The end of an era

Me: Ahhhh, best season of all!
Buddy: *looking horrified* you hate the snow. And the cold
Me: Oh, I do. *distastefully glares at the 16 inches of snow outside*
Buddy: So why is this the best season of all?
Me: Oh. No. Not winter... Girl Scout Cookie Season!


Today at 7:01, (okay, so more like 0730) Lance and I finally transitioned from partner-friends to real-life friends. Bittersweet. Truly. When you have someone as a sounding board, as your partner in crime, your confidante, they become, in many ways, more than family. The dynamics of a partnership are hard to explain. Because when you explain something with "oh well he's my partner." If the person you're talking to doesn't know. They don't get it. no matter how hard to try to explain.

Let me try to pull the curtains back on this one. It's important to understand these dynamics to really understand why a partner change is a tough pill to swallow. And of course, this is all contingent on if your partner and you jive.

Imagine, if you will.
You are having a really rough day. You've been up for 26 hours, you've only eaten food the hospitals have in their meager lounges (stale chips, another ham sandwich on soggy bread and if you're lucky, some apple juice), you've been berated by nurses for being too early, too late, just on time (but they were expecting way late or way early). Your patients have verbally assaulted you. Family members of patients have barked orders at you, cried, screamed, and in some cases, required your attention as well. And all through this, you have to remain cheerful, professional and understanding. You look at your partner and roll your eyes, knowing that they know what that eye roll meant. "If she doesn't stop talking, I'm going to blast polka music the whole way to the ER." or "If I don't get some real food soon, I may become homicidal."
Your partner and you get so close that your partner knows to keep talking to you, lest you fall asleep driving on your 6th blood draw of the night.
When all hell has broken loose, when a patient is actively dying, you and your partner have to become the same person, in 2 bodies. Able to function for the other person in the space that no other profession would work in. Always 2 steps ahead of the step you're on, to know what the other person is going to need.

Your partner knows you well enough to know when to pry, and when to let you silently cry. They know when to let you vent, and when to plot revenge with you.

Now imagine you've just seen some of the worst things you can imagine. The kind of thing that normal people would never be able to stomach, and having to get up and do it again tomorrow. The kind of thing that can literally break a person. And know that you can't tell the people at home, because you have to protect them. So when you go home and your family asks how your shift was, you tell them simply "It was fine." Your partner is the one who understands that. Who knows what you went through, because he was right there next to you. Watching the woman die. Explaining to that wife that her husband of 50 years is dead. Dreading the report and explaining all the bruises you saw on the 7 year old. They become your therapist. Often those relationships are described as work marriages. You fight like an old married couple, because after a year and a half, you've been through more together, than many marriages will see in a lifetime. You know exactly what buttons to push to annoy the other, and exactly how to make them laugh.
The bond between a good partnership is hard to describe, because there's really nothing else like it.
Your lives intertwine so much. Lance's girl friend, one of my very best friends. His whole family knows me. And my family all knows him.

So, while I'm super excited for Lance, it's sad to see that go. Because we won't be the same person anymore. He's going to Golden. He'll have his own calls. A whole new partner, and new adventures. It's hard to see that go. He's more than just my friend, he's my partner. A brother.
Strangely, I'm not panicky like I thought I would be. I don't handle change well. I don't like when things get different on me. It makes me feel like I'm losing control of my life.

But this time. I'm not panicked. I'm excited for some change. I'm excited for the future. That in and of itself kind of freaks me out, I'm not that mature. I him and haw at anything new and gripe about it. So to be excited. Wow. Weird. But, anyway, here's to the future.

My new partner is a giant! Lance and I had him for a day in training. He brought with him the 3rd rider cloud. Which meant, no calls for 12 hours. It was glorious. But I got along with him really well personally. He's a giant! Like 9 feet tall or something like that (9 feet really means something like 6'5" or something equally tall) I don't know what it is with putting me with giant medics. But it seems like I will be Mutt and Jeff again. Time to break out those comics again. Lifting will prove to be a challenge, I see us getting really close to fire, really quickly.

As they say, when God shuts a window, He opens a door. 

I wouldn't trade the last 18 months for anything. I've learned so much about life, about medicine and about myself. Like saying hello to police officers on the PA, and watching them climb halfway out of their window to wave back. at 2 in the morning. 

Taking command of a fire, as an ambulance isn't necessarily a good idea, but having a size-up with "serious flammage" would produce free dinner for... forever. 

Dibe's can be measured by the Broslow tape... 

Don't click the mic when you're talking about going emergent to Childrens'. 

"Welcome back guy" was a nice guy. We miss him. But niner guy is pretty hilarious too. 

Random dance parties at city intersections (and people wonder why we got a long so well)

Lance is the nice one, I'm the intimidating one. 

During the C0R, get rid of extra noise... 

Never leave your phone unattended and unlocked!

I can't fully describe how grateful I am for the last 18 months. For the friendship I've built and the color that's been added. From K*Love to Blink 182. From Shenanigan music (you know you loved it, Lance) to Sunshine matches. Avista command and 3 day vacations of coloring. One of the big things I've learned in the last 18 months, that my partner was an example of: Adversity, if handled correctly, can be a blessing in our lives. We can learn to love it.

So here's to the future. Come what may, and I'll love it.