I'm sitting at Post 15 and all I want to do is close my eyes and day dream. Unfortunately, if I do that, I inevitably fall asleep. Which, in itself isn't terrible, because sleeping is great, but I always feel kind of guilty for doing it at work--even though, like, EVERYONE does it. And I mean everyone, as in: everyone in EMS ever.
It's really hard not to. If you're not sitting in a truck for hours at post, you're stationed somewhere, probably with couches, until the next emergency drops. How can you resist the temptation to shut your eyes and drift off? Answer: you can't. No, seriously, you really can't. (And if we aren't sitting around waiting for that next emergency and fighting Mr. Sandman, we're running our tails off nonstop for twelve hours. That, friends, is another kind of hell and another story for another time.)
Other than feeling guilty for sleeping at work--you know, doctors sleep at work--it's kind of a weird thing to actually do it. Because, that next emergency is going to drop, so you're really not snoozing all that comfortably. There is no restful slumber. The tones sound and you're in that space between sleep and awake until one of two things happens: they call someone else's number and you can fall back into whatever dream you were jolted out of, or they call your number and you go from alert-to-verbal to a&oX4 instantly. Okay, sometimes a little groggily, but still pretty fast.
See, we are always on high alert. EMS workers are required to be ready at a moment's notice for the absolute worst. We are accustomed to the adrenaline spike those tones give us and it makes for some weird habits and some knee-jerk responses. I think that's why we're always so tired. It's this whole no-rest-for-the-ever-alert thing. Because, literally, we get no rest. We learn to sleep in this weird half-way in/half-way out slumber that makes us feel rested until we can slow down after our last call, and then we're falling asleep again. That's why sleeping at work is just a weird thing. You feel like you shouldn't do it, but then you feel like you have to do it to get by. And then, the more you do it, the more tired you feel overall, because nobody gets any real sleep when they're on high-alert for that next toe pain emergency. It's a vicious, exhausting cycle. But, hey, at least it's not thirty hour call.
Yet.
I had a revelation last night:
I sleep in a room of windows. It's a very cute set-up, and, despite the occasional noise from neighbors outside, it's actually quite nice, even in the hot, humid summer. Except, of course, that I live in Oklahoma--the land of the tornado, the gust-nado, and the raging gale force winds. Pretty much anything that'll rip a window from its frame and imbed its shattered pieces into your flesh and bones while you soundly slumber. So, I should probably work on an alert system or build some kind of protective barrier--something to keep the whole shattered-glass-inside-me thing from happening--I mean, I could not hear the sirens and wake up dead, you know? And, obviously, being a native of Oklahoma, I am not going to let the potential of life-threatening storms affect my sleeping arrangements. Move the bed to the other room? That's just not something we do.
In Oklahoma, storms aren't part of life, they're part of the culture. People don't "fear" storms, they stand up to them; they challenge them to back the fuck down. Seriously. Ever wonder how they find the people to do those lame-ass, super-Okie interviews after big storms? Those people were already outside. Watching the whole thing play out. Recording the evidence on cell phones and video cameras. These are the people of the Great Plains; this is the shit they do for fun. I mean, okay, their trailer is probably going to blow away anyway, so why not be outside of it instead of in, but it still seems really fucking crazy. I myself have never done it--I assume because I have a normal, functioning amygdala--but I have known people who have. People who have lived in the house next door. Luckily, I've never come close to actually being the victim of a tornado, and thus neither did my neighbors in that instance, but still I've always taken cover. Because tornadoes are scary, people! They can really fuck you up.
That being said, I am also the person who told several friends in Chicago the first week I lived there that we weren't all going to die in a tornado, even when the sirens were going off. They didn't believe me and did what I usually do, took cover in the basement. Granted, they lived on the fifteenth floor and were slightly more susceptible to windows blowing out than I ever have been, but still. We didn't die that day, and I didn't die last night, sleeping alone in my sunroom while a storm passed over. Shit, I didn't even wake up. I guess I have a little more Oklahoma in me than I like to admit, but sister can handle a storm.
Now. When I was younger--well, that's a different story.
Hey, we all have to live with our fears and our disappointments.
My partner is snoring. But, now I am too awake to be snoring too. Damn you blogger, for waking me up enough to feel functional. Why did I update anyway?
Oh yeah, because I was afraid my parter was snapping photos of me snoozing, so I wanted to wake up and stay that way.
Paranoia for the win.
Me for the loss. Loss, that is, of precious, tone-interrupted sleep. Such a shame. I probably really need some.
Don't Wake Me, I Plan on Sleeping In
Comments
Post a Comment