Christmas is a strange time of year.
I remember when I slid into the intersection.
I’m still alive, I’m still alive.
The EMT told me to breathe.
I did.
And that was that.
I never drove again.
Christmas is a strange time of year.
I used to be able to go to the store.
Now, I get groceries sent to my door.
I used to like to take a walk outside.
But I shake too much, when my feet start to slide.
Christmas is a strange time of year.
It’s been three years since I’ve visited anyone.
And one year since I’ve had any visitors.
The Christmas cards feel strange and empty.
I read each one a couple times.
The EMT told me to breathe.
I promise I will.
I am Nobody:
no name on my grave
in the Veterans’ Cemetery --
not even certain if all parts
match – those bombs really
had no personal objective when
targeting and dispatched –
Their bull’s eyes~ all Enemy.
I am Nobody; don’t earn
a lot, after your release from
the hospital, once healed,
you never met the EMT
who feverishly pumped life
into your failing lungs, during your
rushed, siren screaming journey
through unyielding traffic --
probably never thanked the nurse
in the ER, with a name-tag,
often gone unread – Oh, you met
the doctor, who earns all the big
bread – He has a noble title – he
has lauded fame – unlike Nobodies
more or less, diminutive
the same – just Nobody --
the Nobodies who build the bridges
repair the roads
pickup the garbage
often given little more mention
than prince-less pond toads –
when I croak, Just a slimy
soak – in society, most Nobodies
die broke – soggy, irrelevant
pond splashes –
Only rich when considering love...
I was a paramedic for many years until a work injury put a stop to things and so this is a poem reflecting on my career
my blood was pouring into him
while his blood stuck
my feet to the floor
a floor vibrating over wheels
screeching corners with road signs
flickering lights, shouting back at us
how we disturbed sleep
this night of every night
this shift of every shift
there's something about
metal and bone
how artistic, exquisite,
we shared our mettle
and our blood back then
my ambulance was theirs too
To E.M.T.’s a vital sign
Is something they can measure –
Your pressure, pulse rate, temperature –
Not data we can treasure.
But I would add one to the list
That I believe’s worthwhile;
To me, the most important sign
Has got to be the smile.
For when we’re feeling happy –
With no sickness, grief or stress,
Our face reflects that knowledge
With a grin we can’t suppress.
It isn’t fair that joy is something
Life cannot entitle
Yet I would say it manifests
In signs that sure seem vital.
January has pocketed frosted dreams
Firmly tucked away, hidden under her black ice
Her treacherous blizzards torment the foolhardy
Many driving too fast on her hills should know better
In a heavily prayer-scented car
A risk-taking older cigar-smoking woman twirls around on the ice
Finally landing with a splat, slamming into a steel embankment
Her days on earth over now
bitterer than any rejected suiter, the incredible storm picks up
The woman's Ford is covered in mounds of wet heavy snow
This is a desolate road, people do not see the wreck for hours
Nine One One is called, but it is too late.
This smoke has words that escape me actually
The EMT says, as he reaches the scene
I see no smoke, his unaware partner replies
Not seeing the haze that is taking the lady’s soul to heaven
choke
rescue
cpr
emergency
selfless and true blue
firefighters
emts
saving
me
Where are you going? The EMS workers are wondering
As a thousand screaming people run out
The EMS is running in
What can we do to help? The EMS workers are asking
Helping each other triage, in every way possible.
Children are being spoken to in soft voices as
Other EMS are putting sheets over their parents' bodies
All working together to help the child not see
Fully what has happened.
Where am I needed? The EMS workers are listening.
Hearing what they need to hear, travelling hard and fast
To rescue, comfort, and hold someone's hand that last time
Because Moms and Dads cannot be everywhere.
Grandma's prayers do not always cover everything.
Grandpa's sometimes leave their Super Hero suits in the closet
So we have angels, spirits, and EMS workers
In the form of firemen, policemen, nurses,
Doctors, medics, EMTS, and paramedics,
Picking up the slack, running in when everyone else
is running out, running away, and running amok.
They keep us calm, they listen, they encourage, they coax,
But mostly they show us the love we need when we need it.
Note: Sundowning – Most commonly in Alzheimer and Dementia patients, Sundowning, is changes in behavior that get worse in late afternoon, evening and can even last all night. Patients may be agitated, confused, unable to sleep; it may appear in other forms of disruptive behavior.
Eight sleepless nights, pacing non-stop;
legs, knee-bent, dragging toes are scraping carpet.
Enduring a painful back; each breath drawn
makes it throb and exhaustion’s in control.
I can’t sleep until he sleeps;
must stay awake in case he falls.
I hold my breath to stand;
it dulls the sharp stabbing pain in my back.
I swallow another migraine pill and
pray for him to fall asleep; he does not.
Respite eludes me; caregiver to a dementia-mind,
I collapse into a chair, dizzy and call myself an ambulance.
I’m drained, hungry and he’ll Sundown several nights.
I pass out and am brought around by an EMT;
my patient's oblivious to the fact that
anyone’s come into the house…
he paces…and paces…
Dame Gravity
As a dear friend battles
nocturnal EMT home invasions,
fainting spells, falls, forgetfulness,
fading like a plucked peony
my health guilt increases--
what right have I to two legs
that hold me (today)
while others fold under the impact
of an invisible wrecking ball,
collapsing into rubble?
Treachery beneath innocent snow
hid black ice last March,
when my darling slipped, fell backwards.
Knifing pain trapped him for a month in the recliner,
unable to get in or out of a bed.
The therapy pool holds
our motley shimmering wreckage--
aging apples bobbing up
and down; watery reflections quiver,
distort all we were and are.
In the weekly T'ai Chi class
we breathe, spread our “White Crane” wings,
aspiring to float over the carpeted pond;
after class, I push through the underbrush of jackets,
take up my pink cane to exit,
remembering how once I soared
so high that earth seemed distant,
and small below.
Dame Gravity has her say;
she rules all, save imagining;
our bodies bow, obey.
--Peggy Brightman
(c) June 2018
Before me, faces wear an angry stare,
and chills now travel up and down my spine.
Transfixed, immobile, my eyes soon declare
the people there had surely crossed death's line.
Those faces, I have seen back in my past;
an EMT, I watched them pronounced dead.
My tension grows, tormented and harassed,
by visions that appear outside my head.
They point their fingers, and I know not why.
I feel accused and crouch down to the floor,
fast shut my eyes, as if they would comply
to go away; then open- there are more.
Hallucinations- now they come with ease-
my mind- possessed by Parkinson's disease.
The collors go by
Flashing yellow, red and green
I suck in my breath
As I watch his death
It all happens so quickly
In the middle of the highway
And it was seen
By me
I quickly pulled over
For the guy on the motercycle
Just got hit by a rover
Truck
I cover my mouth
And jump to help
Sirens come from the south
And I just stand there
Not sure of what to do
How to save a life
I just knew
It would be to late
Traffic piles up behind me
And I wish I didn't have to see
The sight before me
The broken body on the ground
No longer making a sound
I start to cry, tears streaming down my face
The EMT comes by, quickening there pace
But it's too late, too late
It must have been fate
Only I saw what happened it the dark
A suicide attempt
And it hit the mark
You were an amazing person.
Always at your best.
Determined to be above the rest.
I'm sorry you have left us.
Remembered always by that bright smile.
Admired by your colleagues.
At peace from strife, a star so bright.
Remembered!
Remain in our hearts.
Oh, how we hope for another day with you.
You are gone, but will never be forgetten.
Oh, how we will miss that smile, while
sighing all the while.
He drove off the track,
was placed on a rack.
Quite unaware
of “the EMT stare”
—this one won’t be back
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