אמת

As I pull into the base this morning, the sun is just beginning to shine it's first rays of light onto the earth, the still frigid air meets my nostrils, and a sigh reaches my throat. It is the start of my normal 10 hour shift of providing transport and emergency care to people all along the I-95 beltway and Metro-Boston. As I hop into the 55 this morning, the same musty, cleaning solution smell that exists in all of the ambulances thrusts itself at me. Soon, the engine is sputtering and roaring to life like a sleeping beast just rudely awakened.

Lights...check    Equipment...check  Computer...check

Sitting in the back of the ambulance, nothing jumps out at me anymore. I know where all of my equipment is, the quantity required by my check off sheet, and where to grab or discard extras. This is my office. Most people I know come to work, sit at a desk, have a desktop or laptop computer already prepared to be set up and ready for the day. Maybe they have stacks of paper, possibly reports they have to complete by the end of the day. A swivel chair, a desk, a calendar, maybe even a fun picture or post card dangles from a safety pin.

I look around my office. Tools crammed into every nook and cranny the truck has to offer. My desk is my lap. My desk lamp, the rear dome or Action Area light. My computer is a Tough Book. My reports come, sometimes, at a dizzying pace (I never know how many will be completed by the end of the day). My chair is a tech seat or bench seat. Diesel fume dust coats these seats and anything else it can cover in the back.

The radio crackles to life and then silences, another ambulance on its way for a transfer. My partner arrives and soon after, the phone rings. We have our first call of the day. The garage door opens with the crisp outside air rushing over me, the ambulance once again sputters and roars to life. The garage door closes and off we go.