“A Paramedic’s Story” – review

Grey (my brother) lent me this book a bit ago and I just finished it today.
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“A Paramedic’s Story” by Steven “Kelly” Grayson is not so much a single narrative story as it is chopped up bits and excerpts from his EMT and paramedic experiences.

I decided to read it, despite my triggery issues with the medical industry.  Mostly because of Army, who is a EMT in the middle of getting his paramedic certification.  Kelly, the author and narrator of these collection of stories, has the exact same snarky, cocky, but heart-of-gold attitude that Army does.

It’s a good book.  It’s well-written and the humorous but caring way Kelly describes his various calls is entertaining while still being fulfilling.
I will warn anyone interested in checking it out though- Kelly is liberal with his medical talk.  He only explains the most complicated terminology and assumes that you must be at least semi-aware of some of the basic and intermediate terms.
There were a lot of texts to Army along the lines of “Why does this guy keep giving something called ‘nebulizer cocktail’ to his pickups? Especially from nursing homes.”

The last chapter did throw me for a loop.  Still having a bit of trouble from it.  Let’s say it combined my medical-trigger with my babies-trigger.  I still consider it a highly worthwhile read.

It also helped me sort things out about how I feel about Army.  I think I could be okay with a possible step forward.  This book has me feeling a bit “extra connected”, if that makes any sense.

Of course, now I have the problem of trying to figure out what on earth to read next…

Boy with the Purple Socks

“Sometimes you have to lie. But to yourself you must always tell the truth.”
-Ole Golly in “Harriet the Spy” by Louise Fitzhugh
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Today on my drive to work, I saw a young man driving around downtown on a chic, slick moped.  He was dressed in a business suit and I wondered about the wind blowing dirt onto his suit jacket.

He was smiling.

And when I glanced down towards his feet I saw that above his black shiny professional loafers, he wore bright purple socks.

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I loved “Harriet the Spy” when it first came out.  I loved the idea of being able to hide and watch what everyone else did without them seeing.

Spying seemed like the perfect survival tool.

I started my own notebooks, it was completely goofy I know.  I was jealous of Harriet’s other tools; the vintage binoculars, the rotating flashlight, that yellow rain slicker.

But it was the boy in the purple socks that always had me fascinated.  Who was this boy? Why did he never talk? Why did he wear purple socks? In the movie, it’s never really revealed, although in the book he explains that his mother wanted him to dress in all purple to stand out, but he talked her down to just the socks.

And yet he stands out anyway.  To me at least.

Before I read the book (one of the few book-to-movie renditions where I saw the movie first) I used to theorized all sorts of things about the boy in purple socks.

Sometimes I wondered if he was like me.  He didn’t really want any attention, but he didn’t want to be invisible.  So he compromised.  No talking, but wear purple socks.  I wondered how else he could be like me.

And today I wondered about a businessman who would drive a moped and wear purple socks.  It seemed exactly what the boy would grow up and do.