Medic Mama

I have never been one who has been good at picking my battles. Every fight was worth it to me, even if it cost me my peace. I would argue the little things, the big things, things that don't matter in the long run, leaving little energy for the things that do. A gentle reminder I have been receiving the last several years is "let it go". I'm not talking Frozen (though you're welcome for that song being stuck in your head now). I'm talking really letting it go. Being a type A personality and a slight control freak (Mr C's opinion is invalid here), letting go is NOT my forte. Trust is not something that comes easily. I've walked through life for many, many years expecting to be let down, because that's just what happens. People let you down. So the thought of relinquishing control (even any semblance of control) is extraordinarily difficult. So imagine God, a seemingly invisible being, asking me to let Him take care of things. Hahaha, um, yeah righ...

I never wanted to be a paramedic when I was growing up. I had always wanted to be a teacher and a mom. But as I went through my schooling, I found that teaching wasn't my passion. So I kind of bounced back and forth a little bit as far as a major goes. I finally settled on kinesiology. I was at the end of my two years at Junior College and I needed a total of 12 units in order to stay insured under my mom's insurance. Looking through the course catalog, I saw that an EMT class was available and it would fulfill the exact number of minimum units I needed in addition to my chemistry class. I didn't know it then, but that was the beginning of the end. What they don't tell you in EMT class, is that if you love this job, you better not love money as well. You won't ever make a lot of money in this profession. What had started as just a class to fill the time became something I never knew I would love so much. I took multiple fire science classes and I ended up eventuall...

Disclaimer: I talk about my miscarriage. It has always been part of my grieving process to talk about things, even the hard things. If this will be too much to read or bring up painful memories, please don't read further. Mr C and I had been married for about 3 months when I became pregnant for the first time. We were so excited! For Christmas, we told J he was going to be a big brother and he was even more excited! I found out super early on that I was preggo, so we still had about a month before our first ultrasound. But the planning and dreaming had already begun. I started looking for baby items on sale: pack and play, stroller, carseat... I had to stop myself from buying too many things because we didn't know the gender yet. Despite the excitement, I spent a lot of the early days of the pregnancy very anxious. I would worry about anything and everything. And then the day finally came! I was 8 weeks along and it was time for my first doctors appointment. The ap...

I've been thinking a lot about fairness lately. I find myself falling into a mindset of "that's not fair" or "they're getting more than me" or something similar. Almost like a righteous pity party. After accepting that things will never be "fair," I realized that my definition of the word fair or just isn't universally applied. I only want the kind of fair that's positive. Like, we all get equal portions of cake. But if I want that kind of fairness, I need to be prepared to accept the consequences. Because consequences are also a form a fairness. If I behave wrongly (for example purposes, speeding), then there is a punishment that may come (I may get a ticket). I should receive the same consequences as others who committed similar wrong doings. This thought took me even deeper. The end result is I'm so grateful that God doesn't judge me the way I judge others. While I tend to be critical of myself, I also tend to see my action...