The year in review or, wait, we did what???

For starters, let's examine human nature.

Now, most of my writing takes place at a lovely, little, locally-owned coffeehouse.  Hey I've got nothing against the Pacific northwest based, coffee-based beverage, super, mega, global conglomerate with a mermaid in their logo, even if they refuse to sign on as the official coffee sponsor of this fine little blog.  I'd just rather give my hard earned money to a small business in the town I live or work in, you know?  I've fired a few of these off at work when time and/or call volume allow; and if the mood strikes while I'm out on the road somewhere, say with the pink fire trucks, I'll write there too.  But, especially for the last couple years, probably 85% of my writing takes place here.

Among the benefits of being a regular here is that pretty much all of the baristas know my order (16oz. in-house vanilla latte if you're taking notes) and (even if you're not taking notes, that's the order) always greet me warmly.  Most know me by name and that too is a nice touch.  There are multiple regulars here as well and, while I don't typically strike up conversations with them, we usually at least acknowledge the existence of each other.

And, some of my co-regulars have... ohhh let's say... quirks about them.  For instance; yesterday I stopped in briefly in between errands.  And I saw one of them.  A man, probably mid 40's, balding, apparently leading a mostly sedentary lifestyle if you get my picture.  He was in one of the overstuffed chairs (pot, meet kettle) with his laptop placed, oddly enough, atop his lap.  He was wearing what I can only describe as jammies and, I shit you not, had taken off his boots and propped his sock clad feet up on one of the other chairs.

Let that image sink in for a minute.

That's a fine position to be in at your own place of residence.  But in public?  Yikes.

And that's not even the worst example of classless, clueless, somewhat disturbing public behavior imho.

I will also present to you the following.  You know how most places of this type will have, for public consumption a variety of local newspapers, right?  This one does too.  It also has a regular, an older guy that, to look at him you'd see nothing out of the ordinary.  Sitting by himself, sipping his coffee, reading one of the papers.  Occasionally working the crossword or jumble or sudoku or whatever.  Until, of course, the bran muffin he ordered along with his coffee starts to do what it's intended to do and he heads toward the mens room.  With the paper under his arm.

Before you think I'm some kind of creeper, the only reason I noticed this behavior is because of the sheer volume of times it's happened.  I've seen it repeated probably a dozen times.  Every time I see him there it happens, like some kind of ancient ritual to the gods of defecation to ensure lower gastrointestinal health.  The only variance I've noticed is sometimes he'll put the paper back on the counter and sometimes he'll leave it at his table when he leaves.  I've never seen him take the paper with him out the door.

My suggestion to you is; never, under any circumstances, (save for watching them get delivered) read the free newspapers.  Remember kids, nothing is free.  Except maybe E coli.

Oh thank god.  I just looked up from this and not six feet in front of me is a little old lady that, I thought, was preparing lines of glitter.  Then she took out thread and started stringing something together.  Wow, that would have been a whole post in and of itself.

Ok, I'm gonna start to wrap this up, "poopy paper" just walked in and, cross contamination being what it is, well, I'm just going to reduce the odds, you know?

Oh wait, the year in review.

So, as it turns out this is 2016 in a nutshell -

That amber liquid you see at the bottom represents the Cubs winning the World Series while the rest of the glass represents everything else that happened in 2016.

Cheers.

And,

Peace

V.I.P.s

I've been on a bit of a roll lately, what with the ongoing adventures of our new guys and looking back fondly on my time in the Deeg.

Today, however, is not a day for that.

Today my look back is only going as far as last night.

To my semi-regular gig at the College of Lake County.  For the monthly Victim Impact Panel.  Speaking to a room full of first-time DUI offenders.  I say "semi-regular" because I'm not there every month.  But, if I'm not at work or out of town, you can find me there the second Wednesday of every month speaking to around 150 people.

Let that sink in for a minute.

Every. month.  150 first-time DUI offenders.  In Lake County.

There are panels in every collar county, every month.  And some counties have multiple panels.  Without looking it up, I think Cook County has four a month.

I'm not positive but I'm fairly certain I just marked my tenth anniversary speaking there.  Every month, telling a roomful of strangers intimate details of my life, trying to relate to them the pain my family has experienced since a drunk driver took Caitlin's life and, I believe ultimately, Diane's.  It is both crippling and cathartic.  There are times where the emotions and the memories come flooding out in a torrent of tears, while other months I'm able to keep my composure.  Either way, as I tell the crowd right up front, my goal is to get through to every one of them.  You hear the cliche "If you reach one person it's worth it" and I say to that "Bullshit" because if I only reach one person, I've wasted everyone's time, mine included.

A couple of things... first, because it's important to me that they not tune us out, I tell them that the other speakers and I are not trying to scold them or tell them they are bad people, we're only sharing our stories to try and change their behavior.  The act they committed does not make them inherently bad people, so having them ignore the message is counterproductive.  Second, I let them know that I'm not looking for sympathy, my life is good and I've been blessed many times over. And I admit that there have been times I drove when I had no business getting behind the wheel of a car.

But never since Caitlin was killed.

I was never a big drinker, it was a fairly easy decision for me to make.  If I have to drive, I drink water or coffee or anything non-alcoholic.  I figured it was easier to avoid it altogether rather than try and figure out if I was "ok to drive" you know?  That was my choice.  I'm just trying to encourage them to do the same.

As I inferred a couple paragraphs earlier, I'm not alone at these panels.  A typical group consists of a victim, an offender and a facilitator.  Over the years, between the various panels and high school presentations, I've told the story of these two -

hundreds of times and with dozens of different speakers joining me to tell their stories.  About a year ago, instead of talking about Caitlin and Diane, I started facilitating the Lake County panel.  The change just made sense to me.  Our panel had evolved to four speakers instead of three and the panel started running long.  In addition to the things I mentioned above, I felt like people started to zone out if they were in there too long regardless of the quality of the speakers.  Kind of a "the brain can only retain what the butt can tolerate" approach. After all, they're not there because they want to be, they're there as part of their sentence.  Since they don't usually know what to expect from the evening, they are often a tad anxious and it's not uncommon for people to be laughing and joking amongst themselves before we start.  Besides, it's kind of a long process for the Probation Department to get them checked in, so some are sitting for thirty minutes or so until the room is filled.

Last night was no exception, as illustrated by the four young (I'd guess they were all 25-30) people sitting togetherish in the two front rows.  They were chatting casually, laughing about whatever it was they were discussing.  I really wasn't paying too much attention until they all laughed loudly about something and I heard the young man in the front row say "I hope you don't make me laugh after this thing gets started"

I thought; well, we'll see about that.

As I said, I've spoken alongside dozens of people.  The two I speak with now are among the best.  Margaret's ten year-old son was killed while tubing on a local lake when a boater; drunk and high on cocaine, ran him over, decapitating him.  It happened four years ago and the pain is still incredibly raw every month when Margaret recounts the events of that day and so many horrible days since then.

The other speaker, Kris, tells of a loving, caring, dedicated school teacher who was killed by a drunk driver.  And that she, Kris, was that drunk driver.  And she tries to express the guilt she lives with every single day of her life.  She does a very good job of that.

They are, individually, very powerful speakers.  Together, they make an incredible impact on the room.

And over the course of the evening, as I watched the faces of the four young people, it was obvious they had been reached.

The final part of the program is when the audience files past us, shaking our hands (although some choose to pretend we aren't there) and often offering a hug or some words of condolence for our loss or gratitude for our time.

Last night, when front row guy got to me, I put a hand on his shoulder and told him I was glad he didn't feel the need to laugh at us.  He got a sheepish look on his face and told me we had definitely had an impact on him.

There's no real way to quantify what kind of an overall impact we have on people, though I think last night we had a higher than normal number of people offering hugs to the speakers at the end of the night.  I hope it counts for something, but statistically, panels like this don't hold their effectiveness for more than eighteen months.

After we had finished, we were picking up and chatting idly, the Sheriff's deputy that sits in every month asked me if someone could come in and talk to me.  I said sure, and in walked front row guy.  He apologized for his behavior before the panel.  I thanked him but told him that it was unnecessary.  I told him that, due to his earlier comment, I had watched him in particular over the course of the evening and that I saw that he "got it".  I wished him well and finished gathering my stuff.

Several family members have and will continue to post on social media not to drink and drive.  Consider this my effort towards that.  Like I tell the panel-

I'm not going to tell you not to drink.  If you're over 21 you have the right to drink yourself stupid every day of the week and I'll defend your right to do that.  But you don't have the right to drive drunk.  Take the bus, take the train, take a cab, call Uber, call Lyft, call a friend, stay where you are, have a designated driver, BE a designated driver.  There are so many options now.  Don't drive if you've been drinking.  Don't put another family through what my family has gone through.  Don't put YOUR family through what my family has gone through.

This tenth year since Diane died has been rife with memories, both fond and harsh.  As I've aged and grown with my grief, I've tried to focus more and more on the positive.  I still have far to go, but I do feel like I'm still making progress.

And that's a good thing.

Maybe the best thing.

One last photo before I go.  I may have used this one here before, but it's my favorite of us and it is, after all, my blog so...

I'm not sure if I'll be back here before the holiday, so in case I'm not-

Happy Holidays to all!

And,

Peace

The Night of the Dancing Red Scro***s

Ok, this is a first.  Usually I encourage EVERYONE to read these missives, but, today's post is... uhhh... I'll say PG-13.  And since Blogger doesn't have a way to post an "Explicit" rating, I'll do it this way.  So, to be clear, kids, don't let your kids read this one.

Now then.

If you know me IRL, you've probably heard me comment (read: whine) about winter.  As in-

I. HATE. IT.

Cold weather?  Hate it.

Gray sky?  Hate it.

Snow?  I'll grudgingly admit fresh snow has some charm, but roughly 11 nanoseconds after it stops falling?  Hate it.

I don't snowmobile, ski, snowshoe, sled, toboggan, ice fish, ice skate, ice sculpt, ice dive, I don't even like iced coffee.  In short, here's me in winter

And here's me the rest of the year

Side note, none of the people pictured are actually me.

Now, having said that, I'm doing my level best to enjoy what, with a little luck, is my last winter this far north.  And, as self-reflection tends to do, I occasionally expand my thought process to include fond memories from 24+ years at good old Local 3234.  

This particular round of warm fuzzies was prompted by the latest podcast from my friends Seth and Kyle.  This episode deals with Camaraderie in the Fire Service and they bring in a round table (disclaimer: for all I know their table is some shape other than round) of co-workers to talk about changes on the job over the years.  

One of the things they singled out was the advent of smartphones.  You know, we sit around the table at meals and at some point most of us are on our phones instead of talking to each other.  Now, while I don't necessarily disagree, I've noticed the same phenomenon at our place, I would push the real root cause of a lack of social discourse to the loss of bunk rooms.  And this actually also came out during the podcast, but imho it wasn't given the blame it probably deserves.  Clearly, smartphones have played a huge role in breaking up the family-like atmosphere, I just feel like this started the slide.

Allow me to illustrate.

Quick editorial note: even though I'm the only one left on the job and I'm fairly certain any possible statute of limitations has expired, I'm leaving names out of this one.

A long, long time ago, in a far off galaxy... Sorry, wrong story.  

Anyway, right around the time I came off probation, I worked in the only two story firehouse in town.  There were six of us regularly assigned there; a Lieutenant, an Engineer, a firefighter and three firefighter/paramedics.  Our bunk room was wide open, with the exception of a four foot high wall that divided the room length-wise and had three beds on either side of it.  Over the years, as I've looked back on these days, I always remember the excitement we all had over going to work.  Like, I never needed an alarm clock because I couldn't wait to get to work.  We referred to it as a sleepover in a treehouse with a bunch of twelve year-olds.  It always felt like we spent more time laughing than anything else.  And there was a steady stream of juvenile pranks.  One of the guys was, ohhh, let's say, jumpy.  For example if we were watching a suspenseful movie, he was the one that would jump out of his chair and scream during key moments.  He also had an aversion to being touched.  In an inappropriate manner.  Which, of course, provided all the encouragement we needed to touch him inappropriately every. chance. we. got.  

One night in particular, "jumpy" went to bed earlier than the rest of us.  This was because the rest of us were in on the plan.  A plan which required him to be either asleep or very close to it.  For maximum effect, and the stealth this mission required.  Every one else, save for two guys, was lying in bed, wide awake, in anxious anticipation, giddy as school girls.  The two remaining guys stripped naked and, grabbing only their flashlights, (that's not a euphemism btw, actual flashlights) crept quietly toward "jumpy's" bed.  As they got next to it, they each strategically placed their flashlights and, flipping their respective switches, illuminated their scrotal regions.  Now, before you think this is too kinky or anything, each guy illuminated his own.  What kind of sickos do you think we are?  At any rate, "jumpy" awoke to two glowing, spectral, amber-red, man-purses, floating eerily mere inches from his face.  

Hilarity, as you might imagine, ensued.  

As soon as we got jumpy down off the ceiling.  

Ahhh the good old days. See you can't quite pull off a thing like this with individual bunks.  Also this bit is almost certainly not going to go over well if you have female firefighter/paramedics in the house.  Don't misunderstand me either, I'm not one of those grumbling about how it "used to be better in the old days" and I think the better perspective might be "I'm glad there were no cellphones and/or social media back then" in no small part because really, how do you represent someone in the disciplinary hearing for something like this?  "Well, you see, Chief, ummm 'boys will be boys?'" is probably not going to get it done.

Having said all that, it was and will remain, one of my favorite memories of the best job I've ever had.

Peace

Frequent Flyer Miles

Here I sit, in my favorite local coffeehouse, being serenaded by what I'm assuming is the madrigal group from one of the local high schools, thinking about the last 48 hours.  Ok, I'm not personally being serenaded, there's a full house here today.  And if they're not madrigals from one of the local high schools, well, fashions sure have changed around here.

But that's not why you tuned in...

As you may (or may not) know, our shifts at work are 24 hours on and 48 hours off.  Since I took overtime yesterday, I was at work from 7:00 AM Thursday until 7:00 AM this morning.  The overtime is nice, with the holiday approaching and small people to bribe with various gifts, the cash infusion will help.  And before any of you work-related people get all frazzled, this is NOT going to turn into a pitch, one way or another, about 48/96's.

This is simply about observation and reminiscence from my time in the Deeg and some of the people I came to know.

From the title, you may (rightly) pick up on the fact that we see some patients more often than others.  These regular callers are known as "frequent flyers" due to the fact that some of them spend more time in the back of the ambulance than we do.  Ok, slight exaggeration there, but you get the picture.  Now, this is not specific to Downers Grove.  If you work in public safety, either police, fire or EMS, you have them.  And, some are eminently more likable than others.

Joe for example.  He was a frequent flyer earlier in my career.  He used to meet us at the sidewalk in front of his apartment, hat and suitcase in hand, waiting for his ride to the ER.  His complaint was typically "trouble breathing" yet he exhibited no signs or symptoms of any trouble.  We soon came to understand that he was, in fact, lonely.  He had no family.  He had no regular outlet for human contact.  When he needed a fix of humans, he called 9-1-1 and spent a few hours in the ER getting what companionship he needed to get by.  As time went on, Joe's complaints started to become more genuine and we got to where we would have to go in to his apartment and help him, if not carry him, out to the ambulance.  Toward the end of my "relationship" with Joe he would, on occasion, need actual treatment.  Joe always treated us with the utmost respect.  I was out of town when Joe passed.  I wish I had known, I would have certainly gone to pay my respects to a nice man that lived a lonely life.

Another example is Betelgeuse (not his real name).  The nickname kind of evolved because, like in the movie, we joked that if we mentioned his name, he'd appear.  This guy was an ex-con, a recovering junkie, and a not-so-recovering alcoholic.  It was not uncommon to find him covered in, well, covered in nasty.  Use your imagination.  But, Betel always, ALWAYS, treated us with respect.  He told us, right up front, that he carried a couple of infectious diseases and that we should use caution.  That, to me, is a stand up move from a guy that maybe didn't make the most of the opportunities life offered him.  He could have said nothing and risked an exposure on our part.  But he didn't.  And no matter how messed up he was when we went to get him, he always called us "sir" and thanked us.

I'll always remember the first time I met Betelgeuse.  We got a call for a "man down" and, when we got there, his sponsor met us.  He had tried to reach him all day without success.  So he drove over and, looking through the patio door, saw his friends feet sticking out from the bathroom.  We got in the apartment and found Betel, passed out drunk.  We checked for injuries and, finding none, helped him to a chair while we waited for our far south side ambulance to get there.  Now, on this particular night E-3 consisted of me, another old head, and a brand spanking new guy.  I don't remember exactly how long he had on-the-job, but it was only a couple months.  Maybe three.  So, since we had time to wait, we suggested to our new guy that he start an IV on Betel while we waited.  He got alongside the patient and started looking for a likely spot on the back of Betel's left hand, a typical site for IV's.  Watching this unfold, Betel helpfully offered that it might be a better idea to use a similar site on his right hand.  New guy looked at him briefly and resumed the search for a vein on his original choice of sites.

Old guy and I looked at each other and smiled.

Hey, kid's gotta learn, amirite?

Predictably the new guy was unable to get the IV.  Since by this time M-5 had arrived, we helped Betel out to the ambulance and got back in E-3.  As we were pulling away I asked the new guy what he had learned.

"Uhhh, I need to use a better angle of approach..." or some such blather was his reply.

I told him that no, he was wrong.  His takeaway from this particular call SHOULD have been-

"When a junkie tells you what vein to use, always use the vein he tells you."

Believe me, no-one on. the. planet. can find a vein better than a junkie.

So, me personally, I don't have a huge problem with frequent flyers as long as they're respectful.  And this whole stream of consciousness was brought about by three visits to another frequent flyer over the last 48.  Frank certainly falls into the "Joe" category.  He's older, his heath, while not great, is iffy, he lives alone, no apparent family nearby and he is in need of assistance, more and more each day.  Again, Frank is always nice to us, apologizes for bothering us, etc.  But he needs help and we can provide it.  I think in his case, it's actually health-related more so than loneliness although there is an aspect of that too.

Still, these three, while having differing issues and needs, all treated us lowly public safety folks politely.

Not so much with Russell.

In a two year period, Russell and/or his wife Carol used our services over 180 times.  That's not a typo.  180.  And that doesn't count the times a neighboring town took one or the other (or both) in.  Or they took a bus.  Or walked.  Any of the other ways one might get themselves to the ER.  Probably the most memorable incident with them came around 11:00 one night.  Just to give you a frame of reference, my firehouse is, straight line, between 200 and 300 yards from the front door to the ER.  Like, two or three football fields away.  Like, you can clearly see the ambulance entrance from "the bubble" at the front of the firehouse.  And btw that's the best spot in any of our firehouses.  But that's a story for another day.  Anyway, around 11:00 PM we get a call for "chest pain" at the intersection between our station and the ER.  We looked out the door as we got ready to head out and saw...

Russell and Carol standing under the streetlight.

As it turned out, Carol had just been released from the ER for another nonexistent illness and, since PADS was long since closed for the night, Russell started having chest pain.  He didn't of course.  He never did.  Nor did she.  But they knew how to work the system, the right words to use to guarantee a trip to a dry place to sleep and warm food.

Don't misunderstand me, I don't mean to imply they had no redeeming qualities, although none ever presented to any of us, I'm just saying that when it comes to frequent flyers, Russell and Carol brought more groans per capita than possibly any other system abuser.

Ok, I'm back at it tomorrow.  I'm going back to take another leisurely walk around the neighborhood with the Blond Dog.

Peace