The Lostpital

  Taking a detour from the Edmund story, because this one just fell into my lap.  A little research, a little reaching out on the interweb, and I was just handed a wonderful story about the place we call home, The YO.

  Youngstown, Ohio.

  I'm really not sure how this whole story got started, but that's OK because that's how the best stories usually start!  I think a friend of mine, Phil, found a pic. This all started with a single pic.  Something about ghost stories and abandoned buildings on a site that was completely unrelated to YO or EMS.  It was a photography site, and the pics I've seen (with a little research) are INCREDIBLE.  These guys take AMAZING pics!!!  The photographer was obviously in for the pic, but when "we" got a hold if it, we wanted to know more.  We're "ghetto medics" in Youngstown.

Let's start with the original picture:

How COOL is this???  Thanks to a couple of photographer "Sean's" Paramedics in Youngstown have some history to dig in to.  Which is exactly what I did.  And what I found out is amazing!

  This is the page I found the pic on, I'm not stealing anyone's thunder.  These guys are almost as good as a photographer I know near Cleveland, but that's a different story.

  Amazing?  Pic is, but THIS in Youngstown? No, not really.  In Youngstown, "amazing" was normal for us.  We built Steel. Ice Cream. Bread. Cars. Rail Roads. Coke. Coal. Automobiles. Movies. There was nothing Youngstown couldn't do.  So why wouldn't we have hospitals?

  I reached out to both Sean's responsible for this photo, Sean Gailbreath, and Sean Posey.  I heard from Mr Posey this evening and that was all my brainus needed,,,,,,

  According to Mr. Posey, this building was the hospital for General Fireproofing.  He wasn't sure of the location, as it had been some time since the photo was taken.

  "Bill, this was from the old General Fireproofing plant. Sadly, it has been torn down,"

  With a little research, I determined that Youngstown, OUR Youngstown was also a pioneer in metal office furniture.  With a factory on Logan Ave.  Abandoned factory buildings on Logan near Gypsy, more specifically the area on Logan that's south of W Dennick.  It's all open land and vacant now, which has become the story of our "YO".

General info on the company:
General Fireproofing

And again, because I'm pretty proud of all the rust I see in this city, I did a little more research, and came up with a current day video of where The Lospital once stood......

The Lostpital


  We built steel.  That steel made more factories, one of which  that simply made metal office furniture.  That factory made more jobs.  More jobs to the point that General Fireproofing built their own Hospital, creating yet more jobs in the medical field.  The need for more jobs, built schools and educated people that wanted to learn. Which, created even more jobs. All of a sudden we needed teachers, professors, factory workers, police officers, firefighters, engineers on the railroads we built, truck drivers, store clerks, accountants, bankers, car salesmen, car builders, butchers, bakers, movie makers.

  What the hell happened to us?

The Wreck of The Edmund Fitgerald Part III

  Despite a month long thrash on the sleds and trailers getting things ready, as we always promise ourselves will not be happening again next year, but somehow it always does.  Just like "Next year, we're leaving ON TIME and I don't care who isn't ready, we're leaving!" always turns into a 4 hour delay.  Despite calling Ann Arbor the dirty whore that she is on the way through, and surviving a winter land hurricane from Ann Arbor to Mackinac, seeing no snow where there is supposed to be snow, and turning a 10 hour trip into 14, despite all of this shit already, getting out of the trucks and having our group together again brought instant thoughts of happiness on the trails and laughter in the cabin. And all of the red flags and disappointment on the way here seemed to not matter, and almost vanish completely. Our makeshift repair on Pat's exhaust was still holding, Danny had his own theme song and we would all be on the sleds in Newberry very soon!

Thursday, Feb 25, 2016
  The plan for the day is to unload all the gear, and the sleds then head into Curtis 3 miles down the road for the appropriate permits, and last minute details we all forget like 2 cycle oil and hair goo.  Even though the sleds load themselves under their own power, and they depend on a bunch of dummies dragging them off the trailers, unloading went relatively smooth with our new-found energy, excitement, and false hopes of putting the "badness" behind us.  Partially because the "adults" were busy, and partially because we weren't paying attention, Mikey and JT were off entertaining themselves.  Nothing bad at all, just boys being boys.  What they were doing was wrestling over a football in the snow.  Not in itself a bad thing, hell they were keeping themselves occupied and not in the way or getting hurt.  What they didn't realize, is that they were also getting soaking wet in the snow.  At 50 MPH in The Upper Peninsula, wet gear is a huge bad thing.  Remember kids, its super easy to die up here, and hypothermia is not your friend, and with the wolfpack mentality wet clothes are a detriment to the entire group.

  I have to rewind a bit, and go back to the annual pre-trip sled thrash, it gets important in the story soon.  If you remember, Pat broke a driveshaft and caused last years major "kerfuffle", so easy fix.  New shaft and associated bearings and oil, he's first on the trailer.  I traded stuff for an Arctic Cat ZR 700, fixed it up, traded it for two Polarii.  Yes, Polarii is the correct plural for Polaris.  Pat and I did some major work on the two to make a good one, and got it "running".  Uncle Ed, Eddie, and Danny showed up and made her RUN!  I was next on the trailer.  Jimmy just needed some long overdo maintenance, and some parts from my other one and he was next.  JT's sled is "just a little air cooled 340" (this is important later!!!) and didn't need much, but since the sled is small, we saved it for later to fit it into our sled/trailer tetris game. "Old Reliable" The 440 I rode last year, gave her a quick once over, and she was ready.  Those 5 are on the first trailer Pat and Erick are pulling, Chop and I are pulling the second trailer. We're supposed to haul Eddie's XCR 800 and Chopper's RXL.  XCR? Good to go, put it on the trailer.  RXL? Not so much, we literally pulled it out of a barn January 3.  It was a basket case. Thrash, thrash, thrash, keep throwing money at it, first pull FIRED! Yay! Ker-effin-boom! One of the three cylinders is not playing nice with the other two.  The best way I can describe what happened in the next 72 hours.... We sent a sick little lamb to Brookfield, we didn't have time for it here.  It was running on 2 of 3 cylinders.  Again, Uncle Ed, Eddie, Danny, Chopper and some non-sled friends spent each and every spare moment and sent it back in about 60ish hours.  When it came back, it had a crankshaft from a 1932 Studebaker, cylinder heads off of a P51 Mustang, a magic wand and a whole lot of angry.  That crew busted ass, and took a shot in the dark with spare parts, what they came up with is a secret combination that none of us to this day are sure of.  We're all sure it works though!  Holy shit does that thing run like a fat kid chasing an ice cream truck!

  So here we are, Curtis Ichigan.  We fought so hard to get here, and the only thing on our minds is Newberry, Ichigan.  Unload, let's hit Curtis, get back here, gear up and shake down cruise to Newberry!  We all jump in and convoy to Curtis.  Fuel for the rigs, oil for the sleds, permits for the Cops, cash for the wallet.  My debit card is STILL there, BTW. And a little The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald on the radio....  At this point, the Brookfield side and the Grimm side start talking about why we both have this song on our minds.  I point out the fact that the ship wrecked a hundred miles or so from here, and there's a museum up there in Whitefish Point that I'd like to go see, and I think it'd be a good trip on the sleds.  Except the museum is closed, but maybe we can still make the ride past Paradise, head on up there.  Danny tells us he stumbled upon the song, and keeps playing it solely for the fact that it pisses Eddie off.  "Holy shit!  We're close to where it wrecked??" Yeppers.

.

 "I think that'd be a good Saturday trip for us, let's get to Newberry today, then see what happens.  Shake down cruise today, we're all tired from the trip.  Dust off tomorrow, we'll hit the trails pretty hard maybe make a big loop.  Saturday is the long haul trip, we'll go see Edmund and her crew, stop at The Falls for lunch, Paradise for fuel." I said, fully believing this was even a remote possibility.

  We all get permitted up, and things we forgot, and a few extras and head back to the sleds waiting for us at the cabin.  When we get back, there is a palpable giddiness about us as we all exit the trucks and race to the cabin to get geared up.  I hear the first of our sleds start for the warm up and the sound puts a sense of urgency into all of us in the cabin.  Quick trip today, back to the cabin to get settled in. This is it!

  Quick safety check, everyone knows the order and the trail rules. 3 miles to Curtis on the streets, then trails.  Ride Sally ride!  I lead our pack out of the drive and onto the road leading to Curtis, and all of a sudden it becomes painfully obvious.  We're riding on blacktop. Not snow.  I knew this!  Air cooled sleds depend on movement for engine cooling, we have Robert and JT on "The little 340's" that are air cooled.  The rest of us are liquid cooled.  A liquid cooled sled has radiators around the track, and depends on snow to cool the radiators. Simple.  Except we're riding on dry pavement.  I try my best to kick my outside ski into a snowbank when I can to throw snow under my sled.  It doesn't work.  About a half mile from camp, I get the sound of a sick engine, and a few second later the "overheat" light on the dash.  I stop, and realize I'm the first to break down this year, less than a mile from camp.  With what dignity I have left, I climb off of my XCR and hope for no permanent damage.  As I'm assessing the situation, I don't even have my helmet off yet, I glance to my left and see Danny walking towards me.  Not a big deal, we travel as a pack.

  But then I hear his theme song.... "That good ship and crew was a bone to be chewed, as the gales of November gave early. The ship was the pride of the American side coming back from mill in Wisconsin.."

  "What's wrong Grandpa??? Did you break a hip?" Kiss my ass Danny......

(to be continued)

The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald Part II

After we fuel up, and get the rigs facing into the snow again, well Northbound.  Into the snow could have been in any direction. Polar vortex, winter hurricane, whatever you want to call it, it SUCKED.  My mind kept going back to that damn song while we were looking for the "Big lake they call Gitche Gumee" to get out of this storm. Actually found myself wondering what that storm The Edmund Fitzgerald didn't make it through must have been like....

CHOP!!!!  I'M TRYING BILLY!!!! Jesus, Mary and Joseph this is bad. Who invited Elvis again? I just saw him sitting on the guard rail!  We should have pulled over a long time ago, like the friggin SNOW PLOW DRIVERS DID!!! Not even exaggerating, there were literally snow plow drivers that said the hell with this, only idiots would be trying to drive through this, and pulled over. Guess who the idiots passing the snow plows were?  Yup. Us.

  Where in the hell is that god damn bridge?  It's friggin huge, I don't think we missed it.  Again, my brain starts wandering off to that damn song again, somehow trying to distract myself from this brutal situation we're in.  This storm we were in the middle of "turned minutes into hours" just like the song.  We HAVE to be getting close.  What seemed like 4 hours later, oh wait. It WAS 4 hours later, we start seeing signs for the Mackinac bridge, and the storm eases up on us a little bit.  Not enough to set the cruise control, or even take the rig out of 4WD yet, but it eases up.  At this point the sun starts coming up, Chop and I are on our second wind and feeling pretty good about things in general, and looking forward to not only the bridge, but the friends and good times we're expecting to find somewhere north of it.  If we only knew.....

  The rest of the trip south of the Mackinac was pretty uneventful, well as uneventful as it can get driving through a winter hurricane.  The wimpy snow plow drivers were back on the road finally, and we could actually see blacktop once in a while.  It was covered with CLEAR ice and slippery as hell, but it was blacktop.  We finally see the bridge off near the horizon, and can see clear skies over it, even though we were still in the storm.  We tune to the AM station run by the bridge authority, and the recorded voice, as nice as the man sounded, was warning us of a high wind advisory on the bridge, 20 MPH speed limit for vehicles with trailers, and in all likelihood a dark icy watery drowning death after being blown off of the side of the bridge and plummeting into Lake Huron. 

  

  20 MPH over the bridge, and it was rather refreshing, maybe exciting.  Gale force winds trying to blow us off of it, but all things point to nicer weather and much easier driving immediately on the other side of it, so it was both refreshing and exciting.  Stopped at the toll booth on the north shore of the Mackinac Straits, pay our toll and regroup with Pat whom we lost track of in Winter Storm Petros.  From our vantage point on the north shore, we can literally see the northern most part of Winter Storm Prick... er I mean Petros.

We survived!!  Ha ha kiss our asses Edmund Fitzgerald!  Granted we didn't have 27,000 tons of iron ore on board, but we did something you couldn't.  We made it through the storm.  And we had a trailer!

With a renewed spirit, and all 4 of us in the truck now awake, the two dummies in the back slept through ALL DAT FUN, we know we're only an hour and a half from Curtis Ichigan, and a few hours past that on the sleds is Newberry!  Gasserup Buttercup!

  Storm is behind us, clear dry roads in front of us, and as Chop so eloquently put it "Billy! We're back to green flag racing!"  Sun is starting to come up enough that the sun glasses come out.  Warm cup of coffee in my hands, thoughts of wind in my face, and a mind wandering off to all of the stories we'll soon have to tell of the trails, lake racing, and having an absolute blast on our annual long weekend trip.  It becomes painfully obvious....

  There is a SEVERE lack of snow! We need it. I'm not seeing it.  I can actually see grass in some areas where there should be a couple feet of it.  Hell, it's right in the name, SNOWmobile.  For the next hour and a half, we can make actual time now, none of that "minutes turned into hours" bullshit, we head west and north through Ichigan's UP.  Its so beautiful up there, but it IS Ichigan, so we refer to it as Canada South. As we head into Curtis, there are normally plowed trails on the side of the road, just for sleds, the snow plows literally leave a few inches on the ground for snowmobiles to get around.  All I'm seeing is dry roads, and an icy mess where we're supposed to ride.  We have about a three and a half mile trip along the roads (perfectly legal up there) to get from our cabin to the trail head, and I'm still in the truck looking down at ice, dirt, and blacktop. Not snow.

  We pull in to the resort and up to our cabin, the rest of the gang already made it here safe and sound through the storm.  Pain in the ass to get ready again this year, pain in the ass to actually GET HERE this year, but seeing the whole gang together in Curtis automatically puts a smile on your face.  That ear-to-ear "what kind of trouble are we going to get ourselves into this year?" type of grin.  The boys start coming out of the cabin to greet us and compare Petros notes, and it's nice to stretch our legs a bit. Danny walks out with music playing, like he has his own theme song when he walks into a room.  I can't quite make it out, I'm old and partially deaf, but as he gets closer I hear "The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down..." 

I KNOW that song!  The two halves of our group still don't know each other's relationship with that shipwreck, but we would soon.  And once we all learned what it was, it would lead us down a path none of us expected, wanted, or could ever even imagine.........

(to be continued)

The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald Part I

  The annual snowmobile trip story! Its finally here!!!  And it's epic.

  Everyone has been asking "How was your trip?" expecting an answer like Fun! or We had such a great time!  But the only answer I could give was "It was absolutely horrific, I hated it, I hate Ichigan, I think we should sell Ichigan to Canada! But because of who I was with, we had an absolute BLAST!"

  You're probably wondering why a snowmobile trip is named "The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald" and I honestly can't say that I blame ya.  Dumb name for a snowmobile trip, but let me explain a little leading up to the trip.

  12 guys, off on an annual adventure in the Upper Peninsula of Ichigan yet again this year.  Pat, Erick, Danny, Eddie, Timmy, Robert, Chop, Jimmy, Mike, JT, Mikey and Myself looking to put about 300 miles of snow under our sleds during the days; and spending our time at night drinking some beers, telling stories, and spinning a top.  You'll notice the lack of the word "Uncle" in the guest list, "The Uncles" were unable to make the trip this year due to work schedules.  That means Pat and I are the "adults" this trip.  If that's not a giant red flag to stay home right there...... We didn't listen.

  I inherited the "lead dog" spot last year.  I'm very proud of that spot, its my job to help plan the trips, which routes, etc.  If things go bad, as they sometimes will, it's also my job to get us all back home.  In my last blog, the "pre-trip" blog, if you will, titled "Ichigan, Take II" I said "When I START with "friends" like this, I have no choice.  I'll bring them home, with a story."  Well, we're home.  And I have one HELL of a story to tell.

Now would be a great time to play this song, written by Gordon Lightfoot in 1976:
The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald

  I got a record player for Christmas in 1976 and played this 45 over and over and over again, until I wore out the needle.  I've always loved this song.  So, while thinking about the upcoming trip, I thought about our "long haul" day.  We usually just go play on the trails, from Curtis to Newberry and back on the first day, kind of a shake down cruise and to get settled in.  Saturday is our long haul day, remember Paradise from last year? Yeah, so do we.  Well, this year for the long haul I come up with this little gem:

  Let's take it a step further, and not only ride to Paradise again, but about 40 miles North of Paradise, to Whitefish Point.  That's where the bell from The Edmund Fitzgerald is, in the shipwreck museum.  Now at this same point in time, but unbeknownst to me, Danny had stumbled upon this song, and took it as a personal goal to make his brother Eddie crazy with it by playing it over and over and over and over.

  The last trip of The Edmund Fitzgerald:

  

  My idea for the long haul, to go see Edmund Fitzgerald, highlighted in bright green:

  Well, came to find out the Shipwreck Museum doesn't open for the season until May, so that plan got put on hold.  Maybe still ride to Whitefish Point just for the hell of it, maybe come up with another plan once we get there.  Right now all the trails up there are closed due to lack of snow.  Lets get back in the garage and get some sleds running before we get the sled ahead of the horse. Sled ahead of the cart. Snow ahead of the horse? I dunno. Red flags all over the place already.....
We didn't listen.

  So now we have two separate crews getting ready to join forces in the UP.  One actually contemplating riding to the Shipwreck Museum, the other actually contemplating making each other crazy with a song written about a shipwreck.  Both working independently together, but each unaware of the other's relationship with a ship at the bottom of Lake Superior at this point. The days leading up to the trip were as usual, massive thrash on all the sleds getting them ready to ride.  Ride,  Sally ride......

Wed, Feb 24, 2016. D-Day
  Sleds are all loaded, gear is not.  Hectic doesn't even begin to describe the hornets nest we've created for ourselves, yet again.  The crew decided to do me a favor, and instead of leaving Wed morning, they would all wait for me to take a test I had for school that evening.  Go take the test, get my ass home, and we leave.  Simple!  I went to school, took my test, got my ass home.  NO ONE is ready to roll! Myself included.  I forgot some things, cell phone charger, hair goo, etc. You know, really important stuff for a weekend with your friends in the wilderness.

  We also forgot to check the weather.  Well, "forgot" is inaccurate.  More like Pat thought I was, I thought Erick was, Erick thought Pat was etc.  Timmy, Eddie, and Danny had left earlier in the morning, and reports from the road were "clear sailing from here to Toledo", again a ship reference.

  There was one more passenger on our list that no one knew about, sort of a stow away.  Winter Storm Petros.

  The gang that left earlier wasn't lying, but about the time we finally got on the road, we were 4 hours behind our scheduled time of departure, and the other crew was already 8 hours ahead of us.  By the time we hit Sandusky, the reports from the other crew turned from words like "sunshine", "clear sailing", and "beautiful" into words like "Gale force", "Ichigan SUCKS" and "HOLY SHIT!"

  When we hit I-75 in Ichigan it got unattractive.  Snow and windy.  By the time we got north of Ann Arbor (the dirty whore) it got down right UGLY.  I-75 was one "lane" if you could even call it a lane, blizzard conditions, gale force winds, and an absolute vividly awake, living, breathing nightmare, Down to 20 MPH at some points, looking out the side windows at the sleds on the trailer, wait,,, Are those OUR sleds????  Looking at the radar, the storm is the entire length of Ichigan, and has a hurricane swirling appearance.  It's not going anywhere. We're going to have to hit The Mackinac Bridge to get away from this thing.

  Somewhere north of Vanderbilt we noticed Pat had broken an exhaust hanger on his truck.  Stopped at a gas station in the middle of the storm around 05:00 to fuel up and jerry-rig Pat's exhaust.  Knocked about 100 pounds of snow and ice off of the trailers, and the guys in the snowplows trying to keep up and clear the parking lot piled about 300 pounds behind the trailers.  Couple of MacGyver items from the "automotive" isle in the gas station, and laying under Pat's rig in 9" of snow, we thankfully got the exhaust "fixed" and were once again northbound.  Where's that damn bridge?  We HAVE to be getting close.  I hate Ichigan.  Yep, red flag......   We didn't listen.


(to be cont)

Ichigan, take II

  I normally wouldn't start a story before the story happens.  But in this case I will, there are SOOOO many people looking forward to our annual snowmobile trip.  I also have things I'd like to "note" for the later story, so what better way to make notes, than to start the story! My idiot friends have already started this story, so I should start writing.

  EVERY year, we say "We are NOT doing this again next year!!" referring to the thrash that happens working on sleds, trucks, and trailers the day before we leave.  My hands are stained, and literally smell like "two stroke smoke."  Lots of hell to get through, but we're ready.  5 of 11 already on the trailer.  In the middle of the "trash" we have to go pick the third Musketeer at the airport, he came up specifically for this trip.

  The MOMENT I saw him walk out of the terminal, I jumped out of the Jeep, ran up to him and jumped into his arms.  He's THAT kind of a guy!  Pat did the same.  Erick is really THAT cool, and he flew in from Flo-Ryda just for our snowmobile trip.

  On the way home from the airport, Erick's sitting in the back seat commenting on how comfortable and "posturepedic" the seats are.  He's being serious but the way he says it it hilarious.  Who uses "posturpedic" in a normal sentence?  He starts telling us a story about blah blah blah that happened to him in Florida.  I look at Pat and make a comment....

  In Three Stooges fashion, Erick slaps Pat and I both in the back of the head.  "Hey!  Are you two nipple nods listening to me?"


  I'm about to take on the greatest responsibility ever, and I welcome it.

  My job?   Bring them home.

  When I START with "friends" like this, I have no choice.  I'll bring them home, with a story.

Paramedic School II: Learning to FLY

If you've read any or all of my blog, it should come as no surprise that I surround myself with the best people I can find for a particular situation. I do this on purpose. I get pretty animated about things I'm passionate about.  Be it firefighting, drag racing, or something as simple and mundane as making coffee.  I want the BEST coffee maker ever showing me the ropes!  I demand the best of the best.

  I will settle for nothing less.

  It is a true gift from above when someone asks you to mentor them, teach them, and guide them through what you've already done. If you find yourself in this situation, It's a blessing.  Seriously? What does this Mutt want??? Does He deserve my time???  YES SIR! HE DOES!  You SIR have an opportunity for change.

  I have done this!  For this I am fortunate X 10.

  Watching others succeed in their own endeavors is glorious!  Its even better when those you mentor take your knowledge and run with it.  Look at what THEY just did!  I helped turn this rookie into someone that not only can now teach me something, but they are out there saving strangers, and teaching others.  A caring, compassionate, intelligent human being that I had a small part in creating. An always learning, willing to share, teaching MONSTER!

  I now find myself on the other side of that coin.  In my transition from the end of my teaching career in the fire service, to the beginning of my learning career in the EMS world, I'm still surrounded by the best minds possible.  I did that on purpose too.

Learning to FLY!

  I'm 46 years old, and I want to be a Paramedic when I grow up.  I've purposefully surrounded myself with the best Mentors.  Instructors. Preceptors. Co-Workers.

  The wisdom and knowledge I walk into when looking for the time clock is phenomenal!  Ya just have to know where to "listen".

  I study around the clock.  I study notes.  I study books.  I study videos.  But the most important thing I've found is that I study the people I purposely put around myself.  I learn from them, even though they may not realize they are teaching at that moment.  I do my best.  Then I do my best plus. I also study WHOM to put around myself. I retreat from negative people.  I attract positive people.  I DO have a shit umbrella, just in case I'm forced to be around a negative person all day.

  My current "Boss" in the EMS world (More of a Mentor. No, not more of.  He's a Mentor and a Role Model.) told me on my hire interview as an EMT-B: "Billy, we all know you'll be a Paramedic soon.  But here is what I want.  I already have a Frank Medic, I already have a Bonnie Medic.  I have a Jimmy Medic too.  I don't need another of any of those,  Take what you can from them.  They are all good in they're very own way!  We love them, we NEED them!  But, I what I want, what I need to see is what Billy The Medic can do!"

  I was told, by all of these new mentors that I now hold in high regard, that Paramedic school would somehow "click" at an unknown point in the future.

  Becoming a Paramedic is an overwhelming amount of knowledge in a short 2 year period of time.

  Thinking back about all those I've taught how to tie a figure eight on a bight, a seemingly unobtainable task.  I taught them.

  Paramedic school is simple.  It's an insurmountable task, with a mind numbing amount of knowledge along with an incredible amount of responsibility.

  I'm not better or smarter than anyone else, I've just surrounded myself with the best people.

  I was told by these new found Mentors of mine that I would be handed "magical" powers.  I've witnessed these powers in the hands of my mentors, first hand!  Their hands can and do literally save lives.

  My hands are not capable, yet they assure me that they are. And more.  Their hands live on in mine through  The wisdom. The Skills. The Knowledge. The Mentors accepting me, expecting me to attain their skills and perhaps someday make them proud.  Accepting me.

  These men and women are MASTERS of their craft!
  They expect my best, after all they taught me.
  I don't know what my best is yet, but I know those that have taught me.

 "There are people waiting! What do YOU want to do Boss?"


I want to make you proud, but more importantly I want to give this patient, my ONLY patient right now, my full attention.  The attention deserved from all of my mentors.

  I'm just learning to fly.

Paramedic School I

  I titled this Paramedic School "I" because I KNOW there are going to be more blogs about this.

  For my fans, fear not I will get back to "Small Town" soon,

  I'm just an "ambulance driver" for now, but I'm going through Paramedic School.  First of all, don't call us ambulance driver's, there is so much training and hard work involved.  We're called EMTs for a reason.  Emergency Medical Technician.

  Paramedic School is ridiculous, I honestly don't know how there are any Paramedics on the face of the earth right now.  I call it "Dr Light".  There is so much information to cram into your brainus, so many hours of riding on an ambulance for free, so many hours of working in an ER for free, so many hours of studying.  So much time and dedication.

  If you ever find yourself in need, and I hope you never do, but if you hear the words "Hi, I'm Bill. I'm a Paramedic and I'm here to help you."  You are in the hands of angels.

  I'm at the end of our first semester of 3 in Medic School.  My brain hurts from the amount of information being crammed into it.  My back hurts from all of the lifting.  I'm literally emotionally and physically exhausted.  STUDY! QUIZ! STUDY! RIDE TIME! STUDY! CLINICALS!

  I have doubts of whether I have the knowledge and or skills to pass this class and actually become a Paramedic.  All of this going on while working TWO full time jobs.

  Breathe Billy!  Breathe!  I got this.  FOCUS.

  I got to thinking today about where I am in my own life, and where I want to be,  I want to be exactly where I am right now. In Medic School.

  On a recent trip,  I felt as though I was making my own music video in real time. Here's how it played out:

  Medic 101
Medic 101
  Code 3 in the city, Diabetic Emergency
Medic 101 roger, on the way

  And at that exact moment, this song came on. I literally turned the red lights on a 00:46 into this song.

Lovin EVERY minute!


Nothing personal, but I never want to meet you.  But if you touch that dial.... start me like a motor, make me run!

You called me on your worst day.  
That's when I'm at my best.