Homes, Memories, Holidays

Being home for the holiday(s) is weird. After moving cross country almost three years ago it’s honestly complicated to say where home really is. My parent’s house back in NY, where I grew, is certainly a home in the traditional sense. After all, it’s where I spent the first twenty-something years of my life. However, there is also the sense of home that I am building in CO. Sometimes this dichotomy makes me feel like I am living a secret life and breaking some abstract set of rules.

The other weird thing about being back in NY is the memories. Specifically, I’ll be driving down a road in my hometown and suddenly I’ll be reminded of a call I ran years ago. These aren’t necessarily, bad memories. In fact, most of these memories are funny, or just random tidbits about whichever house I’m passing. For example, I distinctly remember running a medical call in a single-story ranch house. While treating the patient someone in an adjacent room began screaming “Help me!” The door was locked and the patient was unable to assist so we ended up having to wedge it open with a set of irons. We rush into the room and standing before us is a parrot inside of its cage, still yelling “Help!”

All of us who have worked in first response have houses or streets that we drive by and remember calls. Yes, some of these houses and the memories associated with them are tragic. Like bad nightmares that startle you out of your sleep. But some of these memories are nostalgic, even potentially hilarious. The times had with my co-workers, some of which became great friends, will always live on through the memory of the houses I pass by.

Regardless, I am glad to be home after visiting family. I’m hoping to post more in the future as I start me job in the ICU. As always, thank you all for reading.