Call of Duty

Im pretty sure that somewhere in a previous post I mentioned being a firefighter… if I didn’t then I’m telling you now.  I’m very petite so realistically I was never going to run into a burning structure and drag out a 175 lb man… but I was trained to.  I did complete drill school and I did it without any special treatment.  I drug hoses, caught hydrants, carried ladders, climbed up and down ladders, went through walls, cut roofs, climbed over joists, held down a 5″ hose full of pressure, saved a dummy, learned first responder life stabilization, tied knots, donned ppe, skillfully used the jaws of life, peeled a roof off of a car,  changed out SCBA… I did it in the day, I also did it blind folded.  I can also tell you all the scientific specifics where fires are concerned.  I passed every test, every challenge with flying colors!! 

A handful of times I have used my training since my time with the department.  Once I responded to a wreck on the interstate.  Once I responded to a dad who was screaming on the side of the road for help. His little boy had stopped breathing.
And today, I saved a choking man’s life.

I was debating with myself as to whether or not in should blog about it. I don’t feel like I did anything anyone else wouldn’t do.  It’s hard for me to get it sometimes,  how not everyone can just respond without thought.  That’s what I do- I just respond. It’s second nature for me therefore when I am privileged in being able to use my acquired skills I don’t see myself as any kind of hero-  it was my responsibility. 

While visiting my mother today I heard a horrible noise just outside her door. She asked me what it was and I told her it sound as though someone was getting sick or choking….
My mom freaked out and shouted for me to open the door. Before she finished her sentence I was already in her hallway.  A man across from her was standing in his doorway and he was choking.  I immediately ran up behind him and performed the Heimlich.  With the second thrust his airway was clear.   I rubbed his back and kept telling him he was ok-  he kept thanking me and saying, “God bless you.”

God did bless me.  He blessed me with the ears to hear him, the skills to respond without hesitation and the bedside manner to console him after. God blessed me by allowing me to serve Him.

I don’t know what you believe but as a Christian I believe that God puts you where He wants you, when He wants you there.  You see, I had planned to visit my mom today but later today. I wanted to finish my homework first-  but for some reason I couldn’t focus so I went ahead and went to my moms early this morning.  If I hadn’t been there when I was, I wouldn’t have been able to help the choking man.  He might have died.  Not another person heard him.  I am blessed- very much so.

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-Willow

Day 25 – The day I met Mary Jo Juana

I met Mary Jo when I was a kid.  I guess I was about 13.  She was a friend of a friend and she also knew a lot of the people in my family, that being said, I thought I could trust her.  When we were growing up, Mary Jo liked to come over and hang out with my friends and I pretty often, but I didn’t care for her company all that much.  She kind of left a bad taste in my mouth.  youknowutiment?  Mary Jo and I ended up going our separate ways.

Several years later I found out that Mary Jo was living next door to me.  It happened by accident actually.  I was next door with Mable and Archy (trust me, I wish I made those names up for real) just hanging out talking like neighbors do sometimes when out of nowhere Archy introduces me to his friend, Mary.  I was like.. “OH MY GOD!!  WE KNOW EACH OTHER!!!”  What a small world it is sometimes, right??!?   Anyway, Mable, Archy, Mary Jo and I kind of hung out for a little while. It was nice to see Mary Jo- she took my divorce off of my mind.  Everything seemed to be going just fine until Mary Jo decided to be a bitch.  She started acting all weird and then out of nowhere, she punched me in the face. I couldn’t see!!!  I kind of started freaking out so I went home.  When I got home I was shaking and my vision hadn’t returned. Remembering that I had a sink full of water in the kitchen, I leaned over and started splashing my face, but it didn’t help.   All I know is that my (ex)mother-in-law and her sister came to get me and take me to the hospital.  They kept asking me what happened and no way in hell was I going to tell them about Mary Jo.  I told them I took a pill for a headache and I must of had a reaction to it.

Once at the hospital a medic named Jerry took my blood to run labs as a precaution, and asked me a lot of questions.  I kept telling him the same story I had told my (ex)mother-in-law… he wasn’t buying it.  He started getting loud and rude with me, and I told him that I would remember his name and when I felt better, I’d find his ass.  He laughed- which pissed me off even more.  Jerry kept saying that he was concerned about the dried blood in my hair. I kept telling him that nothing happened to my head.. I hadn’t hit it…. that I knew of anyway.   Jerry finally says to me, “Brandy, you have to tell me what you did or I can’t help you. I swear it will stay between us.”  So I started crying like a baby and I told Jerry about bumping into Mary Jo again after many years of not seeing her, and about my divorce, and how Mary Jo punched me and I couldn’t see and that’s all I knew.  And I didn’t want my husband to find out about this or he’d try to take my kids away…

Jerry’s harsh tone softened.  He asked me how often I saw Mary Jo and I told him again, I hadn’t seen her since I was like 13. I told him we weren’t really friends but when I saw her, I thought it would be nice to catch up for the night, just to forget about all that was going wrong in my life.   Jerry said he understood and wished me well and made me promise I’d not hang out with Mary Jo again because she was a bad friend to have.  I promised, and that was that. After several hours I got to go home.

The next morning when I woke up, I ran a shower.  While I was waiting for the water to get hot I looked at myself in the mirror. Blood?  Where did the blood come from?   I kept feeling my scalp but there weren’t any cuts or bumps anywhere. I was so confused and had no idea why I had dried blood all around my face in my hairline.

After the shower I felt better.  I started piddling about the house, picking up and putting away.  The kids would be home from their dads soon so I wanted to have everything done.  I noticed that the kitchen sink still had the dinner dishes soaking from the night before. Spaghetti.  Yuk.   As the water went out I noticed a thick red-orange grease line left behind.  I fell out laughing.  Remember, I had splashed water on my face trying to snap myself out of Mary Jo’s blow… it wasn’t dried blood in my hairline, it was nasty ass spaghetti dish water.  hahahahahahaha

Oh and by the way, I did remember Jerry’s name.  A few days later I got the nerve up to call the ambulance company I saw on his uniform.  When he came to the phone, I thanked him for taking care of me- and I wanted him to know that I did in fact remember his name and I assured him that Mary Jo and I were no longer pals. He laughed. Before we hung up Jerry told me that he had received my lab results and they were clear- there should be no further issues for me.  Then he told me to take care and we hung up.

Funny how sometimes a complete stranger treats you better than someone you once called, “friend.”

Mary Jo

Day 11 – Kill Whitey

I’m usually quite tame on here.  I don’t say what I’m thinking because I don’t want to ruffle any feathers but I am really confused. Really!  I’ve been thinking about something for years and I need help in understanding some things.  The older I get, the more confused I get about individual status.  I’m white. My family is mixed with Black, Mexican, and Asian. We have straight and gay people too.  I’m not a racist.  I’d beat my kids asses off if I heard or saw them discriminate against another, that being said,  I don’t know why I’m not allowed to have ‘white pride.”   I don’t know why I am not allowed to feel good about my race or my Christian religion. I don’t know why I can’t have my own white holiday in which I can take off from work/school. Not that I want to because it would be AWFUL, but if I wanted to, I don’t know why I can’t go to a white festival that shuts down Main street all day, with other white people to eat white people food and listen to white people music while I wear my white people attire.   I am in no way trying to take away from Cinco de Mayo or Black Pride day or Gay Pride day, or any other Pride day-  I’m simply stating a fact.  I don’t know why every other race, culture and religion can celebrate who they are without facing backlash.

I get it. White people decades ago enslaved Africans.  I get that white people centuries ago took land away from the Natives… I know some white people were whacko but I didn’t do this; not my grandparents, or my parents, not my generation, not my kids and not their kids- yet we are to made to feel like we have done something wrong.  Why?

And please explain to me when black people become ‘African Americans’?   I mean, I don’t care, it’s not my box to check, but the title doesn’t make sense to me.  Correct me if I am wrong, unless you’re born in Africa and/or unless you’re an actual citizen of Africa, you aren’t African, therefore you cannot be African-American simply because you’re black.  If you are born here, you’re an American.  You might be black or white or Chinese or Indian or whatever— regardless, you’re just American.  I don’t know why people need to stand out and make everything so difficult.  I don’t know why black people are still crying about how white people enslaved them.  I don’t get it- I never will when this isn’t NOW!!!   I know it was bad BACK THEN but come on now, get off of it already.  It’s 2015!!!

Why can’t we all just be who we are and be allowed to be proud of that? Why can’t we celebrate who we without worrying if it’s the ‘right’ thing or not? I’d like to be able to be who I am without getting shot over it. I’m profiled for having a lack of pigment.

I’m white. You’re black. You over there might be Hispanic or Asian- maybe you’re straight, maybe you’re gay…. who the hell cares????  I don’t, so why do you?  Why do you have to make me the bad guy when you don’t even know me?  Just like you aren’t your entire race, neither am I.

We are all just people, and it’s not right that the world wants to Kill Whitey.