and I see it quite a bit in the people with whom I’ve worked in Emergency Services, whether in disaster relief, EMS pre-hospital or in the Emergency Room itself. Who are these people? Look around you, or look at yourself and tell me if some of this doesn’t strike a chord of logic.

The rescuer personality is a stereotypical characterization of the types of people who work in Emergency Services. These folks are often described as having a need to be in control of situations; maybe they are perfectionists, those who are lightheartedly referred to as “anal” or “obsessive compulsive” by their families and coworkers. Perhaps they are high achievers first in school and then in life in general, internally motivated and possibly somewhat action oriented. They are most likely family-oriented as well, often considering certain coworkers to be as close as family members. Whenever anything goes wrong or someone is in need, especially if those in need are familial by birth or choice, these rescuers are the ones who have an urgent desire to assist, to always be there to help and they have a very hard time saying no. The rescuer personality individuals might be those who are easily bored and apt to be risk takers as they run toward the fire, disaster or the bad guys instead of away from them and you may find them to have unusually high expectations, especially of themselves. They are probably very dedicated and protective with a strong compulsion to be needed. And in spite of all of these qualities, these same people will probably be so busy taking care of everyone else that they essentially come in last on their “to do” list when it comes time for self-care, so there is usually not a lot of discussion about their own needs or feelings.

Is having the dubious and controversial rescuer personality a bad thing? Not necessarily, but it can certainly be a stumbling block when that rescuer is in need of rescuing himself. In the aftermath of the types of events that are not deemed successful by the rescuer, when his innocence is gone and his shiny tools don’t work to provide an anticipated outcome, the positive attributes of the rescuer personality don’t leave much room for the rescuer to breathe and he can become overwhelmed. So who rescues the rescuer? Many have developed effective survival mechanisms that are usually healthy and productive, so in essence, the rescuer may be in a position to apply some level of self-help, or to at least have enough knowledge to identify a crisis and seek outside help. In looking at the items noted in the descriptions of a rescuer personality, I see myself, even as that four-year-old child who stepped through the majesty of an autumn day to face the type of hopeless situation that would not be turned around in spite of unassailable beliefs and expectations. I can still clearly see the fallen leaves and smell the crisp autumn air as I stepped into my own future while lifting my first encounter with death toward a light that would eventually lead me down a different path. That light (or enlightenment) would redirect my spirit to embrace a type of thinking that would let me grow and see the wonderment on the other side of the rainbow. Does each of us in this business have a story, an “Aha!” moment, a right-lobar burst of high-frequency brain...