She is a paramedic.  First year.  You call 911, she will show up.  The first, and in today’s neglectful system, the only one mandated to respond.  Not social workers, not doctors, not psychiatrists.  

Her.  110 pound, 24 year old, new mom O.

By definition and aspiration, she is an identifiable caregiver.  When I said that to her, she demurred.  “Of course,” I said, "you don’t want the ‘hero’ status casually bestowed during the COVID period by outsiders.”“No,” she said.  “I’m not a caregiver.  I’m not seen that way, and so I just don’t feel that way.”

Here is her reality.  To the patient, she is frequently an inconvenient intruder—called to scene by bystanders, her presence often unwanted.   When she arrives at the ER with her patient, her clinical judgement is immediately challenged: IVs replaced, differential diagnoses questioned.  “What made you think that was a STEMI!”  “This is not septic shock—why the alert?” “Stroke alert? The last known ‘well’ was when?  And how again does this meet criteria”. These are direct quotes, not hypotheticals.

Not every paramedic is perceived this way, nor do most internalize dismissal the way O does.  But nor is she alone in her perception.  This project is for her—to help her heal, and perhaps to raise awareness among the medical students who pass through the JMP.