Paramedichron #7

Bleary eyed and a little nervous, we arrived early and milled around outside the Paramedic Training classroom. We were uniformly dolled up in our freshly-pressed blues and the trademark white labcoat officially known as a smock. Even though we had spent the last two months studying Anatomy and Physiology together, meeting nine Tuesdays in this very classroom, donning the schmock changes everything. This endeavor has suddenly become very real, and the next ten months are invisible in a fog of ignorance, like an unknown wilderness.

Our morning was filled with portentous introductions and tradition dimly recognized. We eighteen have tromped in polished duty boots into a hallowed institution, with a history and culture we may not fully understand. There are labyrinthine rules for situations unimagined and undesired. We were told, in no uncertain terms, to not fuck up so as to damage the Medic One organization, nor to have "relations" with the nursing staff, but I repeat myself. Our immunization records were examined and a TB titer test bubbled under our epidermis with a hair-thin needle by a cheerful Harborview nurse.

After a brief lunch, we were inducted into the realm of high-performance CPR and required to perform two minutes of flawless compressions. For some, this took a single effort, but there is always room for improvement and the profficient were told they could improve. Soon we were all dripping sweat inside our schmocks, and the stink of fear and damp synthetic fabrics funked the room. It didn't take too long to get everyone through their requisite flawless demonstration, and we were rewarded with (we were told) a rare attaboy.

The remainder of our inaugural day consisted of a primer on the iPad tablet, which forms a cornerstone to our curriculum. Some setup, some basic hands-on, and the clever little widget is ours to command. It has its limitations, and compared to my Linux netbook, it is a pretty toy, lacking in horsepower and memory. At twice the price. But in deference to Steve Jobs, (who passed away today), I tip my hat to the genius of the robust hardware, the simple interface, and the ruthless marketing that has made an over-priced hardware monopoly into a hipster fashion trend. In concession to the device, I am composing this Short Report on the cursed gadget with insignificant difficulty and complaint.

The apartment (a modest flat we call the Valle de Cula) is only a block away, and it is a luxury to have a bed, bath, and kitchen so close to where we will spend the better part of the next ten months. Two classmates share the space with the Driver and me: A young man from Port Ludlow, and another from Port Townsend. We walk together after class, each quietly processing the events and information from our confusing and overwhelming day.

A couple beers, a call to the wife, and it's about time to hit the rack. Friday night I will be on the medic unit (doing I don't know what) until 0730 Saturday morning and all day Sunday. I have nothing to read, and the more rest I can bank, the easier the long shifts will be.

I have worked for this for years, and it is amazing to finally be here.