A Medic's Mind: Love, Loss, And All Things In Between

By Matthew Heneghan

The book is a memoir.

Quoting the editor below -

I am honored to have been offered this poignant series of glimpses into the vivid, complex, multifaceted and above all, courageous life of a man whose fortitude in battling the demons of quotidian existence have lent a touch of the epic to the ostensibly ordi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Akshay Sonthalia
• Release date: Dec 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781946211774

Matthew Heneghan

Matthew Heneghan is a retired corporal with the Canadian Forces where he served as a medic. He was also a civilian paramedic in both Alberta and Ontario where he now resides. Matthew is a contributing author to the anthology Brainstorm Revolution and is the person behind the blog and podcast A Medic's Mind.

Book preview

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A Medic’s Mind

Love, Loss and All Things in Between.

By Matthew Heneghan

Published By - Free Spirit

Price - $30 USD

website - www.freespiritpublisher.com

First Edition December 2021

Book Cover Designed by Koni Deraz, Germany

Book Design By - HMDpublishing

Edited By - Anshika Singh, India

Distribution By Poets Choice

ISBN: 978-1-946211-77-4

ISBN : 978-1-956666-04-5

BCID - 939-16359204

Contents

In the Beginning

Section 1:

Home

Chapter 1:

The Fall Fair

Chapter 2

The Lads

Chapter 3

First Fight

Chapter 4

Ole Pinky

Chapter 5

A Kid Named Richard

Chapter 6

Some More Shenanigans

Chapter 7

Creeper House

Chapter 8

Sister’s Super Brat

Chapter 9

Last Summer

Chapter 10

The Law of Joan

Chapter 11

A Letter to Mum

Section 2

The Army

Chapter 12

Basic Training

Chapter 13

Farnham (Basic Training Cont.)

Chapter 14

Driving Private Shania

Chapter 15

August 2006

Chapter 15

May 2008

Chapter 16

July 2008

Chapter 17

At Ease (The End of the Army)

Section 3

Paramedic Matty

Chapter 18

Stories from the Back Seat

Chapter 19

Quarantine

Chapter 20

Just Another Night

Chapter 21

The Ninja Turtle, Seanatello

Chapter 22

Greg (January 2015)

Chapter 23

Stranger Than Fiction

Chapter 24

I wanted to Be a Superhero

Chapter 25

A Christmas Story… Story

Chapter 26

Chris (October)

Chapter 27

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Section 4

PTSD

Chapter 28

Aftermath: Waitress Therapy

Chapter 29

Aftermath of it All

Chapter 30

Wounded

Chapter 31

Life after Lights

Chapter 32

The Body

Chapter 33

Aftermath 3: The 2020 Story

Chapter 34

I Wrote a Book (No, Not This One)

Chapter 35

Hometown Signing 2019

Chapter 36

Matty Failure: Mistakes Were Made

In the End

‘You never know the value of a moment, until it has become memory.’

—Dr. Seuss

In the Beginning

What you are about to read is a story of family. This will not be reminiscent of the Bradys nor the Partridges. It is after all a tale of my family. However, I feel it prudent to offer a caveat here; my family and the way of which you will come to learn of them will be presented in a way atypical of storytelling. This is not done out of fondness for theatrics or prolongation. It is just the only way in which I know how to introduce you to those I have loved… to those whom I have lost… and to those with whom I have shared all manner of things in between.

The path I have traveled and those paths encountered along the way have not been linear. Thus, to tell it as such would be a disservice to the message I hope to convey when you turn that final page…

My name is Matthew. I grew up in rural, small-town Canada. A place protected by the gargantuan expanse of the Rocky Mountains. Pristine lakebeds and coniferous greens are the stock-in-trade of this craggy paradise. On the surface, my surroundings and how I interacted with them could be seen as innocuous and perhaps traditional. I spent summers outdoors, swimming in lakes and jumping off docks. In the winter, I would play hockey and sip hot chocolate. I had a core group of friends, including one who continues to be my best friend to this exact day—Drew. I would celebrate holidays, go to school and for the most part, stay out of trouble. Well, avoid getting caught, anyway. All slices of that normative pie we call life. Dig a little deeper, though, and the veneer of innocence begins to fade away…

I grew up in a fractured, fatherless home. It hadn’t always been that way, but when I was nine, the police came and took my father away. Never to be seen again. My father was not by any standards a good man. Something you will come to learn of a little later on. My mother was a simple woman marred by complexities of mental health and physical ailments. She developed cancer shortly after my father was arrested. She spent the better part of my formative years in and out of hospitals. She even made the front page of the local paper, once—she had been airlifted to a trauma centre after a suicide attempt. I was young at the time, so I do not recall the incident with clarity. But I do remember how she would often brag about being in the paper in a way that did not match the severity of causal effect.

I have siblings; each of whom had been thrown from the house at different times when my mother was in one of her fits of rage. . When that happened, I was not to speak, visit or even mention their respective names. This has led to some rather tenuous family dynamics later in life.

When my mother was angry, her ire knew no bounds. When I received my first paycheck from my job as a paper boy, she expected a form of rent to be given her way. I was twelve. When she learned that I had instead depleted my pennies on pop, snacks and a new videogame, she slapped me upside the head, causing a burning, pulsating heat to punish my right ear. Further punishment was that I was not allowed to eat any of the food in the house. Her rationale behind this punitive measure was that if I had money for snacks and games, then I had money for groceries, too. I would have to wait until late at night to sneak down and silently rummage through the pantry for something to eat.

My mother was generally a wonderful woman… but she was definitely complex. As were the relationships my siblings and I had with her.

I was generally a preoccupied kid growing up. I was always fearful that my mother would either die from disease, or by her own hand. Some days, when I would get home from school, the door would be unlocked and the house empty. I was to assume during those times that she had been taken to the hospital… again…

As I got older, a few things began to ring true: One; I was not going to college on any athletic scholarships and for certain not to be a late round draft pick for the NHL. Two; my grades were not going to beckon the attention of any prestigious post-secondary establishments. And three; none of the aforementioned things bothered me; because I already knew what I was going to do with my life—join the army—and that’s exactly what I did!

At the age of eighteen, I joined the army and had done so with the intent of becoming a medic! This was to be my calling in life. I couldn’t fix my world, but maybe… just maybe, I could fix a little bit of it for others. I do not fear death. I am however terrified at the thought of a life lived, having done nothing for anyone.

I think that this is partly what has given birth to my desire to share this story. You see, I spent so much of my time trying to piece little shards of our broken world back together, that I let my shattered existence continue to fragment and fester. But when I met these men and women, these people that would become my other family, I suddenly realized that it was possible for my world to mend itself as well. And thanks to them, and to others, it has finally started to do just that.

From my time in the army to my time as a paramedic, I have seen the birth of life and the last breath before death. I have loved and lost. This is that story.

Section 1:

Home

I alluded to my growing up in a small town; I think it’s important to start there as it truly served as a carving stone for who I turned out to be, and who I have become now. Part of me—even back then—knew how lucky I was to grow up in a place such as the one that will be described. The other part of me, the zealous know-it-all, wanted nothing more than to flee the relative safety of that diminutive abode. I wasn’t so much adventurous as I was naïve—naïve and angry. And when I look back on it now, my time spent within that tiny little land surrounded by hills and water, no matter how complex it may have been, were unquestionably some of the best moments of my at times, weighted life. I was in such a hurry to leave and grow up, whereas now… I wish I could stay there forever. I’ll tell you some stories of why I love it so much. These are my stories of home.

Chapter 1:

The Fall Fair

I wrote this on a return visit to my home town after many years away…

A sunbeam snuck in through a timeworn crack in the bleacher roof. The heat of it against my forehead caused me to squint and shuffle back an inch or two in my seat. I had just arrived, tea in one hand and a breakfast sandwich waiting to be devoured in the other. I rested contently along the aged wooden planks of the seating area, sipping and chewing calmly. I could hear the sibilant buzz of black flies and other airborne insects dancing in flight all around. Though the place I had known as a kid was now overtaken by the unkempt foliage of nature’s embrace, I could still see everything in the way of which I had known it to be all those years ago.

The longer my gaze lingered at these forgotten grounds, the more potent memory became. Soon, the aggressive weeds and twisted vines began to recede from view. I was layering a varnish of fond memory atop all that I was seeing. The race track where the derby was held quickly rid itself of the dandelion infestation. All I could see was the raked dirt, ready and eager to be tossed by the churning rubber of dueling cars. I could almost hear the roar of patchworked engines and the unmistakable metallic wail of struggling chassis. My nose remembered the swirl of fine dirt and oiled exhaust. A smile came to my face.

The fall fair always meant a great time. And as I have gotten older, the more special the time spent there has become. The simplistic version of why that is, is because it was fun! It was a time to be relatively free from the watchful gaze of our parent while spending their hard-earned money on rigged carnival games that really made you feel as though you could win… for just one more token, of course.

The not so simplistic version of why it means so much to me boils down to the idea of innocence. As a kid I lost mine at a relatively early age, though that realization wouldn’t dawn on me until much later in life.

As a boy, my time at the fair offered respite from the realities of my quotidian existence. On those dusty walkways, hay-laden barns or high-up on one of the rides, I was just a kid, like any other. I was no longer ‘Matt, the boy without a father and a sick mother’.  It didn’t matter that I had been abused or that my glasses were just a size or two too big. At the fair, I was just like everyone else. To me, it was also symbolic for the start of my favorite season—autumn. Something about that subtle chill in the evening air made all the majesty of the fair just that much more special. The lights were a little brighter, the cotton candy just a bit tastier, and of course, the rides… even more exciting.

The Gravitron! That iconic UFO design, the angulated 48 padded panel lean-backs and of course, the centrifugal force that foisted our tiny bodies against its whirling walls—now THAT was our ride.

I remember the first time that my eyes met with that grounded spaceship. A classic flying saucer in appearance, but the speed at which it moved, round and round, seemed almost impossible. I was with my best friend, Drew and our gaggle of ne’er-do-well’s when this monstrosity first came to the town fair. We each stood motionless, gawking at the space-aged splendour of it.

‘Holy shit… let’s do it!’ Dom tittered. The boys were quick to agree and started moving nearer to the entry gate. I followed, reluctantly. I was scared shitless! I hold nerves in other respects, sure. But carnival rides, especially ones that look as though they could suck my asshole out through my eyelids are not exactly near the top of that list. My knees were buckling almost as loudly as the metal pins and rods of the ride itself—which did little to quiet my apprehension.

Drew looked back at me and upon feeling his gaze, I forced a smile and stammered, ‘this is gonna be awes… awesome!’ Drew struck my arm in a friendly gesture of agreement and said ‘yeah!’

When it was our turn to present our tickets to the ride attendant, I observed as each of my friends ahead of me handed in their stubs with zeal. When it was my turn, I held onto it for just a second longer than I should have. Long enough for the ticket taker to voice aloud, ‘Hey, kid… you gotta let go of the ticket. Kid…!’

‘Huh? Oh… yeah… who… me? Here.’ I presented him with the now sweat-soaked stub and walked up the swaying metal steps and into the dim interior of what I felt would become my coffin—the Gravitron. Inside was a panoramic display of wall tiles that we were to claim respectively while awaiting further instruction. I leaned back, situating myself in-between Dom and another buddy, Robbie. Drew was beside him and appeared to be absolutely devoid of any fear or reluctance. This was in complete juxtaposition to my churning insides. My guts were a warring mess of corn dogs, root-beer, half a bean burrito and some cotton candy, all battling it out for superiority within the confines of my ever-weakening stomach.

The one source of happiness for me in this terrible scenario was that it was dark enough to hide the more obvious features of my fear—like sweat—I was sweating buckets. Before too long, the entry door began to close. The hydraulic hiss of working parts ascended the door from bottom to top. Once it was closed, I heard a sudden and horrific thud, indicating that the door had now been locked. I was now beyond the point of no return. Not that I could have turned tail and run anyway, but still…

An announcer’s voice began to bleed through the speakers. An enthusiastic orator who assured us of certain doom. After he was done telling us how terrifying and exhilarating this was going to be, he ceased talking and some obnoxiously loud electronica music started to wail in. And along with that, the dull crescendo of a motor began to rumble from beneath my feet. I looked down and wondered if we were about to explode?! Much to my pleasurable surprise, we did not promptly meet an untimely end. . Instead of exploding to bits, we began ascending the walls in defiance of gravitational forces. The ride was in full swing. Fear was escaping me as elation took hold. That was one of the most unique experiences of my young life to that point. I was not being thrown mercilessly in the air or tossed from one direction to the next as I had once feared, I was merely defying that which is unquestionable—gravity—I was defying the very thing that binds us all, and I was only fourteen!

The ride ended and we ran to the dirt stained fields of the fair ground. Now standing outside of the Gravitron, our troupe devolved into cackles and guffaws while trying to out-speak one another on which part of the ride was the best! It was during this zealous parley that we decided to do it again. We lined up, this time with me leading the way. We handed in our stubs and ran to a panel each. We rode that coruscating saucer an incalculable number of times that fair weekend. On one ride through, Dom discovered that if you spat into the air, your loogie would not land on top of you, it would traverse the circle in an arbitrary direction, hitting an unsuspecting wall rider. Usually, one of us. This became a challenge between us four. That is of course until we learned that Drew can conjure an inhuman amount of saliva. It was like battling with a camel. It would hit you almost as forcefully as a soft handed slap!

That year at the fair was one of the most enjoyable times of my life. So much so, that in the present, while still sat in the bleachers, I noticed that I was smiling while reaching to my cheek, checking to see if I had some spit on me—I didn’t.

When I looked around after returning from this memory, the grounds had been retaken by nature. My smile softens as I contemplate the reality that there will be no fair this year. The virus has isolated that staple as well.

When I was finished my tea and sandwich, I traipsed around the nooks and bends of the fair grounds. Standing in the footprints of the past, things began to feel much simpler back then, even though they were not. But at Salmon Arm’s Fall Fair… they were. It’s the one moment and time in my life where I can truly say, and I’m going to quote a famous figure here… ‘I’m a real boy!’

There is a song that says ‘you can never go home again… things are just never the same.’ And that’s true. But being here, being in this place that forged me, it gives reminder to me that as bad as things can be, they can also be great! Out of this world great!

So, although this is the fall of the fair, for now, I say this: it will rise again… in defiance of gravity and virus. These bedraggled grounds will once again be mowed, swept and festooned by farmers produce, livestock, laughing hoards and every accoutrement synonymous with our little town’s big fair. And maybe, just maybe one day, I’ll ride that magical ship again. With a face shield… of course!

Chapter 2

The Lads

As I stood on my patio this morning, squinting and readying for the day’s ensuing heat wave, my mind tripped and stumbled down the embankment of memory. Suddenly, the steam that danced upward from my cup began to act as a portal through time. My surroundings started to fade as my gaze travelled further and further away from the present.

Eventually, I found myself many years in the rear. The place? A small town protected by the gargantuan expanse of the Rocky Mountains. The time? Summer. A stiflingly hot summer, much like the one we are in now. Though I’ll admit, the heat didn’t seem so bothersome back then. The only priorities in our adolescent minds were that of delinquency and what kinds of fun we could get up to during those dog days.

That’s how we ended up by the tracks, our pants down by our ankles, half-squatted, bleach-white butts poking out toward the rails, just waiting to moon the unsuspecting conductor. What can I say… it was a small town—a long summer…

At the end of those sunlit days of summer vacation, my friends and I were due to start grade ten. This seemed like a big deal to us back then, so we wanted to make the most out of our time away from scholastic responsibilities.

I had a core group of friends, great guys. We each took turns sleeping over at each other’s houses, and when one member was unavailable to hang out; another was surely in rotation to do just that. I had been hanging