When the Lord made Paramedics, He was into His sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared and said, "You're doing a lot of fiddling on this one."
And the Lord said, "Have you read the specs on this order? A Paramedic has to be able to carry an injured person up a wet, grassy hill in the dark, dodge stray bullets unarmed to reach a dying child, enter homes the Health Inspector wouldn't touch, and not wrinkle his uniform.
"He has to be able to lift three times his own weight, crawl into wrecked cars with barely enough room to move, and console a grieving mother as he is doing CPR on a baby he knows will never breathe again.
"He has to be in top mental condition at all times, running on no sleep, black coffee and half-eaten meals. And he has to have six pairs of hands."
The angel shook her head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands... No way."
"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," said the Lord, "It's the three pairs of eyes a Paramedic has to have."
"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel.
The Lord nodded.
"One pair that sees open sores as he's drawing blood and asks the patient if they may be HIV positive," (when he already knows and wishes he'd taken that accounting job.) "Another pair here in the side of his head for his partner's safety. And another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, "You'll be alright ma'am" when he knows it isn't so.
"Lord," said the angel, touching his sleeve, "rest and work on this tomorrow."
"I can't," said the Lord. "I already have a model that can talk a 250 pound drunk out from behind a steering wheel without incident and feed a family of five on a private service paycheck."
The angel circled the model of the Paramedic very slowly, "Can it think?" she asked.
"You bet," said the Lord. "It can tell you the symptoms of 100 illnesses; recite drug calculations in it's sleep; intubate; defibrillate; medicate and continue CPR nonstop over terrain that any doctor would fear... and still it keeps its sense of humour. This Paramedic also has phenomenal personal control. He can deal with a multi-victim trauma, coax a frightened elderly person to unlock their door, comfort a murder victim's family and then read in the daily paper how Paramedics were unable to locate a house quickly enough, allowing a person to die. A house which had no street sign, no house numbers, no phone to call back."
Finally, the angle bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the Paramedic.
"There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model."
"That's not a leak," said the Lord.
"It's a tear."
"What's the tear for?" asked the angel.
"It's for bottled up emotions, for patients they've tried in vain to save, for commitment to that hope that they will make a difference in a person's chance to survive, for life."
"You're a genius," said the angel.
The Lord looked sombre.
"I didn't put it there," He said.
And the Lord said, "Have you read the specs on this order? A Paramedic has to be able to carry an injured person up a wet, grassy hill in the dark, dodge stray bullets unarmed to reach a dying child, enter homes the Health Inspector wouldn't touch, and not wrinkle his uniform.
"He has to be able to lift three times his own weight, crawl into wrecked cars with barely enough room to move, and console a grieving mother as he is doing CPR on a baby he knows will never breathe again.
"He has to be in top mental condition at all times, running on no sleep, black coffee and half-eaten meals. And he has to have six pairs of hands."
The angel shook her head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands... No way."
"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," said the Lord, "It's the three pairs of eyes a Paramedic has to have."
"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel.
The Lord nodded.
"One pair that sees open sores as he's drawing blood and asks the patient if they may be HIV positive," (when he already knows and wishes he'd taken that accounting job.) "Another pair here in the side of his head for his partner's safety. And another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, "You'll be alright ma'am" when he knows it isn't so.
"Lord," said the angel, touching his sleeve, "rest and work on this tomorrow."
"I can't," said the Lord. "I already have a model that can talk a 250 pound drunk out from behind a steering wheel without incident and feed a family of five on a private service paycheck."
The angel circled the model of the Paramedic very slowly, "Can it think?" she asked.
"You bet," said the Lord. "It can tell you the symptoms of 100 illnesses; recite drug calculations in it's sleep; intubate; defibrillate; medicate and continue CPR nonstop over terrain that any doctor would fear... and still it keeps its sense of humour. This Paramedic also has phenomenal personal control. He can deal with a multi-victim trauma, coax a frightened elderly person to unlock their door, comfort a murder victim's family and then read in the daily paper how Paramedics were unable to locate a house quickly enough, allowing a person to die. A house which had no street sign, no house numbers, no phone to call back."
Finally, the angle bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the Paramedic.
"There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model."
"That's not a leak," said the Lord.
"It's a tear."
"What's the tear for?" asked the angel.
"It's for bottled up emotions, for patients they've tried in vain to save, for commitment to that hope that they will make a difference in a person's chance to survive, for life."
"You're a genius," said the angel.
The Lord looked sombre.
"I didn't put it there," He said.
24 December 2009
14 January 2010
McDaddy hard at work.... Yeah right!!!!!
