What is a BMET?

After many weeks of EMT training, I was on my first emergency run with the volunteer ambulance squad of a suburban New Jersey town. I was pumped. Still a teenager, I thought I was the expert when it came to delivering care on the streets. In class I took blood pressures, shined my flashlight into pupils, lashed fellow students onto backboards and extricated imaginary remains from twisted automobiles. My head was filled with Coma Score checklists and the names of esoteric skeletal components. I was Emergency’s Gage and DeSoto rolled into one as we sped to an automobile accident on that rainy December day.

We arrived and I jumped out of the back of the rig with two trauma kits. We had more than a full crew that afternoon and the squad’s captain led our response. The accident wasn’t all that severe. The injuries were not life-threatening. One driver presented a possible fracture and was caught up in the steering wheel and pedals. An extrication problem and a chance to use tools! But first, I assisted the captain and other EMTs with a passenger in the other vehicle. She complained of neck pain, so we immobilized her with one of the flimsy collars used back in the ’70s, slid her onto a backboard, strapped her to the board with web belts and cravats, covered her with a thick wool blanket, then loaded her into the back of an ambulance.

“Now for the tools!” I thought, gleefully anticipating the opportunity to use my new EMT skills. The captain caught me as I was about to close the ambulance door. “Stay with our patient,” he commanded.

That burst my MAST (medical anti-shock trousers) trousers. I was crestfallen. Shoulders more slouched than usual, I nodded to the captain and climbed into the back of the ambulance. The captain closed the door and I was left in silence with our patient. This was not covered during training!

I took a seat on the bench opposite the stretcher. Our patient was a middle-aged woman, about the same age as my mom, I realized. The rain had left her cold and damp. She shivered a bit. We remained in silence. Since she was strapped to the board and wore a cervical collar, she couldn’t crane her neck to look around. Her eyes darted back and forth, then caught mine. I realized I was the only recognizable thing in her limited field of vision. She didn’t say a word but her eyes seemed to plead, “Where am I? What is going to happen to me?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll be taking you to the hospital in just a few minutes.” Then I reached over to adjust the blanket. Her arms were secured by the belts of the stretcher, but she twisted her wrist to extend her hand towards mine. I instinctively responded by taking her hand and repeating my unsophisticated consolation, “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

Her expression immediately changed from fear to relief. She still didn’t say anything, but her sigh spoke volumes. My simple act, more from the chaplain’s manual than the gung-ho Department of Transportation EMT text, was exactly the treatment that woman needed. It also made me feel like the best darn medic in the universe.

That moment I learned that an EMT was more than splints and reciprocating saws, it was about caring for people. This carried me through more advanced EMT training and stayed with me when I became a BMET, proceeding through military courses, manufacturer’s service positions, in-house jobs, specialized ISO technician roles and all the non-screwdriving jobs I’ve held since. The foundation of this industry is caring and the knowledge that the smallest things we do improve somebody’s life, often a total stranger lying frightened in an ICU bed. That’s why I’ll never stray far from this industry. It’s the best damn career in the universe.