Living Life, Outrunning Death
Sunday, August 1
Three months ago today, I became the first griffin EMT in the history of the Canterlot Fast Squad. I remember telling myself the day I walked in here that no matter what happened, I vowed to do everything in my power to keep the lives I touched from ending prematurely.
So far, so good.
In three crazy, action-packed months, everyone who has taken a ride on my cart has made a full recovery. Not a single pony has died on my watch. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
My secret ingredient? It's all about speed, baby. The faster someone gets treated, the better their chances of survival, and the faster you get someone to the hospital, the faster they get treated. That's where I come in—there isn't anyone around, pony or griffin, that can touch me when I get going.
Of course, having a partner like Blue Cross has helped a lot. She's got to be the best triage pony around—seriously, she's got a spell for everything you could imagine. Broken bone? She can set it without the patient shedding a tear. Heart attack? A wave of her horn, and the blood starts pumping again. Too many patients for the cart to carry? BC jumps in the cart, does her little levitation trick, and we've got all the room we need. Unicorns are handy like that.
Maintaining a streak like this isn't easy, though, even with a magical sidekick. It never ceases to amaze me how many ways ponies find to get themselves in trouble. In three months, I've come across the remnants of four-cart pileups, unintentional games of chicken, rope swings into shallow rivers, figure-eights on thin ice, unwatched foals, unlocked medicine cabinets, unlicensed fireworks displays, political debates, hoofball debates, steps not taken, corners too closely cut, and even a lifetime of gorging on cupcakes. It's never a pretty sight, but our job is always the same—make sure everyone who gets into trouble eventually gets out. So far, we've done that.
So how did we celebrate our milestone? By making sure the streak kept going, of course. Today wasn't the most strenuous day, but try telling that to that old mare who broke her hip this morning, or that pegasus who rammed his head through a wooden bulletin board. Non-life-threatening injuries are still injuries, after all.
So here's to many more successful months! No matter what happens, when duty calls, we'll be ready.
Monday, August 2
Dear duty, feel free to call again anytime. Like, right now.
I hate slow days.
I know, I know, I should really be thankful for days like this. If we're not getting called out, it means that no one needs our help. It means that ponies are being safe and enjoying life responsibly, so no one's life is in danger. In a perfect world, every day would be a slow day for us.
Still, I really hate slow days.
When we're on call like this, we can't venture too far from the station, lest a call for help go unanswered. That means that when that call doesn't come, I'm left with nothing to do but climb the walls and pull my feathers out. I mean, what am I supposed to do with myself? There are only so many things a griffin can do around the house—eat, nap, exercise, make vacation plans—before cabin fever starts to set in.
Or maybe that's just me.
BC handles these days better than I do. She spent six hours sitting on the couch and reading those cheesy romance novels that she likes. Talk about boring! I could never bring myself to do that. Why waste your time reading about someone else's life when you could be out living your own?
On the bright side, I suppose the day's not over. Nights can be just as active as days sometimes, and I've probably gotten enough rest to cover whatever sleep I might lose.
Tuesday, August 3
Be careful what you wish for, I guess. After spending the day grousing about having nothing to do, I spent the whole night cleaning up after a throwdown at the Purple Pony nightclub downtown. The police took care of the worst offenders themselves, so we just dealt with some cuts, some bruises, and one severe case of alcohol poisoning.
While BC was trying to get the drunkard to tell us his name or address or something, I found myself staring at the guy thinking he looked awfully young to be drowning his sorrows in hard cider. What would drive a pony to drink himself into a stupor like that? A mare? A job? A bad decision or three?
I can never understand what makes anyone, pony or griffin, do something like that. The way I see it, there's a reason they call it life—it's meant to be lived! There is way too much stuff to see and do to waste time dwelling on a bad break.
Take me, for example. I'm living in a foreign country, surrounded by ponies who stare at me funny and pull their foals close when I walk by. They like to think they're all about friendship and being welcoming, but it's a bunch of baloney. They try to be discreet about it, but they don't like griffins around these parts.
But you don't see me throwing a pity party and droning on about how unfair life is. Heck no! There's a reason I came to Equestria, and if these ponies don't like me being around, tough cookies. They're just going to heave to deal with it.
In fact, this job is helping me break through to these ponies a little bit. In an emergency, no one cares about my beak or my talons—all they care about is that there's a red cross on my uniform and that I'm there to help. Let's face it, it's a lot harder to hate someone after they've saved your life.
So that's my philosophy. If you've got a problem, don't sit around and cry about it. Either figure out a way to solve it, or forget about it and move on with your life. I would've told that drunk guy that, but he was too far gone to even know I was there.
Otherwise, outside of getting a couple of bits out of the stomach of some earth pony foal—as always, BC had a spell for that—it was another slow day at the office. Thankfully, I'm off duty tomorrow, which means Neighagra Falls, baby! I've got my shades packed and my camera loaded—tomorrow is gonna be awesome.
Wednesday, August 4
Okay, so maybe "awesome" wasn't the right word for what happened today, but it was certainly interesting.
First of all, Neighagra Falls was as cool as advertised. They've got a whole bunch of observation decks around the place that give you some killer views of the falls. I got some great pictures of the water crashing down on the rocks, complete with a rainbow created by the spray. Of course, the greenery around the place was amazing, and the animals seemed to be especially photogenic.
Then there are the other ponies visiting the falls.
I've gotten used to hearing whispers and feeling ponies' eyes burning holes in my feathers when I'm out and about, but usually they keep their distance and silently judge me from afar. Once in a while, though, someone decides that they don't want me invading their personal space, and they get a little pushy.
This time, it happened while I was lining up a shot of a couple of herons floating on the water. Suddenly, I hear someone behind me yell out, “Hey! What is she doing here?” I turn around, and sure enough this yellow pony with a high-and-tight haircut and a bee in his bonnet is heading my direction.
I put a talon to my lips and gave him a good "Shh!" I figured I'd deal with him after I get my picture, but he just kept coming towards me, repeating his question at full volume.
I wasn't really looking to make a scene, so I just said that I was here because I paid my bits at the ranger station like everybody else. He comes back with some line about having my own country to hang around in, identifying himself as one of those Neanderponies who hasn't quite gotten over the recent pony/griffin wars. You know, the ones that ended 700 years ago?
I figured there was no point in arguing with the guy, so I turned away from him and went back to my picture. Big mistake—the guy spins me around with a hoof and starts screaming at me like I'd kicked his dog or something. I don't really recall everything he said, but I was really impressed by his ability to tell me not to disrespect someone and call me a "bird-brained half-breed" in the same sentence.
Anyway, the show didn't last too long. Some of the park rangers stepped in before things got too crazy, and some other pony with a green coat—I didn't catch if it was the guy's wife or daughter—came over and apologized a whole bunch. She said something about a head injury and bouts of paranoia, but I wasn't really listening. It wasn't the first time a pony had confronted me, and it probably won't be the last. Haters gonna hate, and you just have to be the bigger griffin when something happens.
The silver lining amid all this was that after everything was said and done, I looked back down at the water, and my herons were still there! I ended up getting a whole bunch of great pictures after all. Thanks, karma!
Oh well, back to work tomorrow. I showed Blue Cross my pictures, and wouldn't you know it, the herons were her favorite. She asked me how I got such a beautiful picture, but I just told her a magician never reveals her secrets.
Thursday, August 5
Today didn't start off well for anyone. We got a frantic report of a potential stroke victim over in the Canterlot suburbs, only to get there and find out the homeowner had no idea what we were talking about. Apparently some joker decided it would be funny to send a bunch of EMTs off on a wild goose chase. Yeah, that's a real laugher, guys.
When we got back, though, I had a surprise waiting for me. My cousin Bianca had come over to visit and was waiting at the station! She's got a little one at home who she thinks is destined to be the fastest griffin in history, so she'd come over to Equestria to check out some of their elite flight camps. (Me, I think her kid isn't really that fast at all, but hey, that's a parent for you.)
It was really awesome to get an update on the folks back home. Bianca says that Dad finally broke down and went to see someone about his sciatica problem, so he's feeling a lot better now. Mom switched jobs last month—finally!—and now works as a budget analyst over in Beakmuntown. It's about time she got out of that soul-sucking pit she'd been working in. I mean, you can only deny insurance claims to people with legit sob stories for so long before you want to throw yourself in front of a speeding train.
Bianca says that Mom asked her to ask me when I'm coming home, but I didn't have an answer for her. Going back would be easy enough—I've made enough money since I've been in Equestria to make the trip ten times over—but I couldn't stay there very long. It's too familiar.
At home, I know what every view looks like, where every road leads, and what every griffin talks about. There's nothing left to discover there. That's why I'm in Equestria—it's a whole new place full of sights and sounds and ponies to experience! (Even if the ponies aren't thrilled at being experienced.)
Mom never understood this. She's always been content to stay in one place for too long. Then again, she did finally leave that insurance job, so maybe she would understand now. I don't know.
Bianca also asked me how I felt about dealing with "all these ponies," lowering her voice and glancing around as she said it. Her tone caught me a bit off-guard, but it reminded me that as much as I complain about ponies being suspicious about griffins, most griffins aren't any more open-minded than ponies.
I told Bianca that most ponies are a little uneasy around griffins, and some can be downright miserable about it, but they'll warm to you eventually. For me, I'd say it took about a week for the crew here at the station to accept me. Even Blue Cross was a little hesitant about working with me, although she'd never admit that. Once they realized, though, that I was just as committed as they were to helping others—and twice as fast as anyone else on staff—they welcomed me into the group with open arms.
Honestly, I think Bianca's kid is a little young to be sent away to school like that, but I hope it happens eventually. The only way ponies and griffins are ever going to trust each other is if we live, work, and play together.
We got called back out to a restaurant fire downtown—a couple of mild cases of smoke inhalation, nothing serious—so I couldn't talk long, but I told Bianca to give my regards to the family. It was good to see someone from home again, and I'll go back and see everyone someday, but I've got a lot of ponies to save and a lot of Equestria to explore before then.
Friday, August 6
Blue Cross asked me when I was leaving today.
We'd just rushed a couple of pegasi to a nearby clinic after a head-to-head midair collision, and were sitting in the waiting room waiting to hear if one of them needed to be transported to a larger facility, so the question surprised me a little bit.
I asked BC what she meant, and she said that since I was always talking about traveling around Equestria, she just assumed that I wouldn't stay with the squad for too long. In fact, she was surprised that I'd stuck around for as long as I had.
I could see where she was coming from, but in truth, I'd never given leaving any thought up until that point. The money was pretty good, and was a godsend to someone who'd shown up on the shores of Manehatten without any idea as to what I'd do once I got there. The ponies here were nice enough, Canterlot was a short distance from a lot of the places on my bucket list, the station gave me a place to go without getting gawked at constantly, and yeah, I got a warm, fuzzy feeling whenever I helped a pony out. I was actually pretty comfortable there, and I told BC that.
I realized then that I'd never asked her why she was working here. I'd never really understood the whole “cutie mark” thing—did that mean a pony's destiny was predetermined, or did they have some leeway to make their own decisions? I mean, BC had a little stethoscope on her butt, but really, what did that mean? Was she supposed to be an EMT? A surgeon? A pediatrician?
I posed my question to BC, and she proceeded to tell me the craziest story I had ever heard in my life. Apparently, when BC was little, she came across a little bird who was choking on a crumb it had swallowed, and she used her magic to dislodge the crumb and clear the bird's airway. The bird was pretty stoked about this, obviously, and right then and there, BC “discovered her destiny,” and the stethoscope showed up on her butt!
Unbelievable, huh?
I asked her why she became an EMT instead of, say, a veterinarian, and she said that she just wanted to help other ponies, regardless of the role she played. I guess I can respect that.
Still, I've discovered yet another reason to love being a griffin. We don't get strange butt tattoos that pigeonhole us into a certain role. I'll decide what my special talent is, thank you very much.
Saturday, August 7
You know, for a place that has so many things to see and do, Equestria can be pretty small sometimes.
We got a report of a pony experiencing severe chest pains and shortness of breath in a home a few miles outside of Canterlot. Classic heart attack call, which means time is of the essence, which means BC and I are on the case.
We got a good jump out of Canterlot—low-flying pegasi sometimes get in our way—and covered the distance in a feather under seven minutes. As we hurried to the front door of the house, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Then the door opened. The green-coated pony standing behind it was the same woman I'd met a few days ago at Neighagra Falls, the same one who had apologized for her companion's rude behavior.
I hate to admit it, but I froze for a second when our eyes met. If she was in there, then there was a good chance Mr. Griffin Hater was in there too. In fact, he might even be the pony we'd been called out here to save. Fate had a sick sense of either humor or irony, but either way it was pretty awkward.
The green pony at the door opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The way her eyes popped open as she looked at me, though, spoke volumes. Yep, I thought, we're here to save the bigot's life.
Thankfully, Blue Cross was completely oblivious to the whole thing and took charge, asking the other pony where the patient was and how they were doing. The green pony eventually led us into her kitchen, where my yellow-coated adversary was kneeling on the carpet, wheezing like he had just run a marathon. He looked up at us as we walked into the room, but the look in his eyes was one of fear, not hate. I guess you have to lower your standards when you can't breathe.
As BC began to work her magic, I started gathering information from the green pony. How long had this guy been experiencing symptoms? Did anything trigger the chest pains? They were standard questions, nothing too intrusive, but the pony seemed a little hesitant in her answers. She turned out to be the wife of the yellow pony, and while he had been complaining of mild chest pains for a few days, the breathing issues had come quickly and without warning. I found myself hoping that it hadn't been his tirade at Neighagra Falls that had overloaded his heart.
After a minute or so, I heard BC yell that she was taking the patient out to the cart. This was a bad sign, because it meant that her usual tricks hadn't worked, and that the yellow pony was going to need a more-invasive procedure. It also meant that the life of a pony who had read me the riot act a few days ago was now in my talons.
I made my way back to the front door, trailing just behind the yellow pony that BC was levitating out of the house. I made sure to make eye contact with him, to make sure he knew that I was there and that his life was dependent on my speed. He just stared blankly back at me as we went, so I guess he was too busy to be annoyed.
BC set the yellow pony gently into our cart as I strapped myself back into the harness. This guy wasn't the biggest pony in the world, so I figured that he wouldn't slow me down much, and I could get him over to Canterlot General Hospital in nine or ten minutes. This pony might have been a royal jerk to me, but it didn't matter now. I had a job to do and a streak to maintain.
The trip to the hospital went smoothly—heck, it might have been the best run I'd made since joining the squad—and I got the yellow pony to the hospital in eight minutes flat. After the orderlies got the guy unloaded, I went back and picked up BC and the green pony, and brought the green pony over to the hospital as well.
Before she left the cart, I asked the green pony if she would tell the staff to notify me when her husband came out of surgery and could have visitors. After all, I wanted to make sure the guy knew exactly who had played a role in saving his life. Maybe this would finally make him realize that griffins weren't so bad after all.
Sunday, August 8
One of the nurses from the hospital stopped by the station this morning with good news. Our yellow friend had pulled through, and not only were we allowed to see him, but the guy was actually asking for me to visit. I quickly flew over to the hospital with my chest puffed out, confident that I had won over another patient with my life-saving speed.
When I got to the yellow pony's room, he proceeded to tell me that my clumsy flying had nearly gotten him killed, and that I was lucky he didn't sue me for medical malpractice. Oh, and he wanted me to go back where I came from too.
I guess you can't win them all.
Still, I'm going to keep trying.
