Kryptonite

Origin Date: Dec.10, 2021

Buzzzz...

My pager was going off.

"Ugh..." I sighed. Deep breath..."I don't want to go to this call."

I brought the pager up to my ear. .

"CPR in progress..."

"Crap"

"I really don't want to go to this call..."

"What's the call?" my wife asked

"CPR in progress...love you guys." I said as I headed out the door.

"Maybe the trucks will be gone before I get to the station," I thought.

First truck out was full as I jogged in. Good!

I'll drive the second truck. Drivers don't do patient care.

We pull up to a snow filled neighborhood with blue and red lights flashing everywhere. I look out my driver side window to see multiple fire fighters and medics kneeling and working frantically around a body laying in the snow. They had been doing chest compressions and are getting the Lucas device on him. I instinctively get out of my truck...they are moving the him to toward the ambulance.

...I'm in the back of the rig (ambulance) breathing for a 14 yo boy who's got a Lucas device pressing on his chest like a jackhammer. 2 medics are getting an I.V. and meds ready, while his dad gets into the passenger seat next to the EMT who's going to haul ass to the best closest hospital.

Breath 1001, 1002, 1003, 1004, 1005, Breath 1001, 1002, 1003, 1004, 1005, Breath....

More discussion, more meds, more breaths, more compressions...

Nothing is working...

Each time we stop CPR to check for pulse and rhythm…worse.

The Medic calls the hospital for help, they get a pediatric doctor. “You’re doing all the right things. Keep at it.” is their response.

So many questions, so many needs...all without answers.

Dad...was stellar, calm (to me anyway). "I love you son! Dad's here." He would shout from the front of the rig. I can't imagine the helplessness and fear and questions that were enveloping him.

Finally we’re at the hospital (I still have no idea which hospital we went to.) The ER team is ready and take him.

I get the nod from one of the medics. Time to leave.

I get to the rig and see boots on the bumper. The boys boots. "Crap...I don’t want to go back in there. No way in hell do I want to go back in there."

“Here are your son’s boots. I figure you should have them.” I leave to go back out to the rig and help clean up.

30 minutes later, the medic comes out and says, “They got his heart beating again.” "YES!"

We head for home smiling and chatting and grateful. He made it.

That was a Saturday. Sunday came, I shared some lessons learned with an EMR student who came to watch football, and Sunday went.

Monday came, I excitedly texted the student, "I forgot to tell you, he made it! The hospital got his heartbeat back before we left!" Virtual hi fives and a heart felt "That's great!"

Ten minutes later I opened a message on my phone with a picture of that young man - big smile, who reminded me of my own son...who was dead.

He died Sunday night. The rug was pulled out, the knife was shoved into my heart, twisting and burning.

My mind flew back to Saturday night standing outside the ER room as the nurse closed the curtain to the room the boy was in; I was standing next to his dad. His whole countenance fell as those curtains closed and my heart with him. I remember praying...asking God to give me words of comfort to share with this dad. A dad, like me with a son, not much younger than my own.

I prayed and stood there blank and numb. I remember offering him my phone if he needed to call anyone.

"My family is on the way. Thank you though." He was so gracious and…stellar. It's how he handled the whole ordeal. He let us do our jobs, never got in the way, never got hysterical, angry, or frustrated. He let us work and focus on saving his son.

We didn't.

He died and that sucks. It makes me very sad; sad because all life is precious. It was sad because his son reminded me of my own son. My son who I love dearly. Just like he loved his son. His son was the bearer of God's image on earth as we all are. When anyone dies...it hurts.

"I do have a question...Did my son's heart stop in the back of the ambulance?"

Wait, what? I must have asked him if he had any questions. Yes, I did ask…

"I don't know." I blurted out.

"OK…thank you." he responded.

"I don't know"…those words have haunted me for 2 1/2 years. It was a canned answer we are taught to give. Be honest, but don't give false hope, and don't take it away either.

But, it was a lie.

It was a simple straight forward question, "Did my son's heart stop in the back of the ambulance?" The real answer, "Yes". And I knew it, I saw the flat-line on the monitor.

If he had been hysterical or angry or anything other than, stellar, I would have been OK with my answer. But he was stellar, and I failed to answer the one question he asked me. Damn!

I have not forgiven myself for that…not sure if I ever will.

Jump forward 2 1/2 years to April 14, 2024

Why write this now?

Three reasons:

First, I'm finally and intentionally working through this...with a counselor. I had my 2nd session 3 days ago as of this post.

Second, if you're reading this and have had an experience like this, please don't keep the shit inside. These invisible wounds fester and will kill us just like a visible festering wound will. Talk with someone you trust. Be ready for them to not understand, but remember that does NOT mean they don't care; they very well may not be able to relate to your experience and yet care deeply. If so, know you've started down the correct path, keep going and don't rule out a pro. Counselors can and do help.

Lastly, my ego got in the way of getting help and I've hurt a number of people in the last 2 1/2 years because of it. My patience was short, my temper was explosive, I made assumptions, and I have been absent even while face to face with many of you. I am sorry.

Thank you everyone out there who serves and fights the good fight. And…a special thank you to those who live with and care for those of us who come back with these invisible wounds.

Much love,

Jer

Why this picture with this post? Because it reminds me that there were 2 punks that needed to be snuff out from the Kryptonite story. First my ego and second the demons that used it to torture myself and others for those 2 1/2 years. God is our advocate and if we lean into Him, he fight for us and will show us the way forward.