The Midlife Medic: 9 Seconds

“When it comes to eating right and exercising, there is no ‘I’ll start tomorrow.’ Tomorrow is a disease.” —Terri Guillemets

One question I am often asked is, “How did you end up in Alaska?” A more appropriate question might concern how I almost did NOT end up in Alaska, and why.

During the interviews for my current position as battalion chief I was told that I would have to take a physical agility test (PAT). There would be no job offer if I did not pass it, no matter how well I did on the interview. It was a straightforward expectation. It included carrying equipment, climbing stairs, performing CPR and executing a proper lift with two 45-pound dumbbells.

These are all tasks I have done over the course of my career, so...piece of cake, right? Except for the fact that I had not done them all together, at one time, in years.

I am not small, never have been, but my size comes with varying degrees of fitness depending on the when. Driving a desk for the last few years, even the built-in exercise you get from climbing in and out of an ambulance with equipment had worn thin. The innate upper body strength I had throughout my 20s and 30s has eroded, and I let it.

EMS is a tough lifestyle to maintain. The hours are long, the exercise irregular, the food choices impractical, and the hormonal spikes caused by responding to calls leave little souvenirs in your bloodstream in the form of cholesterol and insulin. “Average” calls do not generally require you to put in a lot of extra physical effort. Add to this long hours and fatigue, and it is an easy thing to fall (or stay) out of good physical shape.

After the panel interview the Chief took me to my PAT. I was briefed on the details—walk so many feet, climb so many stairs, carry this many pounds, do this much CPR, etc. Oh, and I had to do it in full turnout gear. Wait, what?

I never wear turnout gear. At the agency I was from, I was not required to wear it. I do not have my own set, nor have I have ever practiced in it. Yet here I was, in a mismatched set of gear with boots too big, coat too long, no suspenders, and looking very much like Paddington Bear. I did my best and finished each of the tasks exactly as asked, 9 seconds too slow. I had failed the test they told me nobody fails.    

I stood on the apron, gulping air and water and looking up at a slate grey sky over a foreign mountainous landscape. What am I doing here? Maybe I’m too old, too out of shape. I was 4,000 miles from my home and family and my dream was evaporating because I had allowed myself to become a liability.

I am an excellent paramedic. I am who you want making those critical clinical decisions for your loved one when nobody else can. Trouble is, how can I call the shots if after climbing some stairs I cannot catch my breath long enough to speak? If this is not you then I guarantee you’ve worked with someone for whom you’ve made that exact observation, where you wondered how they could do their job effectively in the shape they are in.

I was allowed to retake the test, this time with appropriately fitting equipment and better orientation with the equipment being used. It was my last chance. I beat the time by a full minute and 27 seconds. I refused to waste this opportunity—if I am to do the job that I still love then I need to function at the best of my ability. I am back in the gym, back in the kitchen, and back to reprioritizing my time and energy.

Eating well and exercising should be cultural norms, not hobbies or side interests. Bring a cooler, make better choices and do the research. Websites like www.fitresponder.com or www.555fitness.com have great matching apps and offer strongly supportive programs that anyone can do. Functional fitness is not a catch phrase, it is a very real part of your job performance and ability to remain in this field for the long term.

Recently my preceptor was briefing me on icy-road procedures: Dispatch notified when on and off, number of people (souls) on board, no seat belt, no USAR gear, window open, no idling. My initial amusement faded as I realized that what he was saying was that on these calls there was an actual chance of a potentially lethal incident occurring. That if the truck went through the ice I would have to be able to get out and up in a hurry —or else.

What if I was 9 seconds too slow?

Tracey Loscar, NRP, FP-C, is a battalion chief for Matanuska-Susitna (Mat-Su) Borough EMS in Wasilla, Alaska. Her adventures started on the East Coast, where she spent the last 27 years serving as a paramedic, educator and supervisor in Newark, NJ.  She is also a member of the EMS World editorial advisory board. Contact her at taloscar@gmail.com or www.taloscar.com.