Sitting, waiting, wishing.

Despite my trepidation as to being left on my own, I’m finding that I’m growing restless in the downtime. I am happily employed. I am feeling far more comfortable with the equipment with each shift. I know how to do a truck check. I finally figured out how to read the O2 gauge on truck 2. I’ve found that, yes, I can drive something that big. I’m learning my way around the radio system. After a good hour of cursing, poking, prodding, swearing, name calling, and foot stomping, I managed to not only turn the vacuum on, but to also unhinge it.

But I haven’t been on an actual call in over a week.

I’ve been calling and emailing around this week, seeing if anyone else was hiring (they’re not). I’ve had my radio on all week, ready to respond from the house if a call came in (it hasn’t). I’ve brushed up and reviewed what needs to be done if X, Y, or Z happens (nope).

I’m also a little apprehensive at my lack of trauma scene time. Not that I mind blood or general chaos – I remind you that there are 4 boys in this house in various stages of puberty and on random spots in the Autism Spectrum – it’s that until I have done one, the anticipation of the event is nerve-wracking and worrisome.

For instance, I am very concerned that I will blank and forget where the trauma pads are. And the stair chairs remain a mystery when it comes portraying confidence in familiarity (and for anyone who has ever seen, used, or been in a stair chair, you know what I mean… they are not the most intuitive devices out there). We have quick clips on the backboards that I’m not certain I know how to attach, remove, or even use (our classes only had 9 foot straps, so we didn’t have a chance to practice with quick clips).

So now comes the question – Is it morbid of me to be hopeful of a call where I can practice my skills?

To the layperson, I imagine so. To those in EMS, I should hope you never lose that little rush when those tones sound that is the hallmark of a new basic.