As the clock strikes 12 and we collectively say goodbye (or good riddance) to 2021, I find myself singing this beautiful song over in my head while reminiscing on the year since passed—my first as a newly qualified paramedic (NQP), my first year of ‘experience’. I always reassured myself that with experience would come enlightenment, although I never fully understood exactly how to measure it, or what form it would take when it did arrive…a beaming ray of light from the sky possibly?
This time last year, following successful completion of my paramedic degree, I decided to gift myself a shiny new pair of Leatherman Raptor Shears with personalised engraving, and a sea blue finish—a fine addition to my Batman belt that would signify to all that this NQP ‘meant business’.
Forty-eight hours later, I am crewed with a senior paramedic, and a final year student, hurtling in 365 degrees of blue-light fury towards a ‘category 3’ emergency call for a 25-year-old pizza delivery driver who has taken a tumble in the road at around 10 miles per hour on his moped. This was it, my chance to shine, my first ‘trauma’ call as an NQP—or at least I thought. In my head, I knew what I had to do. I was experienced after all; I read the books, and passed the exams, and I couldn't slip up now, not in front of the student. On arrival, the patient was lying on the ground, alert, orientated, and talking to bystanders in no discernible pain.
‘Hello my name is Barry, I am a student paramedic’, to which my senior colleague retorted, ‘No Barry, no you are not, you are a paramedic now, remember?’
Brushing it off, I continued on with my assessment: ‘ABCs’, I kept reminding myself as I worked from ‘top to toe’, palpating the head, chest, abdomen and legs. For a brief moment, the patient twitched, prompting me to immediately reach for my new sheers, making light work of his clothing as I continued to expose and examine for any offending injuries, of which there were none, apart from a sore thumb.
The senior paramedic who was sitting quietly observing then prompted me, ‘So what's the plan now Barry?’, at which point I came to realise that I had seemingly dashed any possibility of an appropriate discharge at scene as the patient no longer had any form of intact clothing, leaving me with no option but to take him to hospital. As I handed the patient over, the nurse asked me ‘why is this patient, whose only injury is a ‘hurty’ thumb, sitting in a wheelchair in a dressing gown in my waiting room?’ By this time, I was already heading for the exit with great haste.
Needless to say, there was room for improvement, and in the weeks and months that followed, I quickly gained a greater appreciation for just exactly how little ‘experience’ I did have, and how far I had yet to come. However, 1 year on, I am improving as an NQP, and I firmly believe that ‘experience’ is subjective, and that competence does not always not equate to ‘time served’. Does someone who has worked in the same role for 20 years have 20 years of ‘experience’, or 1 year of ‘experience’ repeated 20 times? For now, my feeling is that meaningful ‘experience’ can only be gained through reflective insight and a passion for continuing professional development. But I will never shy away from a good assessment!