The thing about emergency services folks— Fire, EMS, LEO, and ER- that a lot of people don't understand is how thin a veneer the shell of stoicism we put up is. We put on a brave face because we don't have another choice. People are counting on us to help them shoulder loads that they can't— so we put it on our shoulders instead.
And those weights never really leave our shoulders. It’s why PTSD, stress, and suicide rates amongst emergency service providers are at critical levels.
As an ER Nurse, I can attest to that personally. Like the wife who cried into my shoulder outside our cardiac cath lab— she'd thought her husband's chest pain had just been anxiety, see, because their daughter had been accepted to a fancy northeastern Ivy League school, and they’d run the numbers and knew they have to choose telling their kid she’s on her own and has to take on six figures of debt, or take out a second mortgage on the house.
And that second mortgage, man— how would they keep that paid? Their numbers said they could barely afford it beforehand, but with a hundred thousand dollar hospital bill coming their way now— the look she made when she realized the implications of that is something I will never, ever forget.
But that's not my worst. Not by a long shot. No, for me, it's the pediatric codes.
Every single pediatric code I've ever worked sits on my heart. I remember vividly every sight, every sound. In your hands, you can feel their ribs cracking under the pressure of your chest compressions. The feel, the crunch that the IO makes when it goes through, into their bone marrow. The bright pink foam coming from their lips, spraying into the air, droplets landing on their ashen grey skin. Mom shrieking and crying in terror in the background.
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I'll sit awake and try and think through what I did wrong; or what I could have done differently that would’ve changed things. The answer is always “nothing”, but it never stops me from revisiting it. And there's the thing, too; I was only one of an entire team of people in those codes, but we all take it on as a personal burden.
And I can tell you— those codes don't look anything like they do on TV, where they're just one screenwipe away from smiling lovingly up at their family surrounding their bedside. They don't tell you that of the folks we code— pediatric or otherwise— a depressingly small percentage ever return fully to their pre-illness baseline.
But we do it anyway, against the odds. We work like hell, we put all our effort on the line, because sometimes? They go home. Their mom and dad get to hug them, and play with them, take them to school, sing "You Are my Sunshine" to them, watch them laugh and sing and grow. They get to go home to their wife and kids, go fishing, see their kids' graduations. They get to go home and spoil the crap out of their grandkids, take that trip they've been planning and putting off forever.
That's why, even though we know the odds are never in our favor, we forge ahead— regardless. For that chance we'll make the most profound difference in people's lives.
And, as I sat last November, looking at the election results, wondering what to do, I knew what the answer was "run for office". Because the only race open to me was one against my current state representative, an entrenched incumbent who has the biggest war chest in the entire Commonwealth of Virginia; who hasn't gone opposed in almost a decade; who is so comfortable in his spot that he agreed to chair the entire House Republican reelection effort this fall; and who, in the district with the Trump Winery in it, decided to become so close to the Trump family he was personally invited to spend election eve with Ivanka.
Crazy. Suicidal. Doomed. Why even bother?
Because like my brothers and sisters in emergency services know full well, we go to every length imaginable because we never give up, even in the face of unimaginable odds.
And right now, I see our Republic tanking on the monitor as Trump tries to turn it into an autocracy. While his enablers, like my opponent, stand idly by and do absolutely nothing to stop it. And as long as there’s still a pulse, still a chance we can pull ourselves back from the precipice, I will never give up. I will never stop fighting.
Thank you.
Kellen Squire is an emergency department nurse from Barboursville, Virginia, running for the Virginia House of Delegates in the 58th District- the seat once held by Thomas Jefferson- this fall.