I immediately opened my eyes underwater and couldn't see shit. I dove headfirst and flailed my arms like a lunatic, but I couldn't seem to find the bottom of the lake. I started freaking out a little, but then my hands brushed up against the ladder that led back up to the dock.
What I lacked in guts, I promise you I made up for in quick thinking as a kid.
Bingo.
I grabbed the ladder with both hands while underwater and pulled myself down, feet first. Seconds later, my foot made contact with the bottom. I grabbed a footful of sand, immediately transferred it to my hand, and surfaced.
"Nice job," the counselor shouted, none the wiser.
Being uncomfortable was something I hated as a kid, but I've slowly begun to embrace it more and more in my adult life. There are two different ways we can become uncomfortable in our personal lives: forced and surprised.
Most of the things I've done in my career as a firefighter/paramedic—and everything I've done with The Salty Paramedic brand—have been forced. These are situations I've willingly put myself in to grow as a person. Insecurities aren't meant to feel good, but the more you face the things you fear head-on, the better you become. You start to become calmer. More level-headed. You develop a confidence you never thought possible.
I can't begin to explain how many times I've been beyond uncomfortable on a medical scene as a new—or even somewhat seasoned—paramedic. I'm out in the middle of nowhere at 3 a.m. with no other medics to bounce ideas off of. No cell service for medical control. No one but me and the decisions I make.
The firefighting side of my job has been just as intense. The number of classes or certifications I've gone through with 40+ other men and women who seemed to know the job way better than I did at the time—it makes you second-guess yourself the second you make a mistake. Being uncomfortable feels horrible.
"But the more you put yourself in uncomfortable situations, the more you're going to grow."
The Salty Paramedic has forced me to be uncomfortable more than anything else in my life. I've learned more about myself in the last two years than I ever thought possible. Insecurities were obliterated by stepping onto stages in random places across the country I didn't even know existed.
Stand-up comedy? Never in a million years did I think I'd do it. I almost talked myself out of it twenty different times. But I bit the bullet—and I loved it.
Speaking engagements at departments and conferences full of hundreds of strangers? I was way more nervous walking onto those stages than I was diving into that nasty lake as a chunky kid. But I did it. And I'm better for it now.
My stress level has gone down exponentially, even though I've been putting myself into more uncomfortable situations. Why? Because I know I can handle it now. I can learn from situations and grow because of them.
That's one of the most important things I want you to understand.
We let so many things eat away at our mental well-being. But we have more control than we think. We can choose how much power those things have over us.
— — —
Now, being surprised by an uncomfortable situation is a completely different story.
When you're blindsided by one of your worst fears, it's incredibly difficult to hold yourself together and not crumble under the pressure.
Months after I experienced the pediatric arrest call that made me question whether I even wanted to continue doing this job, we went down to Florida for a family vacation. My youngest son had just started walking and had been playing with my niece's beaded necklace for a few seconds while I stepped away to grab a diaper (I smelled something that needed immediate attention).
My wife and I were laughing about the smell as he started crying when I picked him up to change him.
Then suddenly—the crying stopped.
The room went quiet. Too quiet.
We knew something was wrong. We could feel it.
I looked down at my son and saw what I had only ever witnessed in my nightmares. His entire body was limp in my arms. His extremities were blue, and he was cyanotic around his mouth.
My mind immediately went to the beaded necklace. Maybe he had swallowed one. Maybe he was choking.
My body reacted based on everything I had learned on the job—but my mind went into complete hysteria.
"CALL 911!" I screamed to my wife, my sister-in-law, my brother-in-law—anyone who would bring help to my boy.
I flipped him over and started back blows, then chest thrusts, as I ran into the bedroom and laid him on the bed. By that point, my wife had a dispatcher on the phone, but everyone in the house was just as hysterical as I was, and nothing was getting communicated clearly.
"He's not breathing!" I shouted.
I saw no rise and fall of his chest. I checked for a pulse but couldn't tell if I felt anything. There's something about doing CPR on your own child that makes your senses completely unreliable.
What felt like thirty minutes—but was probably twenty seconds—passed before he started seizing.
"He's seizing now," I told the dispatcher, with a strange sense of relief.
He was alive.
He seized for about two minutes before the ambulance crew arrived. Everyone else followed in a car, and I climbed into the back of the ambulance with him.
As I looked down at him, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. We didn't lose him. He was still here.
Something was clearly wrong, but we'd figure that out at the hospital.
We were transported to the Children's Hospital in Orlando, where they started an IV, hooked him up to a cardiac monitor, and ran tests, including an EEG. We spent the night there.
That night, as I looked down at my infant son lying in a hospital bed with wires attached to his head, I felt something I didn't expect.
Gratitude.
I was grateful he was still with us. I was grateful that things turned out okay. And, strangely, I was even grateful for being put into the most uncomfortable situation of my life.
I had felt completely helpless—even as a licensed paramedic who had trained, studied, and recertified countless times.
That moment changed me.
It changed me as a father. As a provider. As a person.
I realized how quickly life can flip on you in ways you can never prepare for. No amount of training or mental toughness can fully prepare you. Sometimes, all you can do is react and hope for the best.
As paramedics, we're taught to fix everything.
As firefighters, we're taught to prevent emergencies.
But that's not always reality.
Be uncomfortable.
You'll come out stronger every time.
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