Medic 6

I sit enjoying the warm solstice evening, reading a good book in the garage. The city has had no love for us today.

A reported diabetic who only wanted a cup of coffee. A morbidly obese patient who called 911 looking for a wheelchair van.

A reported overdose in a fast food bathroom. I haven’t done a good OD in a bathroom in ages. Still haven’t.

And a truck swap. I hate swapping trucks. It never feels right for the rest of the shift.

There are forces in motion in my life; things begun long ago and now largely beyond my control. I don’t yet know where they will lead me or how I feel about them, but their effect is tectonic. Large shifts will occur.

A truck swap. An old friend from my past has returned. Medic 6 looms over my right shoulder, a ghost of good times past. We started our careers together or near enough as to make no difference; me the new paramedic and her the new transfer truck. Now she sits here reassuringly, the faithful steed peeking out of its stall.

My days in this city and indeed this job may be numbered, but tonight I get to spend them with an old friend.


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