Well what to say about me? What do you wanna know? I'm 21 years old, I'm an EMT and love my job. I'm a country/farm girl. I have a brown and white paint horse, a black and white stud pony with blue eyes, and 2 miniature horses. I also have 3 dogs, a black lab, a yellow lab, and a pain in the butt Great Dane, cats, chickens, guineas, all the normal stuff. I drive a 2002 Saturn SC 3 door or my 92 F-150. I'm a mechanics daughter so yes I know my way around a car and can do just about anything I really have to on my vehicles. I am happily TAKEN in a committed relationship so please don't send me messages if your only goal is to try to get with me. ITS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN! Don't start stuff theres already more than enough drama in our lives we don't need you sticking your nose in there too. Wanna know anything else just ask!
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BARREL RACING It's Not Just a Game You think there's nothing to this game; three turns and a gallop is rather tame. One dresses nice, sits up straight; makes some circles and out the gate. Well then you need to take a ride; on a good horse, not a snide. Take a real good seat and very firm grip; because you are in for quite a trip. You'll reach the first running thirty five; when she drops her butt and seems to dive and changes directions in one heart beat; you'll be happy she's still on her feet. Oh! You're not finished, not even near, that jerk you felt was her shifting gear. As you regain your balance and breath again she's bearing down on the second can. It's not as easy as you're about to learn; if you ride her through this second turn. Now you're headin' for number three, when she leaves there set her free. If you make the run, you've done well, and I'm sure that you can surely tell, real barrel racing is a thrill requiring courage and lots of skill!
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I wish you could know. I wish you could know what it is like to search a burning bedroom for trapped children at 3 AM, flames rolling above your head, your palms and knees burning as you crawl, the floor sagging under your weight as the kitchen below you burns. I wish you could comprehend a wife's horror at 6 in the morning as I check her husband of 40 years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping to bring him back, knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done to try to save his life. I wish you knew the unique smell of burning insulation, the taste of soot-filled mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your turnout gear, the sound of flames crackling, the eeriness of being able to see absolutely nothing in dense smoke-sensations that I've become too familiar with. I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a building fire "Is this false alarm or a working fire? How is the building constructed? What hazards await me? Is anyone trapped?" Or to call a medical call, "What is wrong with the patient? Is it minor or life-threatening? Is the caller really in distress or is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or a gun?" I wish you could be in the emergency room as a doctor pronounces dead the beautiful five-year old girl that I have been trying to save during the past 25 minutes. Who will never go on her first date or say the words, "I love you Mommy" again. I wish you could know the frustration I feel in the cab of the engine, squad, or my personal vehicle, with my foot pressing down hard on the pedal, my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as you fail to yield the right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic. When you need us however, your first comment upon our arrival will be, "It took you forever to get here!" I wish you could know my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teenage years from the remains of her automobile. "What if this was my daughter, sister, my girlfriend or a friend? What were her parents reaction going to be when they opened the door to find a police officer with hat in hand?" I wish you could know how it feels to walk in the back door and greet my parents and family, not having the heart to tell them that I nearly did not come back from the last call. I wish you could know how it feels dispatching officers, firefighters, Paramedics and EMT's out and when we call for them and our heart drops because no one answers back or to hear a bone chilling 911 call of a child or wife needing assistance. I wish you could feel the hurt as people verbally, and sometimes physically, abuse us or belittle what I do, or as they express their attitudes of "It will never happen to me. I wish you could realize the physical, emotional and mental drain or missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition to all the tragedy my eyes have seen. I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping save a life or preserving someone's property, or being able to be there in time of crisis, or creating order from total chaos. I wish you could understand what it feels like to have a little boy tugging at your arm and asking, "Is Mommy okay?" Not even being able to look in his eyes without tears from your own and not knowing what to say. Or to have to hold back a long time friend who watches his buddy having CPR done on him as they take him away in the Medic Unit. You know all along he did not have his seat belt on. A sensation that I have become too familiar with. Unless you have lived with this kind of life, you will never truly understand or appreciate who I am, who we are, or what our job really means to us...I wish you could though. this is not 4 me to be a hero but the one that did not make it out!!! so when you go to bed, just think what some people do to save your life!!!!!!!!When the Lord made EMT's, he was into his sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared and said, "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one," And the Lord said, "Have you read the specs on this order? An EMT has to be able to carry an injured person up a wet, grassy hill in the dark, dodge stray bullets to reach a dying child unarmed, enter homes a health inspector wouldn't touch, and not wrinkle their uniform." "He has to be able to lift three times his own weight, crawl into wrecked cars with barely enough room to move, and console a grieving mother as he is doing CPR on a baby he knows will never breathe again." "He has to be in top mental condition at all times, running on no sleep, black coffee, and half eaten meals. And he has to have six pairs of hands." The angel shook her head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands....no way." "It's not the hands that are causing me problems," said the Lord, "It's the three pairs of eyes an EMT has to have." "That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. The Lord nodded. "One pair that sees open sores as he's drawing blood and asks the patient if they may be HIV positive," (When he already knows and wishes he'd taken that accounting job) "Another pair here on the side of his head for is partner's safety. Another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say 'You'll be all right ma'am' when he knows it isn't so." "Lord," said the angel, touching his sleeve, "rest and work on this tomorrow." "I can't," said the Lord, "I already have a model that can talk a 250 pound drunk out from behind a steering wheel without incident and feed a family of five on a private service paycheck." The angel circled the model of the paramedic very slowly, "Can it think?" she asked. "You bet," said the Lord. "It can tell you the symptoms of 100 illnesses, recite drug calculations in its sleep; intubate, defibrillate, medicate, and continue CPR nonstop over terrain that any doctor would fear...and still it keeps its sense of humor." "This EMT also has phenomenal control. He can deal with a multi-victim trauma, coax a frightened elderly person to unlock their door, comfort a murder victim's family, and then read in the daily paper how EMT's were unable to locate a house quickly enough, allowing a person to die. A house which had no street sign, no house numbers, no phone to call back." Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the EMT. "There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model." "That's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear." "What's the tear for?" asked the angel. "It's for bottled-up emotions, for patients they tried in vain to save, for commitment to hope that they will make a difference in a person's chance to survive, for life." "You're a genius," said the angel. The Lord looked somber, "I didn't put it there."
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