By Meris Shuwarger
Isle of Wight, Va., Volunteer Rescue Squad
‘A Proud Partner in Your Community’ |
“So,” she says cynically, “you drive an ambulance?”
“Yep, I drive it and I help the patients in the back, too,” I reply with a smile.
“You?”
“Uh … yes,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“But you’re a girl.”
“I sure am, but you know what?”
“What?”
“I know some girls who drive the ambulance better than the boys they work with.”
“No way!”
Her face lights up at this, and through her wide smile I see a few teeth missing. She whispers something to the boy on her left and turns her attention back to me.
“So wait, are you saying that when I grow up, I could drive an ambulance too? Like, with all the lights on and stuff?”
“Honey, you can do anything you put your mind to. You can be a doctor, a teacher, a lawyer, or even a paramedic.”
“Told you so,” she taunts the boy next to her, sticking out her tongue.
Even though my mom is a teacher here, it’s been a while since I’ve been in an elementary school. I’m home from college on break, and she thought it would be good for me to come talk to her students. At first I was hesitant, unsure of what I would say. Luckily, they seem to be eager to ask questions, so all I have to do is answer.
“Do you get to drive fast!?” An eager boy looks up with me through a mess of hair.
“Well, sometimes we do. But we have to be careful because even though we’re allowed to run red lights and things like that, we’re still in danger.”
“You can’t get hurt, you’re on an ambulance!”
“I wish that were true,” I say, “but I have a few friends who have been in accidents while in the ambulance.”
“That’s scary,” I hear, and I nod.
“Do you all wear your seat belts?” I look around and a few hands go up.
“My mom doesn’t make me because I get fidgety, she says.”
“I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s really important, because that can save your life!”
I control my enthusiasm; I don’t want to sound preachy. I want to relate to them, put myself on their level, and just hope that I can teach them something — anything.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen?”
I told my mom this would get asked. It’s always “what’s the worst,” or “what’s the weirdest.” I’ll tell you the weirdest, about the lady with radioactive urine, but I’m not getting into the worst — especially not with fourth graders. I had prepared myself for this question, and darted it easily.
“The worst thing I’ve ever seen? A little boy who looked just like you, who hadn’t showered in a week!” They giggle and buy the lie thanks to my genuine smile, and move on none the wiser.
“Have you ever saved anyone?”
I didn’t prepare myself for this. Saved? Does that mean that a person was going to die, and then they didn’t because of me? Or does that mean that a person was going to die, I brought them back to life, and then they died a few minutes after they got to the hospital?
“Um, kind of,” I say as I nervously button my jacket closed.
“How can you kind of save someone,” one kid pipes up from the corner, like my personal pint-sized peanut gallery.
“Well, a few times there has been someone in the ambulance whose heart wasn’t beating and who wasn’t breathing. Every time that’s happened, we’ve managed to get the heart to beat again and the lungs to work,” I say truthfully, without following it up.
I hear the awe settling into my tiny audience. One boy stares at me slack-jawed, while another girl whispers, “She’s my hero.” I’m embarrassed. If only they knew; if only I could explain. But the bell rings, and my mom takes control of the class again, giving them direction about their homework.
As they pack up their things, I sit down and look at the floor, knowing I didn’t say much.
“I just want you to know,” one girl says as she puts her hand on my shoulder, “You’re like … the coolest girl I’ve ever met, Sam.”
“I told you I can be a paramedic,” her classmate jeers to a bigger boy.
“Yeah, well, I’d like to see you try,” he retorts.
“If Sam can do it, so can I. I want to be just like her.”
I leave smiling, knowing I’ve accomplished something.