Usually I don’t get into emotional fluff or “hero-worship” type stuff… but this one’s an oldie but a goodie. I didn’t write it, I don’t know who did… but as I sit here with my beautiful Gkemtb at my side and my kitty on the other side, I wax poetic…
Maybe it’s the beer?
When God made paramedics, He was into His sixth day of overtime. An angel appeared and said, “You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.” God said, “Have you read the specs on this order? A Paramedic 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 the health inspector wouldn’t touch, and not wrinkle his 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,” God replied. “It’s the three pairs of eyes a medic has to have.”
“That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel.
God nodded. “One pair that sees open sores as he’s drawing blood, always wondering if the patient is HIV positive.” (When he already knows and wishes he’d taken that accounting job)
“Another pair here in the side of his head for his partner’s safety. And another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, “You’ll be alright 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,” God replied. “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”, God said. “It can tell you the symptoms of 100 illnesses; recite drug calculations in it’s sleep; intubate, defibrillate, medicate, and continue CPR nonstop over terrain that any doctor would fear… and it still keeps it’s sense of humor.” “This medic also has phenomenal personal 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 Paramedics were unable to locate a house quickly enough, allowing the person to die. A house that 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 Paramedic. “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,” God replied, “It’s a tear.”
“What’s the tear for?” asked the angel.
“It’s for bottled up emotions, for patients they’ve tried in vain to save, for commitment to that hope that they will make a difference in a person’s chance to survive, for life.”
“You’re a genius!” said the angel. God looked somber, stiffened, and said “I did not put it there”.
- Author Unknown
For more on this emotional, fluffy crap read: