Editor’s note: Each of you have a story worth sharing — the calls that test you, the lessons that shape your practice and the moments that stay with you. We love sharing your stories! EMS1 Voices features firsthand perspectives from across the profession. Read what your peers are saying and learn how to share your own story.
By Kristina Browne, EMT-P, BA, MBA
In what ways has adversity shaped your character? What truth about yourself did you discover only through discomfort or loss? How would your choices change if you trusted that every season of your life has a purpose?
When life delivers a series of misfortunate events and the most chaotic season takes hold, finding meaning in the why can feel impossible. We all face moments when mentally, emotionally and physically, we believe we cannot take another step — yet somehow, we do. One small step follows another.
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For me, authenticity has been forged through both profound blessing and deep loss. I have spent 18 years as a paramedic — a robust career filled with twists, turns and purpose. Alongside that journey has been the blessing of family: sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren. I have learned to count even the smallest graces, because when you lose so much, faith, hope and love reveal how much beauty can rise from ashes.
This time of year, filled with celebration and warmth, also brings me back to 2007 — a year that for me, forever redefined courage. At the time, I was immersed in paramedic school, working two jobs, completing clinical hours, raising four boys and trying to salvage a marriage. Life felt like a delicate balancing act — plates teetering on sticks — until, in a blink, everything collapsed into a 5-month tsunami of traumatic chaos.
On July 1, 2007, my husband at the time was found unresponsive on the floor at 6:00 a.m. with what turned out to be a seizure. That same evening, just as we were preparing to watch fireworks, a house fire ignited when a curious child experimented with a lighter. The mattress in our master bedroom went up in flames, leaving our home uninhabitable and my family homeless.
As 3:30 a.m. approached on July 2, my father reassured me that everything would be OK. Later that day, my ambulance partner echoed those words, saying we had exhausted all the odds — nothing more could happen. At 4:00 p.m., my sister called to tell me my father had been killed in a golfing accident earlier that day. I had no time to grieve. I had to be strong.
Funeral arrangements, sifting through the debris of our home, and staying afloat in paramedic school felt overwhelming. Still, I did not stop. I kept going. There was no room to pause.
I graduated on time, and for a moment, we found joy amid the chaos. Family and friends celebrated with us, and 18 years later, I still have those cards and well-wishes.
The very next day, fate intervened again. At 5:30 a.m., while driving on I-90 in the rain on our way to the airport, our vehicle was clipped, sending us spinning at over 70 miles-per-hour into the concrete median — facing oncoming traffic. We walked away with only minor injuries. Our angels had been working overtime.
Through prayer, focus and counseling, we pressed forward. On Dec. 7, 2007, I received my paramedic license — a moment of immense celebration. As Christmas approached, we finally felt a sense of normalcy. But on December 23, the same ominous words were spoken: nothing more can happen.
At 2:00 a.m. on Christmas Eve, we received a call from the fire department. The home being rehabilitated for our return was fully engulfed and deemed a total loss. As we arrived, the night sky glowed red and blue with flashing lights. I sat in the driver’s seat while my husband paced helplessly.
I knew — it was gone. Watching firefighters walk past with tools on their shoulders, their names visible in the glow, was surreal. We spent Christmas Eve with the fire marshal and police, trying to understand what had happened. When we finally told our children, once again, that life had changed overnight, my heart broke anew.
Just days later, on December 27, another battle emerged. Severe right-sided abdominal pain sent me to the emergency room. What was suspected to be appendicitis turned out to be something far more serious: a tumor on my left kidney, consistent with cancer. I cried for 5 minutes — then chose to fight. I had no other option.
Eighteen years later, I honor those anniversaries — especially my cancer diagnosis and remission 3 weeks later — not with sorrow, but with gratitude. I believe I was given life back as both a gift and a responsibility. Becoming a paramedic was no accident. Life itself became more precious, and the journey ahead more meaningful.
Today, wherever I lay my head, one surviving item hangs on my wall: a picture of a firefighter standing before flames, bearing the quote, “Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’”
Through adversity, I found my purpose — not only as a paramedic, but as an educator and advocate for first responder mental health awareness. I am not a counselor, but I share my story because lived experience matters. When you connect the dots between adversity and courage, one truth becomes clear: God’s plan rarely looks like what we expect.
Scripture reminds us of this truth in Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” These words were written to a people living in exile — uncertain, displaced and weary — yet still held firmly within God’s promise.
Faith, hope and love carried me then — and continue to grow in value with each passing year. From the chaos emerged courage, deepened prayer and clarified purpose. This season of my life taught me that courage is not found in surviving the storm, but in choosing — again and again — to move forward. Blessings.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kristina Browne, EMT-P, BA, MBA, is an EMS lead instructor and health coordinator at Judson University, in Elgin, Illinois, with nearly two decades of paramedic experience.
