Royal Arch!

This weekend we finally had some nice weather. With promises of temperatures in the 70's, blue skies and little wind, an adventure to the mountains was in order. But where to hike, we wondered. Easy, the best hike in chatauqua, Royal Arch!

"I should warn you, there will probably be ice." One of our stalwart hikers, Keagan warned. 

uh... Did I hear you correctly? Ice? Me? Yipes!

And off we continued. 4 of us. Allison, Dan Keagan and myself. We were ready. ... sorta. 

We met at the ever early hour of 0800 and drove to the trail head. Up and up we went. We climbed and climbed. And then, there it was. The ice. A lots of it. We slipped and slid and scurried up the mountain, clinging desperately to rocks, trees and roots to shimmy our ways to the Arch. 

And the mountain was winning. 

At one particularly terrifying portion, the trail seemed vertical with no visible footing and sheer ice. About 20 yards below, the boys had stopped at a cave to explore and talk about... caves? I'm not sure. To enjoy some man-moments. Allison and I decided to continue and let them catch up. Ha. 

Allison, who is much more sure footed, much less clumsy, opted to be the leader. And I would follow. 

"Dibe, there are NO foot holds. There's no footing at all!" She warned as she clung to the rock beside us. 

"We got this..." I gasped, praying I wouldn't fall and slide to my death. I took another step and my left foot slid. I reached to grab something. I grabbed ice. Basically useless. I went down. Hard. With about 40 feet we had already ascended, I knew I was in for a ride. Particularly because if I continued in the trajectory my body was hurtling, I would go right off the side of the trail, and down the side of the mountain. 

A shriek, comparable to that of a banshee, erupted from my mouth and I flipped myself over onto my back. I dug my left heel into the snow, slowing my left side down and shoved with my right hand to straighten my fall. Success! 

Oh... crap... right into the path of rocks. Rocks barely covered by ice and snow. This was going to hurt. I tried to relax, (think, floppy fish) as I hit the first rock. When I bounced, hard, I switched tactics. protect the head! The bounce did it, I slowed considerably until I was at the bottom of this rocky ice slide. 

"Dibe!" Allison shouted from her precarious perch halfway up this slide. "Say something. Let me know you're not dead!"

I lay there mentally assessing my injuries. Head? uninjured. Neck? just fine. Back? May end up peeing blood, but spine alright. knees? ow. Overall, alright! I looked up and saw the boys sprinting up and slowly sat up, wiping tears from my eyes. "I'm okay!" 

After a few moments of recollecting, off we continued again. Finally, we reached the top! Slowly, but we made it! 

 Keagan and the Arch

Boulder!

Goooorgeous

Dibe and Dan. Dan is giant, Dibe is not

pretty

As we rested, we chatted. We chatted with each other, we sat and just enjoyed the view. We chatted with some other hikers. One fella, sitting above us said:

"I don't mean to eavesdrop, but are you guys from the CU ward in Boulder?" He asked timidly. 

"We are indeed!" We replied

"That's awesome, I got married out of that ward in 2003" He told us. And we chatted. Finally, it was time to descend. Dan, the adventurer that he is, decided to scout out a new trail, one less icy. With promises to return, we sat and basked in the sun and the warmth. 30 minutes later, no Dan. 45 minutes later, several texts and phone calls. No Dan. 

"We better go after him" We decided, hoping not to find a broken Dan. So we went trail blazing. Down steep litter-layered earth. Surrounded by Cacti, possible poison ivy and who knows what else. Danger Will Robinson. Danger!! 

Finally, we made it. We climbed down this: 

 Icy rock wall. you can see my head at the very bottom. YIPES

We made it down to the Mesa trail and hiked back to Chautauqua, where we found Dan working on homework. Survival!!! 

Those boys sure earned man moments by getting us down the mountain (and up for that matter) without serious bodily harm!!!

In other news, this is what I got to deal with this shift, like my partner says: Welp... Can't fix stupid.

9 car accident

Honorary text of the blog today:

Him: We ran 9 calls all together... 1 dog food on fire... 

Me: dog food on fire?!

Him: Oven on... dog food next to oven... smoldering... When they made entry small dog with small dog complex came bolting out of the apartment building and latched on big dogs back leg and wouldn't let go... cop almost tased little dog... be like you latching on (in an angry kinda way) to Ryan's leg and poor big dog was sad and scared and like what the flip.

Nothing like bursting out in the kind of laughing that makes you cry on public transportation. I'm cool (read as, I'm full of shenanigans!) 

Next week on the ambulance is St. Patrick's day. We plan to be Irish all day, and having Corned Beef and Cabbage. Be ready City of Boulder. Ready or not, here we come!

The truth about partners: starting anew

So, the new guy (who has earned a name around here, it's Ryan, for all who are curious) and I are going to work out, I'm thinking.
Mostly because he is hilarious! We laugh, we rock out to shenanigan music, we amuse PD when we do our legal blood draws. We are C -shifts 10p to 6a status 1 posting fiend! Meaning when one of the other cars go save a life, we go and protect their home base from robbers, thieves and thugs. (Read as, we park in the same vicinity as their home base, ignore all hooligan-like people, turn off the lights and sleep.)

Importantly, we are noticing where our strengths are as a partnership and where we have to opportunity to improve.

 Example: We are great at coaxing people who don't want to go, but who need to go to the hospital to buck up and come with us.

We are greatly improving our scene times.


Also, I knew he must be a keeper when he was welcomed to the shift with an all-out nerf war, and he didn't turn tail and run for it. Welcome partner!
Here's to plenty of shenanigan music, middle of the intersection dance parties, and a some tomfoolery!

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.