This blog is dedicated to those who live a life of service. This is not a place for reform, politics, or policy. This place is sacred and connects men and women that have seen the elephant and the family and friends that bring them home and keep sending them back. We don’t do recipes, couponing, whining or profanity. We do second chances, love, fire, forgiveness, inspiration and family.
We do this so that others may live…
Ok. I get it. I’ve been out for a bit and you all miss my cheery and insightful words. I let you follow me as I tried to put a human face on what is not a normal job. And speaking of the job, it took me decades to realize I was anything special. You know what? Continue reading
photo from emt.com
If you caught the first comment on Beauty From Pain, I hope you will see that it was written to put a face on the often faceless. To put a heart in an often ignominious picture of some ignominious stud or studette with some awesome glorious fire in the background. Makes it look pretty awesome, right? But we know the truth. It is really some guy or gal doing what others can’t or won’t. They chose to be there. Wish I had a grasp of what makes us do what we do. Continue reading
I am a traveling man. Experiencing new places and the scenery and people integrated among them, has been a passion for as long as I can remember. I love being immersed in the unfamiliar – where every moment is raw and new. This passion has motivated me to make four separate trips to SE Asia, choose to live in a poor ethnically diverse apartment complex, and see what life is like without a vehicle.
On January 27 2013 I took a life changing trip. It was not a trip I willingly chose. This was a trip dictated by adverse weather and my vulnerability when such conditions arrived.
After the crash, and coming out of the coma 7 weeks later, I found myself in a new world. I immediately noted the numbness and inability to move my legs. When I became oriented to the date I freaked out. I had two weeks before my first fire assignment of the year. I was suppose to train as a crew boss in North Carolina by taking out a type 2 crew.
A few days later in became apparent this wouldn’t be possible and I had bigger priorities, like learning to walk again, to address.
After I left the hospital, I found the same home, restaurants, and movie theaters to be barely recognizable. I was seeing everything with a new lens. Tall curbs may as well be barb wire fences. I relied on a series of tools to make integration in this new world possible. The wheelchair, walker, cane, and various braces have made this possible. With the eye and passion of a photographer, I decided to artistically capture my experience in this new world that few can truly relate to.
Check out my series/board to this end on Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/lanelamoreaux/art-out-of-accidents/
Sorry it’s been such a spell. I know you are all hanging on every word to dribble out of my face hole and onto my keyboard.
Prepare for dribble.
I hope some of you have liked the little Latin notes that appear from time to time. If you get any others, please share them. I have mentioned more than once our fine sister firefighters. In fact one of the finest FF I have ever worked with was a female. I’m 6’5’’ and 240 lbs. My wife was somewhat concerned that she might not be able to pull me out. I can assure you, what she lacked in weight and strength, she more than made up for in skill and determination. She would NEVER leave a fellow behind. I consider myself honored to have worked with her. Beck’s, this is a shout out to you. Continue reading
I promised at the beginning that I would keep this family friendly. That will remain the case, and I have purposely kept things as l light as possible, and that shall remain the case.
Let’s face some hard facts, though. What we do is ugly and often tragic. How many out there really know what we do? Do they understand why we wake up to phantom pages, in my case even driving to the station? Raise your hand if you’ve done that one. Who understands why we end up curled up on the floor or have smells or sights that bring back the uglies?
We all have our stories and I make an honest effort to keep it as such. But this is for the families of those we left behind. It is also for those that have been down on us as a profession.
Let’s put a face on our job. Not a badge, not a helmet, not the sexy men and women on the calendar (Mr. July here). But a real human face.
When asked how and why I kept doing this job, these are a few of the reasons. I can see through the ugly and the pain and see the beauty and dignity.
What started out as a beautiful day in the summer remained so, weather wise, No so for the fine citizens of our fair burg. At noon we ran a fatal choking. 22 year old female. Just after getting the paperwork done, we get called to a rollover MVA ,unknown number of patients. The scene was apocalyptic. It was as if you had taken a bunch of nice people and nice cars, put them in some cartoonish blender, an ACME, like Mr. Coyote would use for that infernal bird, then stuffed it all in some huge circus cannon and blew it out over a few hundred square yards. Cars, people, parts of cars, parts of people. Not unknown patients. 9 patients. We lost 4. Not a great day.
And as is my right to do, I shall go off for a minute. Like I said, get yer own blog and you can go off all you like. My ex-wife was an ER nurse. I worked closely with all ER personnel shoulder to shoulder, and then as a medical officer, all the other interaction. I have the utmost respect for them and the job they do. But here is the thing. When I would deliver a patient to the ER, they got a patient that was stable, splinted if necessary, airway if necessary, bleeding controlled, full c-spine, vitals, history, MOI, IV, etc. It is a whole other world to see this in situ. I have always and will always, encourage, all ED personnel to spend as many hours in the field as possible. Not better, not a competition, just an eye opener.
We made it through the night, mostly. At 0630 a call came in. MVA, multiple vehicles, unknown patients. We roll up and find a car that had been t-boned by some old heavy metal, had lifted off the ground and spun through the air, landing upright on all four tires, a conservative 150’ away, in the middle of a new crop. On arrival, we found two 17 year old female patients. They looked like they had just been knocked 150’. Car was destroyed, extrication gear had to be deployed, but had to be hauled out. No time. Doors were ripped off by hinges, bodily. I ended up leaning through the front missing windscreen and holding an airway open and providing c-spine protection as my partner did a surgical airway on her. We got the tube in and got her and her friend loaded into the helos for trans. On RTB, I made a call to the U. She of course could tell us nothing, due to HIPA, even though I was an officer and known to her. Sad. She died on the table. 17 years old, whole life ahead of her, and in a split second, gone.
I mentioned beauty out of pain. In this little girl’s last moments, she was not alone. She did not die in a cold cocoon of twisted steel and plastic. She died in the hands and the care or real caring, real people. Not cold, uncaring professionals. She died in the hands of humans with warmth and compassion.
Beauty from pain.
I will only bore you with one more. A 6 year old that died at the hands of those in whom his delicate life had been trusted. In the worst way. My patient. My call. My little boy. He died. Later, a good friend told me of the kindness that happened to him when he had his first son. A nice woman came in and gave him a blanket. It was given on the anniversary of her grandsons’ death. We’re standing in the kitchen having a beer and we both start getting chills. More questions. More confirmation. My Godson received the blanket made in honor of the child that was my patient.
Beauty from pain.
We all have our own stories. But each is a side of humanity. Each of our careers, ours. Our lives? Ours. We hurt. We live. We love. We cry. We are the faces that reach out to take your hand as it gropes for help in the darkness. We are human. These things we choose. These things we do. This is our choice so that others may live.
canis ignis
This is in response to a blog by one of our brothers that was injured off duty. Under normal conditions, I would simply offer a comment or let others do so. But I think this is far more reaching, than would be justified by a normal comment.
Lets give it a shot. Continue reading
For over a year I’ve been getting around in a wheelchair and later progressing to a walker, crutches, and cane. When I’m sporting a fire shirt onlookers seem to correlate the two. When a conversation ensues I often sense a feeling of universal disappointment when I admit this happened to me recreationally – because of my own choices.
I wish that weren’t the case. I wish my injuries somehow happened for the good of others. I wish I broke my leg so someone else didn’t have to break there’s.
How does one reconcile the loss of a passion, camaraderie, and a career with a desire to remain a part of that group. Do you simply proceed to the exit and fade into obscurity?
I would love nothing more than to suit up again, hit the ground, and swing a tool with my bros. Right now other things take precedence though. Like, how am I going to get groceries with both hands committed to crutches or how am I going to get my shoes on if I’m unable to reach my feet.
We are told that these are the times that test us – the times that reveal our true character. That idea, and the myriad quotes about staying positive do nothing to make this easier. I can only guarantee one thing – I will not give up.
We have all had crews, partners, supervisors, ride alongs. Many are worth forgetting, some are not. This is about the best partner that never was.
I would really like to hear from the Brotherhood on this. It was the first discussion. Are heroes born? Is it a choice? Is it normal people doing extraordinary feats accomplished by people in the right place at the right time. Please weigh in on this opened ended question.
Event unfolds like this: Three good friends go to Moab to climb some rock, camp and wheel. One of them was badly injured, but was a former FF/Medic. As the three are walking up to the famous Tea Cups at the bottom of Potato Salad Hill, the former medic notices a man obviously compromised and drowning in the river. There is a petite RN there from a children’s hospital. Out of her element in a pre-hospital setting, having rarely worked on adults and never trauma. And she was struggling to keep the man out of the water. Continue reading
Fire, Life and The Rest 
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