By Reagan Williams
There are many aspects of working in healthcare that most laypeople will never truly understand. But I’d argue this is especially true for EMS. Prehospital medicine isn’t shielded by sterile walls, limitless resources, higher-level providers or security guards. Nope. Every call we run consists of just us, our partner and a box of essentials powered by diesel, ready to drive straight into chaos. The unimaginable becomes our normal. Yeah, that’s the life of an EMT.
When I first started at Grady EMS, I was eager to work alongside some of the finest heroes in Atlanta, true veterans — experts in prehospital medicine. I was excited to hear their stories, the war tales of running the streets. But when I had my own first call that I wished I could forget, I realized something: telling those stories, reliving those moments, wasn’t always as easy as I thought. Coping with the emotional weight of EMS doesn’t come naturally, and like many others, I struggled. I love this job, but the real question is: how do we keep our sanity in this hectic, unpredictable world?
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If it were easy, anyone could do it. But the emotional toll of this job is what makes it so demanding — and why not everyone can do it. The constant exposure to suffering, trauma and loss wears on even the strongest among us, making burnout a real and pressing issue in our field. But that doesn’t mean we’re powerless against it. I’ve found a few key things that make all the difference.
First and foremost — your partner. The right partner can turn a tough response into something manageable. Sometimes, all it takes is 5 minutes post-call to vent before you’re ready to go back in service. Other times, like the days you run two pediatric cardiac arrests back-to-back, you need a supervisor to recognize that thousand-yard stare and tell you it’s time to clock out.
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But EMS isn’t just about the heartbreaking calls. It’s also about the ones that make you laugh, shake your head, and remind you why you love this job in the first place. Sometimes it’s the guy who shot himself in the leg because he thought carrying a loaded pistol in his waistband was a good idea. Or the sweet old grandma who dialed 911, hung up, and had us flying emergent to her house — only to find out she just needed help with her TV remote. Calls like these could frustrate you if you let them. Or they can be the comic relief that gets you through the shift. Humor, as George Vaillant puts it, is a mature defense mechanism, and in EMS, it’s a necessary one.
It’s easy to dwell on the bad calls — we all do it. The ones that stick with you, the ones that change you. But we don’t have to let them define us. We don’t celebrate the good ones enough. We should remember the times we got ROSC on scene, because that’s a family who gets one more day together. We should be proud of the multi-system trauma calls we handled with skill and efficiency. Those moments matter just as much as the tough ones, and they deserve a place in our memory.
EMS is tough. But so are a lot of jobs I wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot stretcher. So instead of letting the dark calls take up space in your mind, shift your focus. When you clock out, don’t just remember the hard stuff. Think about the funny moments, the small victories, the life you saved. Because tomorrow, you’ll be back in the ambulance, and who knows what kind of crazy call will make you laugh next?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Reagan Williams is a third-year medical student at Mercer University School of Medicine. After graduating from the University of Georgia, Reagan went to work for Grady EMS in Atlanta as an advanced-EMT. After an exciting couple of years, Reagan became eager to continue his studies and returned to school to pursue a degree in medicine. He is a husband and proud father, living with his family in Savannah, Georgia, while striving to achieve his professional aspirations and contribute to his community along the way.
