By Aryeh Myers
I never intended to share my experiences about PTSD, it just kind of happened. Blogging in such an open forum has also meant that the exposure has been multiplied, for better and for worse.
It has led to an amazing response, both online and off, from people I know, and many others who I don’t. What I hadn’t told until now, is what happened when I went back to work.
I was lucky — my first day back I was working with a fellow paramedic, one of the very few who knew what I had been going through. It meant that I could take a backseat, so to speak, and drive for the day, working my way back into actually treating patients at my own pace.
Nerves kicked in before I’d even arrived on station. In fact, they kicked in the night before when I had a complete meltdown.
Doubts set in and along with them they brought panic and an almost sleepless night.
The sweats came back, the flashbacks, the images and visions and sights and sounds that had left me a useless shell all returned with a vengeance in the lead-up to returning to work. I doubted, again, whether I would ever be fit for my job.
I had informed the therapist who I had only seen a handful of times that I was diving head first into the deep end and he was full of praise and encouragement. It was just what I needed to hear in order to help fight off the doubts that were doing their best to turn me away.
That, alongside support from those near and dear to me, ensured that perhaps against my better judgement, I was going back. This course of action might not be best for everyone, but it was right for me.
It was my getting back on the bicycle moment. If you’ve ever fallen off, you’ll understand.
The first few minutes of the shift were calm. I checked the ambulance, all the kit, made sure that everything we needed was there, and promptly sat in the driver’s seat. Absentmindedly I checked the mirrors and adjusted the seat. Together, we replenished the kit and washed the ambulance. All standard, all mundane — but all vital to grasping some sense of normality.
As luck would have it, my nerves were stretched to the breaking point as the calls refused to come in. Ten minutes on station is rare enough, but after the first hour, and with nerves fraying, I went outside for a walk around the forecourt. While walking around the fenced perimeter, a pale-looking man approached me.
“Do I have to call you by phone, or can you just see me now?”
My plan of relying on my partner for the day had just been thrown out the window. I opened the gate that allowed him access, led him to the ambulance and started the assessment. In the meantime, I called for my partner to come out and join us.
Doing what was probably the most sensible thing he could have done, he made sure I saw he was there, and then just left me to it. I haven’t looked back since. There have been good days and bad, good nights and nightmare nights, but the momentum is always forward.
I can’t stress enough — if you are going through this, you are not alone. You should not be ashamed. You shouldn’t feel that there is nowhere to turn. And instead of giving in to the stigma that is still attached, you should fight it.
You spend so much time and effort in this job treating others. Make sure you remember to treat yourself, too.
