Mr. Paramedic

Mr. Paramedic
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It was one of those beautiful Manhattan spring nights; the smell of fresh perfume lingered in the air. Margarita in hand, I looked past the rooftop bar to admire the magical, illuminating views of Manhattan. There was an overall sense of excitement as I celebrated my business successes with Camille, my friend and publicist.

Halfway through my second drink, my body started to feel weird. You know when you feel something isn’t right? Well, that was my sentiment. I gave Camille a look that said get me home. We left the bar in a hurry and caught an Uber back to The Marlton Hotel, where we were staying for our business trip.

In my hazy state, I remember lying in bed. Camille insisted I eat something and emptied the mini bar. Had I been feeling normal, a binge fest would’ve been a dream come true. I convinced her I’d be ok and would attempt to sleep it off. She hesitantly left.

The moment she closed the door, I threw up. Then I threw up again. And again. And again. This was all new to me, as I’ve always been proud of how well I can hold my liquor. I hadn’t even had two drinks!

I re-played the entire evening in my head, and slowly started to put two and two together...a young German guy had bought me a drink. I was in celebration mode, thrilled about my new business ventures, so I didn’t think twice about checking my drink to ensure he didn’t slip anything into it.

I finally realized this was an emergency and called the front desk. The receptionist immediately speculated that I had been drugged. I was feeling progressively worse, as my body began to numb. That’s when the paramedics were called.

A short while after, there was a knock on the door. The paramedic―whom I dubbed Mr. Paramedic―made his way into my room and began asking what happened. I was surprised; I felt such a warm embrace between our energies. I burst into tears and told him I knew I had been drugged. I kept saying, “This is not normal, this is not normal!”

He looked at me with a sense of calmness, without a shred of worry in his voice and said, “Ma’am, calm down”.

He sat next to me and took my blood pressure. Mr. Paramedic asked if I wanted to go to the hospital, but the thought of being drugged had made me so upset that I wanted to charge the idiot who had violated me. I went anyway.

As we walked into the hospital, we talked here and there. He gave me the occasional smirk. I felt so frustrated and simply wanted his attention! I didn’t understand how I could be so incredibly attracted to a man I had just met. It was as if my soul knew him; as if I knew him! That’s when I started getting sassy. I kept telling him he was annoying. He snapped back, which caught me off guard, so I told him the truth about how I was feeling. He smiled through my confession, trying to keep his cool.

When it was time for me to leave the ER and check into the hospital, he had to leave. I felt my soul couldn’t let him go. Feeling vulnerable, I started crying and begged him not to leave me. He walked over, handed me a Band-Aid and said I might need it later. I put it in my pocket while I watched him leave. The doctor motioned for me to follow him, but I had hard time moving. I just stood there and watched him walk out the door.

After the extensive testing I had to go through, I fell asleep. I felt myself wondering why the hell this was happening to me on my first business trip to New York. Then all I remember was my dad in the background, winking at me.

I woke up to a very loud patient across the hall. I looked around and had to remind myself of what had happened. My hands were cold, so I put them in my pockets. That’s when I pulled out the crinkled Band-Aid. As I looked at it, I noticed some markings. I sat up and realized Mr. Paramedic had written down his number, signed Mr. Annoying. My heart sank and I felt so incredibly happy that I would get to see him again. I broke all the rules and texted him immediately: You gave me your number <3

I put my phone away when the doctor came to tell me that I was free to go. He said there was nothing wrong with me and that I was just intoxicated. My alcohol level was through the roof and they were surprised I was even able to walk. To this day, I know there was more to it.

It was already morning when I walked outside and made my way back to the hotel for breakfast. Camille was already in the lobby and I gave her the lowdown. We enjoyed a cup of coffee and discussed what all of this could mean.

Unfortunately, I only had two days left in Manhattan and Mr. Paramedic was working 16 hour shifts. We stayed in touch and I couldn’t wait for my next trip six weeks later. He promised to see me the evening I arrived―and he kept his word! I anxiously paced back and forth in circles all day because my heart was so eager to connect again. The rest is history.

Mr. Paramedic and I still meet up whenever I’m in town. Whether we’re friends or lovers, our soulful connection that first time we met was real, and I’ll never forget it. To think he had never been assigned to respond to emergencies in the West Village, except on that one night confirms that it was really meant to be. The significant life lesson we can all take away from this experience is to never doubt the power of divine intervention. Heavenly help is what leads us to cross paths with people who are meant to be part of our lives.

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