By Chastity Elgin, inspired by the work of Dr. Orlando Rivera
What happens when the sirens stop? When the radios fall silent and the uniform is no longer part of your daily routine? The uniforms won’t be the only thing left taking up space in your house. While you can get rid of the uniforms, unfortunately you can’t get rid of the days and nights that you wore them, to places you can’t forget. Most people assume we clock out and move on. But for paramedics, the end of a shift doesn’t mean the end of the impact.
Years of running toward chaos leaves a mark—and not just on the soul. Our bodies are often the first to show signs of collapse. My knees don’t bend the way they used to, I mean they bend, but not with ease. They grind more than they bend. My back sends warnings every morning I try to get out of bed, or on the way home from a shift, often when I get in my car and get still, my back aches or burns as a reminder of the weight I’ve lifted during the day. I don’t feel at the time I lift or everytime I put a stretcher in the back of the truck, because Its something I have to do , so I push myself to do it. At the end of the day, when my back sets, like the milk in my son’s room, left in a cup on his nightstand overnight. the damage isn’t just mine—it’s a pattern I see in all of my co-workers. Herniated discs, chronic pain, surgeries postponed until retirement (or until insurance finally approves them). Did I mention, the hearing loss from years of sitting under a siren, that is meant to be heard for miles away, before approaching traffic. I mean, if the siren can be heard from miles away, imagine what it does, when you are sitting under it for years? Health Insurance companies aren’t always open to getting hearing aids for this hearing loss either, so some of my coworkers have paid out of pocket for hearing aids.
The body remembers every patient, every call, every moment spent wrestling with the weight of both people and pressure.
But the real scars? They’re the ones you can’t see.
Every paramedic has a reel of memories we don’t talk about. Children we couldn’t save. Families we had to console. The haunting stillness of a failed resuscitation. Something about the air is different, when you are at a wreck, where someone has died. I can’t explain it, but the only way I could even start is by Stillness, and Slow Motion. The Screams of families, or friends become so loud, and while I try to have the least amount of interaction with family of the deceased, because I know that I will hear the screams later, or wake up in the middle of the night with nightmares from the replay , I try to be empathetic, and I try not to make Eye contact with the spouses of the elderly, or the mothers and fathers of the teens. I feel like I have disappointed them as a medic that was supposed to save their child, of their spouse of 20 years. I know it isn’t my fault, but I often critique myself harder than anyone ever could. I take the blame, and while Ive learned that sometimes, there is absolutely nothing that could have changed the outcome, but just God himself, I add every call to an internal roster so to speak. A roster, that is like a reel on social media, where the timer to the next video shows up, starting in 5 seconds. Every patient, every call, every address. You learn to compartmentalize because the job demands it—but those compartments crack over time.
Even off-duty, you don’t turn off the instinct to be alert. You are always in fight or flight mode, and what happens when the body decides to not be in fight or Flight mode after so long of being there? my therapists explained to me that when we are use to being in Fight or Flight mode for so many days at a time, when you take a vacation, or when you have moments that you are are enjoying a hobby, you body might shut the fight or flight mode off, but you become so sleepy, that you feel like you took a benadryl, or something to knock you out, Because the mind isn’t running wide open. The moments are rare when this happens, but I have personally assumed that I had took the wrong medication or Thought my sugar must be low before, only to find out from my therapist that this is when the body , mind and Soul shut the motor off for a minute, and the brain relaxes. Hypervigilance becomes second nature. Sleep is interrupted by the ghost of sirens and adrenaline. I hate to call patient’s ghost, but their faces, and their words often come back in flashes, or memories at any given moment to interrupt you as well, and when retirement finally arrives for some, it’s not freedom—it’s fallout.
The Silence Around It
What breaks my heart the most is how little we talk about it. There’s pride in being tough, in pushing through. But that pride is costing us our people. I’ve seen medics struggle in silence, drinking to forget, or being self-destructive in relationships, and affairs to try and fill the broken spot in their heart , or isolating to cope. Most of us take medication to help with anxiety and depression, or anxiety attacks during the day and something at night to help us sleep.
We lose too many good people not just to heart attacks and injuries, but to burnout, depression, and even suicide. Everytime we loose someone to suicide, one of the most common things I hear, is how they were smiling, and happy, or didn’t act like anything was wrong, and Im not surprised, because we are tough on the outside, and tough on the inside, but none of us want anyone to know when something is wrong, because it makes us look weak, and looking weak Is one of the last things we want. We have to be strong for everyone else, we don’t have time to look weak. It’s a stigma, that needs to be broke, but unfortunately, we will loose too many of our co-workers before the stigma is completely gone. This profession demands everything. We just never expected it to take us too.
We are all about solving problems, and putting pieces of puzzles together, so here’s the problem, and solution…….
We need to talk about this. We need to support each other—not just in the field, but long after we leave it. We need the system to do better by us: mental health resources, physical support, real retirement care—not just a plaque and a pension. I can’t tell you how many of my recent coworkers have retired, gave 20 years or more of their life, pieces of their body, heart and soul to our local ambulance service, that is hospital based, with over 7000 employees, and they didn’t even get a plaque, didn’t even get any recognition or dinner. While we are working for a different organization now, that seems to care more, this particular hospital is only about numbers, and don’t give a second thought or thanks that you are left with scars and wounds that will never be healed, and memories that will replay forever, at any given time. So don’t give your whole being to EMS, don’t break your back, or wear down all of the cartilage in your knees. At the end of the day, it is so true that they will just post your job when you die, and they don’t care how you end up dying either, so don’t give up. Keep moving, and keep check on your strong appearing friends, because we have to be strong for each other.
If you’re a paramedic reading this, take care of yourself now—not later. Don’t wait until your body breaks or your mind shuts down to ask for help.
And if you love a paramedic—listen to them. Encourage them. Help them get the care they deserve.
Because once the sirens fade, what’s left is us, and we are worth saving too.
Paramedics and EMTs play a crucial role in emergency medical services, providing immediate care to patients in critical conditions. Their ability to remain calm and composed under pressure is vital in chaotic environments.
Imagine you’re having the worst day of your life and you’re scared—only to have someone show up who isn’t confident or is panicking. Sure, we’re human, and we get scared sometimes too, but we have to step back, take a deep breath, and come up with a plan to help someone in need.
It isn’t always rainbows, butterflies, or Superman-type stories. Sometimes, our role is to become an advocate for someone who can’t advocate for themselves. Sometimes, it’s simply being there—holding a stranger’s hand to calm them or offer a bit of reassurance.
It might surprise you to learn that some patients use the ambulance like a personal Uber, just to get closer to a location where a friend or family member can pick them up, Or they call us believing they’ll be seen faster in the ER than if they went to a doctor’s office. I’m here to tell you—that’s a myth. Don’t do it.
We take plenty of folks straight to the ER waiting room. If there are no rooms available, one isn’t going to magically appear just because an ambulance pulls up. We often end up stuck in hallways, “holding the wall,” for over an hour. The entire healthcare system is strained—and this widespread myth is one of the reasons why.
When you’re in an emergency or crisis, we want to help—we want to be there. But, if you’re calling 911 just because you need a ride or think you’ll be seen faster, please stop and think: you might be tying up an ambulance that’s urgently needed elsewhere.
Think of it this way—what if your family needed an ambulance with the ability to assess vital signs, monitor cardiac rhythms, or respond to low blood sugar or dangerously low blood pressure? What if there wasn’t one available?
If your situation can safely be handled at a clinic or doctor’s office, then you shouldn’t call 911. I promise—we’re willing and ready to help when you truly need us. But,we’re not just a ride, and we’re not a shortcut to the front of the line.
Lying in bed on a Sunday night after church, I started scrolling through my Pinterest and noticed a new button to organize my pins. Out of curiosity, I began sorting through them—years’ worth of saved thoughts, ideas, and dreams. That’s when I realized that many of them dated back over 13 years. It made me feel a little old, sure, but more than that—it broke my heart.
So many of those pins were about one thing: weight loss. “How to get skinny,” “shed belly fat fast,” “10 ways to lose 10 pounds”—pin after pin, all with the same goal. I wanted to be smaller, thinner, less. I loved to eat, but I hated going up a size in jeans or shirts. Most of those posts came from around the time I had my children. I started out at 110 pounds before becoming a mom, and the weight was hard to lose.
I wouldn’t trade my children for the world—they’re the reason I gained the weight, and I’d do it again a thousand times—but I struggled deeply with how I saw myself afterward. I hated the way my stomach rolled when I sat down or bent over. I avoided anything that wasn’t a long T-shirt or baggy pants. I would stoop a little or suck in my stomach, even when my husband wrapped his arm around me at night.
I saw my reflection in pictures or mirrors and couldn’t stand how round my face looked. I tried every starvation diet on the market. I counted every single calorie—down to the Cheetos. I tried drinking a gallon of water a day. I even searched, more times than I care to admit, how long I could go without eating.
Each pin was more than just a picture or a diet plan—it was a reflection of how deeply I struggled with my self-worth. Looking at them now, it’s almost embarrassing. I had so many hairstyles and looks pinned too. Some of them are straight out of the early 2000s—broad highlights, “Karen” cuts—but that’s what was trending back then. I just wanted to feel pretty. I wanted to be attractive for my husband, and to be clear—he never said I wasn’t. But still, I carried guilt. Guilt for eating a cookie. Guilt for one too many Doritos.
I would have rather gone three days without eating a bite, or survived on less than 100 calories, just hoping I’d drop the weight. Sometimes I’d scroll through Facebook or MySpace, searching for a treadmill someone might be giving away. But when I finally got one, I had starved myself so badly I didn’t even have the energy to walk on it.
No matter what I tried, the weight didn’t come off. And even worse—I didn’t feel any better.
If only I had stopped focusing so much on losing the weight and started finding my real worth. The truth is, it wasn’t fat I needed to lose—it was the mindset I needed to change.
I wasn’t just chasing a number on the scale; I was chasing approval, confidence, and peace in my own skin. I thought if I could just lose the weight, I’d finally feel beautiful, accepted, and enough.
The truth is, I was already enough.
I just couldn’t see it—because the devil knew my weakness, and he used it against me. He whispered lies that kept me from seeing myself the way God saw me.
The more I chased “skinny,” the emptier I felt.
I starved not only my body, but my spirit. I felt like I was always falling short—like my worth depended on whether my jeans fit or if I could hide the parts of me I hated. I envied women who seemed effortlessly confident. I compared my postpartum body to airbrushed influencers and forgot that my body had done something miraculous—it had carried life.
The scale dictated my mood. Food became a cycle of guilt and shame. And even though I had a loving husband, beautiful children, and a God who never left me—I couldn’t see past my flaws long enough to truly feel loved.
Looking back now, I know: It was never about weight. It was about identity.
I knew I was saved, but I let the devil convince me I still wasn’t enough.
The Turning Point: A Spiritual Awakening
A few years ago, I started getting deeper into my Bible. I prayed more, sought God more, and slowly, I drew closer to Him. One night while reading, I kept coming across verses about strong, virtuous women—passages that emphasized character over appearance. Over and over, God was reminding me that outward beauty wasn’t what mattered most.
Then it happened—one of those moments where your soul feels like it’s been hit with truth. I got chills down my spine. It was like God was whispering, “I see you. I made you. You are enough.”
I remembered something my pastor once said: “We don’t need self-help books. The Bible has all the answers we need.”And that stuck with me. In that moment, I realized something powerful—I was enough for Jesus to die for.
My stretch marks? They weren’t shameful. They were reminders of the miracles I carried—my beautiful children. And in that moment, I decided: I would never intentionally starve myself again.
I don’t always eat perfectly. Working on the ambulance makes it tough to plan healthy meals. But I no longer punish my body. I eat when I’m hungry. I drink water—not obsessively, just enough to care for myself. I watch my sugar, not out of guilt, but because I want to be healthy—not smaller.
And the craziest part? By treating my body with kindness instead of hate, I’ve naturally returned to the size I was before I got pregnant with my son—almost 15 years ago. No starvation. No obsession. Just grace.
I used to weigh myself three times a day—every single day. Now? I hardly ever touch a scale. Because I finally understand: God doesn’t care if we’re a size 0 or a size 20. He cares about our hearts.
So if you’ve ever felt like you weren’t good enough—know this: That lie comes straight from the devil.
God’s love is unconditional, and your worth has never been tied to your waistline.
“Don’t be concerned about the outward beauty of fancy hairstyles, expensive jewelry, or beautiful clothes. You should clothe yourselves instead with the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God.” 1 Peter 3:3-4 NLT
I want you to hear me clearly: You are already enough.
Not because of your size. Not because of your looks. But because God says you are.
I pray that if you’re reading this and feel seen in these words, you’ll start to believe what I finally did:
You are loved. You are chosen. You are enough—just as you are.
“Critical Condition: The Paramedic Shortage in America”
A System in Crisis
A system in crisis? You might be surprised to learn how few paramedics are working in your town right now. What about in Mississippi? Or the entire United States? Shockingly, the numbers reveal a massive shortage—and it’s getting worse.
But emergencies don’t stop happening just because we don’t have enough paramedics.
Imagine this: someone you love is having a heart attack. You call 911, panicked, desperate for help. But what if no paramedic is available to respond? What would you do?
Sure, you could pray. You could throw them in the car and speed to the nearest hospital. But what if time’s not on your side? What if they go downhill while you’re driving?
Scary thought, right? Unfortunately, this is the reality in many places across the country.
As of 2025, the National Registry of Emergency Medical Technicians (NREMT) reports the following numbers of nationally certified EMS professionals in the United States:
Emergency Medical Technicians (EMTs): 328,582 (65.1%)
Advanced EMTs (AEMTs): 25,738 (5.1%)
Paramedics: 134,208 (26.6%)
These figures sum to a total of 504,641 nationally certified EMS clinicians across the country.
Notice this is Across the country,
As of 2025, Mississippi has 1,938 licensed Emergency Medical Technicians (EMTs) and 1,765 licensed paramedics, according to the state’s emergency medical service information system. This totals 3,703 licensed EMS professionals statewide. Given Mississippi’s population of approximately 2.9 million, this equates to roughly 1 EMS provider per 783 residents.
I wish I could tell you we have enough first responders to handle the demand—but we don’t. Not only are we facing a shortage of paramedics, but EMTs and advanced EMTs too. And while those roles are critical to the EMS system, even with everyone working together, we’re still falling short.
This matters—to all of us.
In this blog, I’m going to take you behind the scenes of the EMS system. I’ll explain the structure, the responsibilities, and the strain we’re under. I’ll explore the numbers, the people, and the growing cracks in emergency medical services. But more importantly, I’ll answer the questions no one is asking: What do we really do? Why is the shortage happening? And how can you help?
The Heart of the Profession
A Day in the Life of a Paramedic
Typically, I set my alarm for around 4:30 a.m. I live about thirteen minutes from my station, so it gives me enough time to get into the right headspace before my shift. I get up, shower—unless I took one the night before—make my coffee, brush my teeth and hair, and start dressing for the day.
My uniform is practical, not just for professionalism but for protection. Tactical boots—because you never know when you’ll be stepping through shattered glass at a wreck scene or navigating through a neglected home. Tactical pants with a sturdy belt, uniform shirt, and my work bag packed with my stethoscope and other tools I might need. Before I leave, I say a quick prayer—because I never know if I’ll make it back home.
When I walk out that door, I’m aware of the risks. We face violent situations every day—drug abuse, uncooperative bystanders, reckless drivers who don’t yield even when we’re running lights and sirens. We’re at risk of being hit on the way to help someone else. We walk into scenes that no movie could prepare you for. Smells that burn your eyes. Frantic, high-emotion environments. Gunshot victims, overdoses, crashes, and just outright chaos.
Sure, law enforcement is supposed to have our backs—but sometimes we don’t realize we need them until it’s too late.
On my way to work, I try to mentally prepare for what the day might bring. When I get to the station, we check the truck—lights, sirens, and every piece of life-saving equipment. If we’re lucky, we get that done before the calls start. But some mornings, the tone drops before we’ve barely clocked in.
Early morning calls are usually never good. People wake up sick. People wake up to find a loved one has passed. And sometimes, it’s a crash on the way to work. Once the calls begin, we’re off—treating, transporting, cleaning the truck, and preparing for the next call. It doesn’t stop.
Calls range from routine transfers to the gut-wrenching scenes—deceased patients, abuse, trauma. We respond. We carry on. Because that’s what we do.
The Emotional and Physical Toll
We’re human. We feel things. We hurt. We care. And yes, sometimes we get frustrated—but we keep showing up.
There are times a person might call 911 three times in one day, and I wonder why they didn’t just call their doctor. But then I remind myself: It may not be an emergency to me, but it’s an emergency to them. That matters. So I treat them with the same respect as someone who’s coding. Sometimes all they need is a ride, or maybe they’re just lonely and need someone to talk to.
Then there are those moments—the ones that leave a mark. Walking into a stranger’s home with all eyes on you, expecting you to fix everything. To save someone who’s slipping away. Sometimes you can’t. And that’s the part that’s hardest. You have to keep your emotions tucked away, even when inside you’re falling apart.
But I’ve learned how to let go—at least the things I can’t control. If I gave it everything I had, I can walk away knowing I did my best.
And I’m an advocate. A voice. A protector. If I walk into a home and find someone—adult or child—who needs someone to stand up for them, I’m that someone. I may have been a stranger when I walked in, but I’ll fight for them like a mother bear for her cub.
Physically, the job has taken a toll. My back, knees, and hips have paid the price. Climbing in and out of a high ambulance has worn down my knees—I’m pretty sure I don’t have much cartilage left. The stretcher alone weighs 130 pounds, not counting the patient. I’ve gotten strong, but it’s a strength that’s come with pain.
Many of our medics who’ve been in the field for over ten years have had at least one surgery—knees, hips, shoulders—or they will after they retire. This job will wear you down. But we keep going. Because people need us.
Causes of the Shortage
Low Pay and Limited Career Advancement
Let’sbe real—this profession doesn’t pay what it’s worth. Many of my coworkers work multiple EMS jobs and have side gigs outside of EMS just to make ends meet. Some are pulling long shifts at one job and heading straight to another. You could almost go flip burgers or take a job at a factory and make the same—if not more—than a trained EMT or paramedic with years of experience.
If you think your 9-to-5 is exhausting, try pulling a 48-hour shift with no guarantee of sleep, real food, or even time to sit down. Sure, we might get to shower or catch a nap between calls—if we’re lucky. But many times, it’s back-to-back emergencies. And these aren’t minor issues—we’re talking about trauma, death, abuse, addiction, violence.
One of my coworkers just finished his shift with nearly 200 hours on a two-week paycheck. Why? To catch up on bills. So his wife can stay home with their kids. This isn’t just a job to us—it’s survival. And for some, it’s the only way they know how to serve their families and their communities at the same time.
The minimum we work is a 12-hour shift. That’s the starting point. But for most, it’s far beyond that.
Burnout and Mental Health Challenges
These long hours don’t just wear us down physically—they eat at us emotionally and mentally. The human brain isn’t wired to process the amount of trauma we’re exposed to on a daily basis. You’re expected to roll up on the worst day of someone’s life, do what needs to be done, and then carry on to the next call like it didn’t just happen. Try getting a decent night’s sleep after watching a young child die. Or handling a domestic scene so violent you’re still shaking while trying to write the report.
Imagine sitting down for a quick bite, only to be called away after two bites of your meal. You rush off to another call, use half the equipment on the truck, and then come back to cold, soggy food in a Styrofoam container. French fries after a cardiac arrest scene? Yeah, not great. Especially when you’re wearing someone else’s blood or bodily fluids, and there’s no time to change yet.
Gas station food becomes a sad norm and eating too fast or too little starts messing with your stomach. It’s not healthy—but there’s rarely time to care.
The pandemic broke a lot of people. COVID-19 didn’t just stretch EMS thin—it pushed many of us past our limits. Some medics never came back. They left the field altogether. Others who stuck it out are still dealing with the aftermath—mentally, emotionally, and financially.We lost some of the best providers because the system failed to support them when they needed it most.
Retirement of Seasoned Medics
On top of that, we’re watching our seasoned medics retire in large numbers. These are the folks with the experience, the instinct, the training. You can’t replace that overnight.And the new hires? Many don’t last. They come in wide-eyed and eager, but once they experience that one traumatic call that shakes them to their core—they’re gone. We try to train them. We try to prepare them. But some things, you just have to live through to understand.
Certification and Training Barriers
Staying certified isn’t just time-consuming—it’s expensive. We’re required to have 48+ hours of continuing education every two years. Add to that:
State certification renewals
CPR, ACLS, PALS, and more
Courses that cost money and time
A system that often doesn’t reimburse or support those efforts
It is a lot for people who are already overworked and underpaid. The requirements are necessary, no doubt—but they become a barrier when there’s no system in place to make them more accessible or affordable.
The shortage of paramedics doesn’t stop at the ambulance bay doors—it rolls right into the emergency department, and from there, affects every part of the healthcare system.
Some people call an ambulance thinking it’ll get them into a hospital room faster. But that’s a myth. Even if you arrive in an ambulance, you still have to go through triage just like everyone else. And if the emergency room is full—which it often is—we’re stuck with that patient until a room opens up. Sometimes that’s 15 minutes. Other times, it’s over an hour. In some cases, if the patient is stable, we end up placing them in the lobby because there’s just nowhere else to go.
Now imagine an ER doctor has a patient who needs a higher level of care—maybe stroke care, trauma, or a burn unit. But guess what? If all the ambulances are tied up with other patients—whether those calls were truly emergencies or not—there’s no one available to make the transport. That patient sits and waits, and their outcome could suffer because of it.
Then there’s psychiatric patients—people who are a risk to themselves or others. They have to be monitored one-on-one in the ER. They need to be transported to a behavioral health facility, but only certain facilities will take them. And those facilities are sometimes hours away. If there’s no transport available, they stay boarded in the ER—sometimes for 24 hours or more—waiting for a ride or a bed. The entire flow of care is bottlenecked because of the EMS shortage.
It’s a chain reaction. And every link in that chain feels the pressure.
Longer Response Times
One of the most dangerous consequences of this shortage is longer response times. If all units are on calls—especially in areas with limited staffing—you could be waiting 30 minutes or more for an ambulance. And in an emergency, minutes matter.
Sometimes, the next available unit is 30+ miles away. And depending on the terrain, traffic, or weather, it can take even longer.
This delay could mean life or death.
Public Safety Risks
When emergency resources aren’t available, the entire community is at risk.
What happens if you call 911 and no ambulance is available? Do you wait? Do you drive yourself? What if you’re the one unable to breathe? What if it’s your child choking? Or your spouse having a stroke?
This isn’t a “maybe” scenario. It’s happening now.
The public often doesn’t realize how thin we’re stretched—until they need us and we aren’t there fast enough.
Impact on Rural vs. Urban Areas
This shortage affects everyone—but rural areas suffer the most.
In rural communities, EMS coverage is often limited to one or two trucks. If those are out on calls, there’s nothing left. Add in the long distances—winding backroads, hard-to-locate homes with no clear address markers—and it takes even longer to reach the scene.
Even finding the house can be a challenge if the mailbox is missing or house numbers aren’t visible. In some places, we have to drive until we spot someone flagging us down. That’s valuable time we can’t afford to waste.
Meanwhile, urban areas may have more resources, but they also have a higher volume of calls, denser traffic, and overcrowded ERs—so they’re not immune to delays either. The shortage of paramedics is not just an EMS problem. It’s a systemic problem—one that affects hospitals, doctors, patients, families, and entire communities.
This domino effect shows just how fragile the chain of emergency care really is.
The Human Side of the Shortage
Family Perspectives
My kids were 4,3,and 1 when I became a Paramedic. They are 18,17, and 14 now..
My oldest is about to graduate high school. My middle daughter will walk the stage next year, and my youngest—my son—is almost 15. They’ve grown up with the sound of scanner traffic in the background and me rushing out the door before the sun comes up. They’ve learned to expect late dinners, missed holidays, and rescheduled birthdays.
Sure, they take pride in what I do—there’s something special about being the kid whose mom drives an ambulance. But there were so many times when I pulled up to their school for lunch, a play, or an award ceremony… and the tones dropped before I could even get out of the truck. I’d cry silently on the way to a call, heartbroken that I missed another moment I couldn’t get back.
I’ve since made a promise: if I can’t find coverage, I’ll call out for their events. Because as much as I love my job, they’re more important. My kids only get one momma.. EMS gets the rest of me.
They’ve gotten different versions of me over the years. I can be overprotective. I’ve made them wear life vests in two feet of water. I slap on Band-Aids when they might have needed stitches. I overthink every cough, every fever, every bump on the head—because I’ve seen what happens when the worst-case scenario becomes someone’s reality. I know they get frustrated, but it all comes from love… and fear I want to be there for everyone. But I want to be there for them first.
How Communities Are Affected
People don’t always understand the shortage until it touches their lives. But I can say with confidence: some have lost loved ones because help didn’t arrive fast enough. That’s not fear-mongering. It’s just the truth.Every minute matters in an emergency, and when no ambulance is available—or the closest one is 30 miles away—that minute becomes a gamble with someone’s life.
I wish more people could see what we do up close—the good, the bad, and the beautiful. That’s why I love educating new EMTs, showing kids the truck, letting them flip the lights on, and answering questions about when to call 911. Those wide eyes might one day belong to a future paramedic. And maybe—just maybe—those small moments can help rebuild the broken pieces of this broken system. We’re not trying to be heroes. We’re just doing the best we can. But we can’t do it alone.
Solutions in Sight – Where Do We Go From Here?
The shortage of paramedics is real, and it’s affecting all of us. But it’s not all doom and gloom—there are steps we can take, both as professionals and as a community, to start moving in the right direction.
Public Awareness: Knowing When to Call 911
One of the biggest ways the public can help? Understanding when to call an ambulance—and when not to.
We’re not saying don’t call us—we’re saying know when it’s truly needed. Every day, EMS responds to calls that could be handled in a clinic, urgent care, or primary care office. A sore throat that’s been there for three days? A stubbed toe from the night before? These aren’t emergencies. But they still tie up ambulances that might be needed for someone having a stroke or a heart attack.
That’s where public education comes in. We need to do a better job of explaining what qualifies as a 911 emergency—and how to access care outside of emergency services. The more people understand how the system works, the better they can use it.
When an ambulance is delayed because it’s transporting a stable patient with a non-emergency complaint, someone in a true emergency might pay the price.
It’s not about blame. It’s about knowledge.
The Rise of Advanced EMTs: A Bridge in the Gap
With a nationwide shortage of paramedics, Advanced EMTs (AEMTs) are becoming a crucial part of the solution. AEMTs can do more than a basic EMT—they can start IVs, give some medications, and provide more advanced care in the field. They don’t require as much training as a paramedic, which means we can train and deploy them faster while still maintaining a high standard of care.
They are the middle ground we desperately need right now—a bridge between the gaps left by paramedic shortages. And just like the rest of us in this field, they’re not here for fame or fortune. They’re here because they care. You don’t go into EMS for money—you do it because you have a heart for helping people on their worst day.
Next Steps for the System
Here’s what we can do moving forward:
Support EMS education by funding programs that encourage students to pursue this path.
Incentivize staying in the field with better pay, mental health resources, and room for growth.
Encourage career advancement from EMT to AEMT to Paramedic through streamlined training pipelines.
Push for public campaigns about 911 usage, emergency preparedness, and when to seek alternate care.
Partner with schools to introduce EMS careers early to students, sparking interest before they graduate.
And one more thing—we need to show appreciation for every role in EMS, not just paramedics. EMTs are often the first step in the chain of survival. They’re the first faces people see when they call for help. They assess, assist, and transport patients with professionalism and compassion, day in and day out.
And our EMS drivers? They’re the ones navigating traffic, dodging dangers, and getting us to scenes safely—often while we’re working in the back of a moving vehicle. Without them, none of this works. Every role matters. Every person counts. From the EMT fresh out of class to the seasoned paramedic on their final shift, and everyone in between—this system runs because of their dedication.
We didn’t get here overnight, and we won’t fix it overnight either. But step by step, call by call, conversation by conversation—we can make progress. Because the truth is, EMS isn’t just about lights and sirens. It’s about showing up, every single time, even when it hurts. Even when we’re tired. Even when the odds are stacked against us.
And with the right support, we will keep showing up.
The Final Call – A Message to the Nation
To the reader, if you’ve made it this far, thank you.
Thank you for taking the time to learn about what it really means to be in EMS. Not the TV version, not the dramatic movie scenes—the real, raw, unfiltered truth.
This blog isn’t just a collection of stories or complaints. It’s a lifeline. A plea. A call to action from the men and women who are out here giving it their all, day after day, shift after shift—with tired eyes, sore backs, and hearts that have carried more than they ever thought they could.
This is a system that’s stretched thin. It’s bleeding. And it needs help.
We Can’t Do This Alone
It takes more than medics to make this work. It takes:
Policymakers willing to fight for better pay, benefits, and staffing.
Communities willing to support their local EMS teams and learn how and when to use emergency services.
Future generations willing to step up and carry the torch.
Families willing to understand the sacrifices made behind the scenes.
And it takes a country that sees us—not just as sirens in the distance, but as people with stories, families, and a mission.
To My Brothers and Sisters in EMS
This one’s for you.
To the EMT running back-to-back calls in an underfunded system.
To the AEMT filling in the gaps and going the extra mile.
To the EMS driver who dodges cars, potholes, and chaos to get us there safely.
To the Paramedic still wiping away tears from a call 10 years ago.
To the medic who clocked in today knowing they’ll miss a birthday, a ballgame, or bedtime—again.
You are seen. You are valued. You are essential. This profession is heavy, but it’s holy work. The kind of work that changes lives—sometimes in ways we’ll never fully understand.
A Message to America
So where do we go from here?
We start by listening. By showing gratitude. By sharing what we’ve learned. By voting for leaders who will prioritize healthcare infrastructure. By supporting training programs and breaking down barriers to entry. And by never taking for granted the ones who show up when it matters most.
The next time you see an ambulance pass, take a moment to think about who’s inside. Not just the patient—but the crew. The ones who left their own families to care for someone else’s. The ones running toward the unknown, because it’s what we do.
This is the final call of this blog—but not the end of the story.
Because the truth is, we’re still out there.
Still suiting up. Still saying the prayers. Still taking the calls.
And if we work together, maybe—just maybe—we can make sure there’s always someone to answer when the next call comes in.
“Send Me”
“Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying,
‘Whom shall I send?
And who will go for us?’
And I said,
‘Here am I. Send me!’”
— Isaiah 6:8 (NIV)
A Favorite of mine——
The Paramedic’s Prayer
Lord, grant me the wisdom so that I may treat those of Your children who lay at my feet.Let me
see only a patient and not a crime,
A person and not a circumstance.
Help me to stay strong, so I may carry those who can’t go on,
And to be gentle when life hangs in the balance.
Give me steady hands, a calm heart,
And courage beyond fear.
When the call comes in and the sirens wail,
Ride with me, Lord, through the chaos and the unknown.
And when my shift is over,
Allow me to return home safely to those I love.
But if, in Your will, I should give my life for another—
Then let me do it with honor,
Just as You gave Yours for me.
Amen.
-author unknown
So God Made a Paramedic
And on the eighth day, God looked down on His planned creation and said,
“I need someone to run toward danger when everyone else runs away.”
So God made a Paramedic.
God said, “I need someone strong enough to carry another’s weight—
yet gentle enough to hold the hand of a dying stranger.
I need someone to wake before dawn, work through the night,
miss holidays, birthdays, and ballgames,
and still be ready to answer the next call with compassion and grace.”
So God made a Paramedic.
“I need someone who can think clearly under pressure,
drive fast but safe, lift without breaking,
listen without judging,
and care without question.
Someone who will face trauma, tragedy, heartbreak, and horror—
then somehow go home and kiss their kids goodnight.”
So God made a Paramedic.
God said, “I need someone who won’t back down from the hard calls,
who will keep calm in the chaos,
cry in silence when the world’s asleep,
and still show up tomorrow to do it all again.”
So God made a Paramedic.
“I need someone with a soul tough enough for the streets,
but soft enough to comfort the broken.
Someone who will hold the line,
even when no one’s watching.
And who—when the final call comes—
will stand ready, still willing to serve.”
So God made a Paramedic.
Author unknown
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Stitches of My Heart 