Trauma shears

we never know where life will take us. Its been said our headstones are 2 dates separated by a dash, that tiny seemingly insignificant dash is everything. I grew up in a small town whose primary industry is farming. A 90’s baby flush with all the experiences of our countries greatest decade. Our house was a modest 2 story, 2 bed, 1 bath. My father was a farmer, my mother a mom and extra hand on the farm. My youth was very sheltered, protected.

It was fated to end eventually. It would not last. My mother would pursue a degree in psychology that would drive a wedge between her and my father eventually driving them to divorce. My father was a 3rd generation farmer, stubborn, hard headed, used to fixing problems with brute strength and grit. My mother was a deeply troubled woman whom had never had healthy relationships with men. Her own father a drunk whom had abandoned her before 3, her stepfather a good man that couldn’t relate to an abstract mind. She married for money. My grandfather had died and my father took over the farm while still in highschool. A successful man from a young age, my mother sought the security of a stable income. Till the American education system got a hold of her and corrupted the morals that guided our society for decades. Neither of them were perfect, both flawed, both guilty for the outcome. The results were the same regardless. A broken home.

We moved between several cities. Seeing my father every other weekend. eventually my mother would remarry and we would move to a town in the northern half of the state. A picturesque little town perched on the edge of the great lakes and the banks of a mighty river. I would eventually come to call this place home. I would lead a chaotic life fueled by the unstable emotional atmosphere of my childhood.

Drugs, crime and quick thrills would become the sustenance that defined my teenage years and early 20’s. Eventually I would come to realize this path was not sustainable and would end with prison or death. This realization came after I developed a reputation as trouble and a criminal record I would carry for over a decade.

Then came the explosion. A gas leak leveling my neighbors home and lighting it on fire. I would join two other strangers in entering the blown up and burning rubble to drag my neighbor to safety. An adrenaline junkie that just found a fix I would do what any addict in my position naturally does. chase the rush. I joined a local volunteer fire department which eventuall lead to a career in EMS.

Leaving my job in technical rescue I would come to EMS just prior to the COVID lockdowns. The industry of emergency care would rapidly change and I quickly earned a reputation for being quick thinking, intelligent, brave, and to some, a reckless provider. The old guard of EMS saw my penchant for quick decisive action despite my lack of experience as a disregard for the safety of my patients. Though this couldn’t be further from the truth I would soon learn of the epidemic of cowardice in emergency services. I would learn that fear of liability and a disgusting adherence to managerial “safety culture” was a cancer eating the heart out of our industry. In a small town secrets don’t keep and my history coupled with my reputation would put me at odds with many of my peers. despite their resentment I would earn their tacit respect as I am quite competent.

Upon entering this career I would not know what was waiting for me. how my life would change. As I’m still in the thick of the evolution of this period of my life I still don’t know how it will end. It will either bring about the greatest accomplishment of my life, the ultimate reward that will define the rest of my life. Or it will lead to the greatest disappointment. The ultimate let down which may break my spirit and leave my soul a denuded depressing shadow of its former self.