Alright, so here’s the deal. I worked in an emergency room a long time ago.
It doesn’t feel like that long; honestly, a lot of what’s happened since then registers as little more than a blur.
Anyway, I started working in a Department of Defense level 1 emergency department back in 2007. I was both lucky and incredibly unlucky to be there; on one hand, this was a prestigious job. On the other, I only got there via compassionate reassignment. “Compassionate reassignment” borders on being fake. It’s like a fucking unicorn. Let me tell you, you don’t want the kind of shit that has to go down in order to get compassionate reassignment. Take my word for it.
Here’s me, what? 20? rolling into this ER job which, frankly, I am not prepared for. The gulf between what you learn at 68W school, and what you needed to know to be a BAMC DEM medic, is significant. I was a person who went into the Army thinking I probably shouldn’t be allowed to touch living patients, and should go into mortuary science. As it turns out, that was a groundless concern. I wasn’t just a good medic. I wasn’t just a great medic. I was top of the tops. I was so good at it, that when I think about who I am, I still think, “I am a medic” even though it’s been over a decade, now. I wrote training materials for new medics coming through on clinicals. I reorganized the whole department’s digital stock system. I could walk a noob through putting an IV in my hand without wincing. I know a neat one-handed snap trick for putting rubber tourniquets on. I was often the one writing SOAP notes. Pro bedside manner. I kicked that job up one side of the street and down the other, and got awards coming out my ass. I have never been that good at something in my life. I came in on my days off. That job, that place, meant the world to me.
People could tell. At first, it was a good thing. I’d always been a “poor culture fit” for the Army, but in an environment dominated by officers and civilians who cared more about job performance than whether you looked and acted like you belonged in the Army, I fit in just fine. Heck, they even liked me. My team was, and I do not say this lightly, like a family to me. Or, more specifically, what I assume families are like; my only other frame of reference is so busted as to be inapplicable, which is no small part of why that place meant so much to me. It was the first time I felt like I *had* a family — a group of people who might fight, but knew and respected each other. People you could depend on, who depended on, and respected, you.
Things started to go south when my team lead, a Sergeant, found out he was likely getting deployed in the next year or two. The officers on our team wanted me to replace him. I am sure that sounds awesome, and I am also sure I would have done a great job. It is not awesome, because I was a) too low-ranking and b) there were other enlisted folks in the department with seniority, you see. What followed was a predictable, but still crushing, enlisted-vs.-commissioned officer culture clash. The officers and civilians wanted a team lead with floor experience who knew everyone. Administrative NCOs (enlisted folks like myself) were in charge of this decision, and wanted whatever next highest ranking person was next in line for a leadership position. Apparently, the officers didn’t get the hint, and pestered the NCOs so much about this that they turned around and got mad at my team lead, and then at me. C: because that’s. How you deal with these things, I guess. As we say in the Army, shit rolls downhill.
1SG ended up forcing me to do Soldier of the Month boards because not enough people in our department participated?? It’s not like we had an actual, 12-14 hour shift job or anything like that. Couldn’t possibly have more relevant things to do with our fucking time. Anyway, Soldier of the Month is this thing where you stand stiffly and answer a bunch of military trivia. It’s very ritualized. I’d pace back and forth between patients, reciting this stuff under my breath. I won my first real SoTM board. Except, uh, my team lead, who the other NCOs were still mad at, wrote one of 1SG’s favorite soldiers up for an Article 15 for coming into work — in the ER! — drunk, then being found curled up in the nurses’ shower with a blanket, sleeping. Whoops, she goes to church with 1SG! My win was revoked to punish my team lead. “There weren’t enough competitors for it to count,” they said. Bullshit. Had to do it again. Won again.
And again.
And again.
Fuck ‘em. I’ll do my full shifts and still win these things over your paper pushers. 1SG, always looking for a new way to get an “in” with his superiors, made his shiny new star board soldier and “super medic” try out to be the Command Sergeant Major’s driver. Told me not to tell the man I wanted to stay in the ER. I told him exactly as much and took my ass right back to the DEM, where I belonged.
Even this fragile stability couldn’t last. My team lead — best NCO I’ve ever had, really — did have to go overseas. Of course, I wasn’t replacing him no matter how much the officers lamented the fact to me. First man to replace him was a field medic who made a point of repeatedly informing me that he’d “never worked with women” and got real bristly when nurses and docs turned to me instead of his brand new self. Hey, if you’re out there, fuck you. By the way. And, oh, speaking of women, out of 54 medics, I was the only non-male for a while in there. You can imagine the standards were different. You can imagine the teeth I had to pull to keep them from throwing me on the OB beds every shift, which would’ve kept me out of the trauma room. You can imagine the, “you’re the only good female medic I’ve ever met!”, when frankly, it should be “You’re one of the best medics I’ve ever met!”. You can imagine the boys standing around the team center and watching a SPROTS while I kept working. You know how it is. Still, despite it all, that was the best time of my life. I never felt more like I had a mission, a purpose. When I won Soldier of the Month at battalion level (step up!), one of the officers actually picked up the intercom phone and announced my win when I came back to the department my Class As. He got in trouble. I felt like I finally mattered.
Mattering and yet — not really, not enough — was the problem. While my old team lead was overseas, the bond we shared with our docs and nurses only got stronger. I never would have guessed that the thing that powered our efficiency and expertise would have been what tore us apart. We, the medics, were invited to a Christmas party held by a civilian nurse. Everyone was there, of course. Why wouldn’t we be? We’re a team. Best one in the department, in fact. I would find out later on that this was the last straw. Officers and enlisted people are not meant to fraternize, specific needs of the ER work environment be damned. Most NCOs are wildly insecure, is the impression I got from the whole thing. Better stop us from making those connections!!! Oh no!!
My old team lead came back from a short deployment and was happily reinstated. Soon after, there was a mandatory meeting for all medics. I was surprised to find that the first half of the meeting was… about me. Specifically. I had to stand up at the front of the room while an NCO talked about my “super medic” status, my board wins (Soldier of the Quarter, now), how I was “the medic to aspire to”, whatever.
Then he broke up all our teams!!! He specifically refused to allow my old team lead to pick me, like, I am not joking, he had first pick, pointed at me, and the guy straight up said no. Found out later that all the admin NCOs were just super pissed about our team’s party with officers and civilians.
Anyway, I went back to my shitty apartment and scream-cried on my linoleum floor because I had no idea what else to do. it’s totally cool to talk you up to 50+ of your peers then *break up the only thing you have ever had resembling a family* while you have to stand in the front of the goddamn room.
Oh, and I got a perfect score on my promotion board, but S1 (admin) “lost” my distance learning credits so I got stuck as Specialist-Promotable. Couldn’t get my fucking rank. Being in the middle of an enlisted-vs.-commissioned officer pissing match sucks real bad. It wasn’t even really ABOUT me, you know? I was just convenient. A tool.
I did not re-enlist.
