Remember Aron Ralston? The guy who cut off his own arm a while back after spending the better part of a week in a slot canyon with his arm pinned under a rock? Well, it's been almost six years since his "accident," and he's still around.
The New York Times did an article on him yesterday, complete with a five-minute video feature (you can't get that in the print version--maybe that's why nobody is reading papers anymore).
You can find it here.
As fascinating as it was to hear about a guy cutting off his own arm, it's even more interesting to see how that, plus the celebrity that has followed, has affected the guy over the years.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Christmas Morning
Christmas morning in Arches National Park
Moab, Utah
25 Dec 2008
The envelope I am holding contains the letters from my family that my boss surprised us with on Christmas morning. My boss surprised me with letters, not with my family.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Ride-alongs!
For those of you who don't know, I'm in an EMT-Basic class. It rocks.
One of the requirements is that I get 10 hours of clinical experience. That can be hanging out at the ER, riding on an ambulance, helping the guys who work in the ski patrol clinic, or anything else that puts you in contact with sick or injured people.
This afternoon, I rode my bike over to station number five of the Provo Fire Department to see if they would let me do some ride-along time with them.
Station Chief Joe said they were booked for ride-alongs for the next few weeks, but I could do it today if I didn't have anything else going on. I didn't.
Joe gave me very specific instructions on who I was to take orders from, that I was not to swear in front of patients, and that we do not joke about the patients and their problems while on scene. We do that at the station when the patients aren't around.
We got our first call just a few minutes after I got there; a traffic accident on Center Street.
I was excited and more than a bit nervous while we drove to the scene of the accident. I couldn't see much from the back of the ambulance, and I had no idea what to expect when we got there.
Our patient was an elderly lady who was still seated in the car when we arrived. She complained of pain in her head and in her abdomen. I helped take vital signs while Melissa the paramedic student check her out.
After I finished with the vitals, I stood back and let Melissa do her thing. While I watched, an elderly gentleman approached me and introduced himself as the patient's husband. He wanted to know what had happened and if his wife was okay.
My heart went out to this guy. I wanted to tell him his wife was fine and everything was all right. But I didn't know that.
So I told him I didn't know.
It turned out the patient was badly shaken, but physically fine. We spent no more than fifteen minutes on the scene.
Before we returned to the station we stopped in some residential neighborhood. By the time I got out of the ambulance, ten or twelve young Hispanic boys had surrounded the fire truck in front of us. The firefighters were handing out stickers and answering questions.
I didn't have any stickers, but I did have an extra latex glove. I blew that up, tied it off, and gave one of the boys a kind of balloon he had never seen before.
As we climbed into the back of the ambulance to leave, several boys looked past us to see the interior.
"What do you keep in there?" one asked.
"Lots of things," Melissa told him. "Like bandages and drugs."
The boys were dumbfounded.
"You keep DRUGS on an ambulance?!?"
"Uh, she means medications," I told them.
Melissa the paramedic student pulled the door closed and thanked me for clarifying.
Station Chief Joe decided to invite the paramedic crew from station one over for dinner. I spent most of my afternoon shopping and making chicken enchiladas and salad for ten.
The second call came right after dinner. The alarm rang and the dispatcher radioed us to respond to a patient in the mall with a head laceration.
I rode in the fire truck this time, so, by the time we got there, the ambulance crew had already responded, stopped the bleeding, and quickly bandaged the wound. We were there just to back them up.
The patient was a Hispanic guy, about 20 years old. He said members of another gang sucker punched him.
Either it was a dang good punch, or he hit his head when he fell, because there was blood all over his shirt, face, and arms.
There wasn't much left to do, except take vital signs and figure out if he needed to go to the ER in the ambulance or on his own.
The paramedics were nice enough to let me take the vitals.
It really wasn't too different than all the stuff we've been practicing in class. In fact, this guy was calmer than some of the "patients" we treat in class.
But the blood covering this guy's shirt wasn't made from water and food coloring.
On both calls, I found that the biggest difference between the classroom and the real world was the emotion--not my emotions but the patients'.
I've taken vital signs dozens of times. But I've never dealt with a husband who has to worry while he waits to find out if his wife is going to be okay. I've never dealt with a kid who is royally pissed off because he just got his head cut up by some rival gang members.
I guess that's not the stuff you learn in the classroom.
One of the requirements is that I get 10 hours of clinical experience. That can be hanging out at the ER, riding on an ambulance, helping the guys who work in the ski patrol clinic, or anything else that puts you in contact with sick or injured people.
This afternoon, I rode my bike over to station number five of the Provo Fire Department to see if they would let me do some ride-along time with them.
Station Chief Joe said they were booked for ride-alongs for the next few weeks, but I could do it today if I didn't have anything else going on. I didn't.
Joe gave me very specific instructions on who I was to take orders from, that I was not to swear in front of patients, and that we do not joke about the patients and their problems while on scene. We do that at the station when the patients aren't around.
We got our first call just a few minutes after I got there; a traffic accident on Center Street.
I was excited and more than a bit nervous while we drove to the scene of the accident. I couldn't see much from the back of the ambulance, and I had no idea what to expect when we got there.
Our patient was an elderly lady who was still seated in the car when we arrived. She complained of pain in her head and in her abdomen. I helped take vital signs while Melissa the paramedic student check her out.
After I finished with the vitals, I stood back and let Melissa do her thing. While I watched, an elderly gentleman approached me and introduced himself as the patient's husband. He wanted to know what had happened and if his wife was okay.
My heart went out to this guy. I wanted to tell him his wife was fine and everything was all right. But I didn't know that.
So I told him I didn't know.
It turned out the patient was badly shaken, but physically fine. We spent no more than fifteen minutes on the scene.
Before we returned to the station we stopped in some residential neighborhood. By the time I got out of the ambulance, ten or twelve young Hispanic boys had surrounded the fire truck in front of us. The firefighters were handing out stickers and answering questions.
I didn't have any stickers, but I did have an extra latex glove. I blew that up, tied it off, and gave one of the boys a kind of balloon he had never seen before.
As we climbed into the back of the ambulance to leave, several boys looked past us to see the interior.
"What do you keep in there?" one asked.
"Lots of things," Melissa told him. "Like bandages and drugs."
The boys were dumbfounded.
"You keep DRUGS on an ambulance?!?"
"Uh, she means medications," I told them.
Melissa the paramedic student pulled the door closed and thanked me for clarifying.
Station Chief Joe decided to invite the paramedic crew from station one over for dinner. I spent most of my afternoon shopping and making chicken enchiladas and salad for ten.
The second call came right after dinner. The alarm rang and the dispatcher radioed us to respond to a patient in the mall with a head laceration.
I rode in the fire truck this time, so, by the time we got there, the ambulance crew had already responded, stopped the bleeding, and quickly bandaged the wound. We were there just to back them up.
The patient was a Hispanic guy, about 20 years old. He said members of another gang sucker punched him.
Either it was a dang good punch, or he hit his head when he fell, because there was blood all over his shirt, face, and arms.
There wasn't much left to do, except take vital signs and figure out if he needed to go to the ER in the ambulance or on his own.
The paramedics were nice enough to let me take the vitals.
It really wasn't too different than all the stuff we've been practicing in class. In fact, this guy was calmer than some of the "patients" we treat in class.
But the blood covering this guy's shirt wasn't made from water and food coloring.
On both calls, I found that the biggest difference between the classroom and the real world was the emotion--not my emotions but the patients'.
I've taken vital signs dozens of times. But I've never dealt with a husband who has to worry while he waits to find out if his wife is going to be okay. I've never dealt with a kid who is royally pissed off because he just got his head cut up by some rival gang members.
I guess that's not the stuff you learn in the classroom.
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