I attended public school in upstate New York; about 100 miles north of New York City. My high school had less than 800 students for grades 8-12 but we had a pretty diverse student body... different races, religions, etc. Sure, everyone had their little group of friends, but we crossed into different groups and pretty much all got along. I thought I was pretty well-rounded.
And then I started riding on the ambulance in my hometown.
The majority of people who call 9-1-1 are calling because they need help. They are at their most vulnerable, asking strangers to come into their home. Can you imagine vomiting for three days, still wearing the same clothes, not showering and asking someone you don't know to come get you off your bathroom floor? Imagine watching, helplessly, as a loved one is struggling or dying in front of you... you have three numbers to dial and a bunch of strangers come into your most private space, into your life. We see a lot in the emergency department, but it does not compare to what is encountered going into some one's home at their most vulnerable.
When I was in high school, I shared the same classrooms, lunch room, played on the same team as many different people. To me, we all came from the same place and had the same opportunities. Sure, some lived in the little city, some in suburbia, some in the country, but in school, I never felt we were much different. Five years later, I was going into the homes of my former classmates and their families.
I was so wrong.
One house that will always stay with me was down in the city. It was the middle of the night. The houses downtown are old with small doorways, high ceilings and long, narrow, rickety staircases. At that time, some were renovated into their former gorgeous glory with their antique moldings and built in shelves. Most were not. This one was not.
It was dark, the lighting was poor. Stuff. Just stuff, was everywhere. The smell of filth, stale cigarettes and kitty litter slapped you in the face as soon as the front door opened. We had to go around to the right, through one room to get to the bedroom. There was a gigantic box type tv in the corner that took up a good portion of the room. The lady was about 280 pounds, on the bed, unresponsive and not breathing.
We had a difficult time getting to her, but we had no choice. There was no clear path. I was young and agile, so I usually did a lot of the things that required small space maneuvering. Remember the smell... the stuff... I climbed up onto her bed. I straddled her head with my feet, rested my butt against the headboard and bent over her to provide ventilation with a bag-valve mask. When you are dealing with some one's life you look past the smells, the filth, the stuff and just find a way.
This... this was the way some people, some of my school mates lived?!
This person had a popular last name, the same last name as some of my school mates. I will say, it was a real bed with sheets. That was another eye-opener I learned on the ambulance... not everyone sleeps on a bed, some people only sleep on a mattress and sheets are a luxury. One time, I went into the home of someone I knew from the grade ahead of me. She was one of the popular ones. I was dumbfounded to see a naked mattress with just a blanket on the floor.
In my five years on the ambulance, my Mayberry life was forever changed. Part of that was from the experience of seeing former classmates at home. There was the strung out beauty queen, the angel of a human with chronic illnesses, seeing familiar faces at shootings, the decent dude whose house my partner and I ran out of because a fight broke out... all former classmates.
What I know is this:
Don't knock public schools. They are safe environments for students from all walks of life. Many times, the school is the best chance a kid has at being successful.
Just because a person has sneakers to match every outfit, don't assume they have bedding and a full fruit bowl. You just never know what a person's home life is.
Be kind. Especially to kids and teenagers. You have no idea what they're going home to every day or if they have a home.
My five years on the ambulance contributed to me moving over three hundred miles away. Sometimes I ask myself if given the chance, would I do it again? The honest answer is... I don't know.
And then I started riding on the ambulance in my hometown.
The majority of people who call 9-1-1 are calling because they need help. They are at their most vulnerable, asking strangers to come into their home. Can you imagine vomiting for three days, still wearing the same clothes, not showering and asking someone you don't know to come get you off your bathroom floor? Imagine watching, helplessly, as a loved one is struggling or dying in front of you... you have three numbers to dial and a bunch of strangers come into your most private space, into your life. We see a lot in the emergency department, but it does not compare to what is encountered going into some one's home at their most vulnerable.
When I was in high school, I shared the same classrooms, lunch room, played on the same team as many different people. To me, we all came from the same place and had the same opportunities. Sure, some lived in the little city, some in suburbia, some in the country, but in school, I never felt we were much different. Five years later, I was going into the homes of my former classmates and their families.
I was so wrong.
One house that will always stay with me was down in the city. It was the middle of the night. The houses downtown are old with small doorways, high ceilings and long, narrow, rickety staircases. At that time, some were renovated into their former gorgeous glory with their antique moldings and built in shelves. Most were not. This one was not.
It was dark, the lighting was poor. Stuff. Just stuff, was everywhere. The smell of filth, stale cigarettes and kitty litter slapped you in the face as soon as the front door opened. We had to go around to the right, through one room to get to the bedroom. There was a gigantic box type tv in the corner that took up a good portion of the room. The lady was about 280 pounds, on the bed, unresponsive and not breathing.
We had a difficult time getting to her, but we had no choice. There was no clear path. I was young and agile, so I usually did a lot of the things that required small space maneuvering. Remember the smell... the stuff... I climbed up onto her bed. I straddled her head with my feet, rested my butt against the headboard and bent over her to provide ventilation with a bag-valve mask. When you are dealing with some one's life you look past the smells, the filth, the stuff and just find a way.
This... this was the way some people, some of my school mates lived?!
This person had a popular last name, the same last name as some of my school mates. I will say, it was a real bed with sheets. That was another eye-opener I learned on the ambulance... not everyone sleeps on a bed, some people only sleep on a mattress and sheets are a luxury. One time, I went into the home of someone I knew from the grade ahead of me. She was one of the popular ones. I was dumbfounded to see a naked mattress with just a blanket on the floor.
In my five years on the ambulance, my Mayberry life was forever changed. Part of that was from the experience of seeing former classmates at home. There was the strung out beauty queen, the angel of a human with chronic illnesses, seeing familiar faces at shootings, the decent dude whose house my partner and I ran out of because a fight broke out... all former classmates.
What I know is this:
Don't knock public schools. They are safe environments for students from all walks of life. Many times, the school is the best chance a kid has at being successful.
Just because a person has sneakers to match every outfit, don't assume they have bedding and a full fruit bowl. You just never know what a person's home life is.
Be kind. Especially to kids and teenagers. You have no idea what they're going home to every day or if they have a home.
My five years on the ambulance contributed to me moving over three hundred miles away. Sometimes I ask myself if given the chance, would I do it again? The honest answer is... I don't know.
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