28 April 2012

Girl's night, flowers and health fairs

Ah, life. As always, never dull and never boring. Story of life. On Friday we had a massive throw back night. Dave and Busters for Jenna's birthday (which, let's face it, that's just an adult version of Chuck E Cheese's) and then an old fashioned slumber party. Complete with cookie dough, talking about boys and those horrible Squeez its. (Sugar water... yum....) It was awesome. We stayed up late. We laughed and giggled. We had a ball. I thought it would be a great idea to pick up a shift the next day. So, after "galavanting and performing acts of general tomfoolery, it was 2am, and I needed to be up in 3 short hours. Try as I might, sleep was elusive. I forgot to leave a forwarding address for the Sandman. At 430, my feet were ready to start moving. So off I went, ending the best slumber party I've been a part of!

Off I drove, out of the sunrise and into the easiest 8 hour overtime shift ever. 9news health fair where they had sufficient phlebotomists. So my companero and I sat and talked for 8 hours. It was brilliant!

That night was the blood draw car. Eventful? Yeah, you could say that. I played at city dispatch, stuck a couple of people, then, true to Dibe-form, locked "myself out of the ambulance and my keys inside said ambulance. As I shut the door, a sinking feeling sickened me... in the ignition sat the only keys. And the door was locked.

Oh no... try to break in, or blood draw? Try to break in... or blood draw?! Blood draw... so I draw the blood, fill out the paperwork.

"So...." I say in my oh-so-calm voice. "Hypothetically speaking, for no reason at all, how are you at breaking into cars?"

Officer *sighs* Am I going to have to arrest you?

"It depends on your answer to me...." (intimidating!!)

"Uh....." *unintimidated*

"Okay listen, I locked myself out of my ambulance... can you get me back in?" I smile. I bat my eyelashes. I give up in resignation.


"Do you have a car kit?" I ask the officer I draw for the most. Nothing.

And so my questioning continued. Not one cop in the entire jail had a slim jim!

I stood at the ambulance door. Do I break a window? Do I walk back to the station?

A new officer walks by.

"Hey!" I hollar. "Do you have a cell phone I can borrow?"

The officer gives me the once over. Deciding that I'm friend, not foe, he hands me the phone just as I realize. I don't know the number to dispatch.... blast. I call the Springs dispatch, the number that used to be Denver's number.

"Thank you for calling. Where is your emergency?" The voice says to me.

"Hey Mike, this is Dibe from the Boulder division. Can you patch me over to Boulder?"

"Sorry, our system can't do that." He apologizes.

"Okay... I need you to do me a huge favor... Can you call Boulder dispatch, tell the dispatcher (who happens to be one of my best friends) and tell him that he has a crew member locked out of the ambulance at the county jail."

I hang up, hand the phone back and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Colorado State Patrol wanders by. No slim jim. Lafayette PD. Nothing. Sheriff? No sir. Boulder PD, negative. And then the Cavlery arrives! Another crew!

"Bad news... A back up key doesn't exist."


So. 6 cops, 2 crews and shenanigans later. I finally got back in.

My life is anything but dull.

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14 April 2012

I get a little bit Stronger

Life takes a bunch of crazy turns. Some you expect, like a mission. Some you don't, like PTSD. But all inevitably will lead you through this life. Right?

I am abundantly blessed. And just like that song "Stronger" (Sara Evans?) Even on my weakest day, I get a little bit stronger.

Work has been a never ending ball of chaos and ridiculousness. I mean really. Full of crazy. No seriously, between a paranoid schizophrenic who liked to talk to the voices and sing songs, to the teenager who enjoyed the taste of writing utensils and thus had a strong fascination of swallowing them. Whole. Strange. Otherwise, work has been just dandy. My partner is stinking hilarious, which makes my life easier. It's a lot nicer working 48 hour shifts when I don't hate my partner. I've been blessed with all 3 of my 48-hour shift partners. My supervisors have been inordinately kind to me lately. I wonder whether or not this is a ploy to be kind before they can me for something. Yikes.

The Winstons were kind enough to give me a bike! It's so much lighter than my current bike. It's also a giant bike. For a small Dibe, that makes things a little challenging. I mean, the seat can down sufficiently, however, the seat to handle bar distance is a little farther than I can usually handle. Ha ha. Get it.... Yeah... It's great going down the hill on South Boulder, I feel like I'm flying. Yikes! And awesome.

I've been working hard on preparing for a mission, which seems to be extraordinarily more and more difficult. Between finances and getting my brain shrunk, it's been a ride. I'm ready to get on the road, I'm ready to get in the field. Which frankly, is a foreign feeling for me. To go from "I don't want to go" to "I'll  go...I guess" to "Alright, get me out there!" All the while, being stuck with "this is a baaaaad idea!!!" But here we are, a few months out, and I'm ready to go.

I've been toying with the idea of sharing more of the deep stuff around here. I have a paper journal, that I write in almost daily. But on the other hand, I wonder what it would be like to just be honest. Not my version of honesty where I tell people what they want to hear, or what I assume they want to hear. Not the version of honesty where it's sunshine and daisies all the time. But the real stuff. The hard stuff. I am ambivalent, simply because to put my thoughts out there is far more vulnerability than I ever allow myself. Always in control all the time. That's how I live. But then I think about how I've looked to the internet for answers for my problems. Like when I was told that I have PTSD. My first stop, Interwebs. Blogs. I wanted to read about others and their ideas, their thoughts. I wanted to know that I wasn't the only person fighting this stupid disorder. I did what any red-blooded 21st century brat would do. I googled. I traipsed through countless blogs written by combat soldiers, by childhood abuse survivors, by assault and rape survivors, and I'm struck that I'm not fighting this alone. While I may not be ready to tell the world my story. Because really, my story is still mine. Still something that I don't know how to pull out. Something I'm not willing to pull out yet. But, I'm not afraid right now. I'm not afraid to admit the truth. I have PTSD and I go to counseling. And eventually, I won't be broken anymore. So, you know what, world? Deal with it.This time is now my time. To heal. To grow. and I am so ready for it.