Believe, hon.

I had my first Baltimore City clinical last night. I was full of anxiety all day before I got there, and I'm not even sure why. I hate being late, and I was afraid the ambo would leave without me, and I'd have to sit there like a goof waiting for them to come back (if they ever did). I was also worried that my preceptor would be, how can I put this? Unpleasant, that's a good word for it. But, as it turned out, my preceptor is awesome, and couldn't be nicer. In this blogs' future he will referred to as "my preceptor" (how original, I know. If you want, I'll come up with clever nicknames for your people too.) His partner is equally as awesome, and in this blogs' future she'll be referred to as "old gray mare" (which I didn't make up) and, as finger dexterity becomes limited after all those FISDAP forms, OGM for short.
Even though I did no ALS skills and every call we had was, how can I put this? unnecessary, that's a good word for it, I had an excellent time. If you want to learn more about my night, you can read my call journal, but HIPAA requires me to charge you $40/hour to rent that one (half goes straight to the government and/or the plaintiff's family.)
Unfortunately, my next BCFD shift is not for another two weeks, but I can feel I'll be getting a tube, oh yeah. I will own those vocal cords! As for now, I'm going to thoroughly enjoy my long weekend.