I just returned from my first EMT training class at Boston University. Terrified of parking and getting there on time, I left an hour and a half early. After much shouting and panicking madly, I got there. Found the room. Sat down. We began. Classroom filled, and then overfilled. There are close to 100 people in the class, so they split us into two rooms. Logistical issues were sorted out. Paperwork began. Immunization records (turns out that it’s okay that I’m not immune to Hep B), consent, waivers, things like that. Oh, the joys of being about to sign my own forms.
Real class started around 8:30 (class began at 6, goes until 10). Went over “What is EMS? What does it do? General overviews.” Textbooks and workbooks are on our desks. Verb tense is constantly changing. I played the EMS name game with Christine, one of our instructors, who apparently met Vince at some skills competition thing last year. Also, met a boy in Matt’s year, and asked him to be my partner.
So, the people in the class. ALL PRE-MED. I might be the only university student there who is not pre-med. There are a few “firefighter-wannabes” (to quote Matt), the police-equivalents (the instructors make fun of both groups), a few who have the TV illusion of EMS, and one who was referred to as “nasal Narcan guy,” because in the intros, he mentioned wanting to be able to administer it. I felt special because I didn't have to ask what it was. Thanks, Vince!
Real job starts next week, in the meantime, substitute teaching. Waking up at 6 or so in the morning and getting home around 11 = fun times.
Quote of the night: “[Individual] is taking all sorts of tactical EMS classes, where he’s learning to intubate himself in the dark while putting in an IV.” --Christine
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