u/MiniSkullPoleTroll

As the tittle states, I would like to find a sense of community among my fellow people with stutters. Please feel free to post a link, or send me a DM. Thanks.

Greetings, after sharing my life story with a few of you, I've been told that I'm a bit of an oddball. As a stutterer from the age that I could first speak, life hasn't always been easy to say the least. Like many of you, I faced bigotry and hardship due to my lack of fluency.

I'm a former U.S. Army Combat Medic/Paratrooper. I enlisted at 17 because I wanted to help the wounded and just didn't know how. This was a problem for me because whatever mastery over my speech I gained from speech therapy during my school years was torn apart the moment I joined the Army. My blocks and repetitions came back with an unbridled vengeance. I couldn't say my own name, let alone bark out numbers and designations with a drill sergeant in my face.

This led to ridicule, which meant I often had to act overly aggressive and challenge my bullies to fights in order to establish that my stutter was not free game. My favorite thing to say was, "Why don't you take off that rank and say that to my face like a man?" Even if I lost the fight, it was important that I fought. That I proved that I'm not weak just because I can't speak.

I had to work harder, volunteer more often, and be nicer than the rest of my peers in order to be seen as equal. As a medic to an infantry unit, I was seen as a pivotal asset, and any sign of weakness needed to be eliminated because a unit is only as strong as its weakest link. A weak link in combat gets the entire squad killed, especially when they're the medic.

After earning the name my friends gave me, Fall Damage, by smacking the ground with enough force to break vertebrae during a bad parachute operation...and somehow still being able to walk, my service came to an end.

I used my GI Bill to go to university, where I found something that I had never found before: acceptance for my stutter. My stutter was no longer a threat-provoking response to others. I was actually listened to for my ideas. I fell in love with academia and graduated with a bachelor's degree, summa cum laude, with a 3.94 GPA as a Respiratory Therapist.

However, I graduated in 2020. This means that my first job out of college was intubating people and putting them on life support in a COVID unit/emergency room. It felt like an emotional/mental meat grinder. I kept telling myself that if I can survive this world with a stutter, I can survive this too.

Flash forward to today, and I am an adjunct professor of respiratory therapy at my local university. I teach students how to do the hands-on portion of the job on mannequins, and then I check on them while they are in the hospital. I also work clinically as a respiratory therapist, taking care of people on life support.

I get to be the kind, gentle soul that I truly am while using my hard-fought knowledge to help others.

Greetings, I am a 36M looking for people who would like to have a conversation or two while I am at work friday nights. My job involves alot of waiting on standby for emergencies, so there is quite a bit of time to kill. Some things I'm very passionate about are D&D and just about anything nerdy. I have two lovely dogs and one amazing cat.

As I sit here in my car after finishing a 12 hour night shift, I can't help but feel gratitude for the life I have. I kept people breathing through the night. I was able to comfort my patients and their families. I brought laughter and joy to my patients and coworkers with my antics and songs about sucking snot. I was paid more per hour than anyone in my bloodline has ever made. Way more than I ever made while enlisted in the Army. I'm Beyond fortunate that I now get to drive to a home that I can afford where my animals are waiting for me.

While being an RT has had its challenges at times, I can honestly say that the work is fulfilling to me.

I'd like to ask. Do you find fulfillment in being an RT? If not, why?

Thank you for your time and advice. I work at a small hospital where a patient had smuggled two untrained dogs in their room that later attacked staff member. As such, my hospital has adopted a strict no dog policy with only approved exceptions by the administrator. Despite informing them that as a 100% disabled war veteran with multiple spinal fractures and multiple sclerosis. HR litteraly gave me a :/ face and told me I wasn't approved. I need my doctor ordered service animal from time to time. I have worked for over 6 years providing patient care with my pup up my side. He's brought joy to countless.

This feels like I'm being asked not to bring in my cane or my medication. I feel like my rights under the American Disabilities Act are being violated. Can anyone assist me in finding legal assistance in the northern Utah area? Unfortunately, I don't have a lot of money for a lawyer if needed.

Edit everything including the face was done through text message. I am going to save and record every interaction.

Update, the hospital administrator is kicking the can down the road and "forwarding my request to corporate HR".

clarification What I ment by "bringing joy to many" is that once my dog has completed the work I need from him in the moment and patient care is done, then I give my patients permission to pet my dog if they want. He is not an ESA.

For matters involving sterility or other areas where he can be a liability, he has been trained to wait in the hallway without me, or I leave him at his spot behind my desk where he is out of the way. The only accommodations I need for him are easy enough to do. A spot for him to rest behind the nursing station, access to clean water, and the ability to take him outside on my breaks.

Greeting my fellow booger bandits. I just got home from work, and I'm sitting on my back porch feeling fulfilled. It wasn't a particularly interesting day, but I had fun with my coworkers, patients, and boss. I managed my vents, did my treatments, and helped save some lives and got paid a decent wage in the process. That feels fulfilling to me. I never thought I would find this as a child, and I didnt think I'd live to see the age of 20 as a young man.

To be honest, I left Afghanistan as broken man. As an Army Combat Medic, I failed to save one of my dear friends when I couldn't stop the bleeding when an IED took his leg and a large chunk of his pelvis in addition to peppering him and another soldier with shrapnel. The pursuing firefight ment that I had to move him and myself to cover before I could properly assess the horror and attempt treatment despite not being safe to move because its safer than taking a bullet. I was only 18. I blamed myself for years. "If only I knew this." "If only I was better."

I experienced many traumas during the 14 months I spent in Afghanistan. Strangely enough, I missed it when I got home. That sense of purpose I felt the times I did save another life. I also missed combat. On a primal level, it made sense to me. I felt like a guardian to the people I protected. I felt invaluable (As the prime medical asset, I was). I found that I can stomach blood, guts, trauma, and death very well. I found peace in helping people.

Unfortunately, I suffered a catastrophic injury during upon returning from Afghanistan during a training excerise. After time in a spinal brace and wheelchair while being abused as a patient by my chain of command. (They litteraly came into my room the day after the accident, put me in another soldiers uniform to fit over my spinal brace and just swappedthe name tapes and badges, and then wheeled me down to the clinic and put me to work running sick call because "you're a medic, the aid station is the perfect place for you to get better.") I finished my enlistment instead of a medboard because It was the quickest way out. I obtained my Honorable Discharge, and I wanted nothing to do medicine again.

I felt empty after I left. I worked one mediocre job after the next. It wasn't until my father got sick with bilateral pulmonary embolisms that I started studying medicine again. The more I learned about the cardiopulmonary system, the more things started making sense. It explained why some of my patients didn't live. It filled in gaps that I didn't know were missing. I fell in love with the lungs and how they function.

I used my GI Bill to attend college and graduated Summa Cuma Laude with a BS in Respiratory Therapy. Ironically enough, I graduated right as the pandemic began and my first job right out of college was in a covid unit. It felt like a deployment all over again. I suffered loss like I never felt before as I saw horrors that I can't even bring myself to describe. I put my skills, training, and knowledge that I paid for in blood to good use and saved a few lives.

What I gain from practicing medicine is purpose and peace. I get to be a protector and advocate for people when they need me the most. I protect the weak, the vulnerable, and those who have placed their trust in me. I get to make my patients smile. I get to be there for massive once in a lifetime moments like watching a parent look at their child for the first time or litteraly giving a baby it's first breath. I have had the sacred honor of being the one to give patients ther last breaths and allow them to pass in dignity and respect. For every life I couldn't save as a medic, I've used that knowledge to save countless patients as an RRT. My job brings me joy. I look forward to helping people breath through the night.

I get to be a soldier on my own terms now. I put on a uniform (scrubs), dawn my stethoscope that I've had since Afghanistan, and I still give my mission and my team my all. I also get paid way more than I ever did while being enlisted.

I'm able to give patients the care, respect, and dignity that I was denied by my chain of command. That is healing to me in its own right. I get to occasionally be there for them when they start coming around to consciousness to after an injury/illness. That can be terrifying. I know what it is like to be that scared. Thats the fear of battle. I'm able to help calm them using what 16 years of therapy and self work have taught me.

Though I'm physically broken and still fighting my own battles of the heart, I found peace in my life fighting for the lives of others.

TLDR getting back into the fight on my own terms by becoming an RT helped me.

To be honest, I left Afghanistan a broken man. As an Army combat medic, I failed to save one of my dear friends after an IED took his leg and a large portion of his pelvis, in addition to peppering him and another soldier with shrapnel. The ensuing firefight meant that I had to move both him and myself to cover before I could properly assess the horror and attempt treatment. He wasn’t safe to move, but it was better than a bullet. I was only 18 and I blamed myself for years. “If only I had known this.” “If only I had been better.”

I experienced many traumas during the 14 months I spent in Afghanistan. Strangely enough, I missed it when I got home. I missed the sense of purpose I felt during the few times I was able to save another life. I also missed combat. On a primal level, it made sense to me. I felt like a guardian to the people I protected. I felt invaluable( and as the primary medical asset, I was). I discovered that I could handle blood, guts, trauma, and death well. I found peace in helping people.

Unfortunately during a training excerise, I suffered a catastrophic injury shortly after returning from Afghanistan. I spent time in a spinal brace and a wheelchair while being abused as a patient by my chain of command.

They literally came into my room the day after the accident, put me in another soldier’s uniform because it fit over my spinal brace, swapped the name tapes and badges, wheeled me down to the clinic, and put me to work running sick call because, “You’re a medic. The aid station is the perfect place for you to get better.”

I finished my enlistment by finishing my contract instead of pursuing a med board because it was the quickest way out. I received my honorable discharge, and I wanted nothing to do with medicine again.

I felt empty after I left. I worked one mediocre job after another. It wasn’t until my father became sick with bilateral pulmonary embolisms that I started studying medicine again. The more I learned about the cardiopulmonary system, the more things started making sense. It explained why some of my patients hadn’t survived. It filled in gaps that I hadn’t even known were there. I fell in love with the lungs and how they function.

I used my GI Bill to attend college and graduated summa cum laude with a bachelor’s degree in respiratory therapy. Ironically, I graduated just as the pandemic began, and my first job out of college was in a COVID unit. It felt like a deployment all over again. I suffered loss unlike anything I had experienced before as I witnessed horrors that I still can’t bring myself to describe. I put the skills, training, and knowledge that I had paid for in blood to good use, and I saved a few lives.

What I gain from practicing medicine is purpose and peace. I get to be a protector and an advocate for people when they need me most. I protect the weak, the vulnerable, and those who have placed their trust in me. I get to make my patients smile.

I get to be present for massive, once in a lifetime moments, such as watching a parent look at their child for the first time or literally giving a baby its first breath. I have also had the sacred honor of helping patients take their final breaths and allowing them to pass with dignity and respect.

For every life I couldn’t save as a medic, I have used that experience and knowledge to save countless patients as a RT. My job brings me joy. I look forward to helping people breathe through the night.

I get to be a soldier on my own terms now. I put on a uniform (my scrubs), don the same stethoscope I've carried since Afghanistan, and give my mission and my team everything I have. I also get paid significantly more than I ever did while enlisted.

I’m able to give patients the care, respect, and dignity that I was denied by my chain of command. That is healing in its own right.

Occasionally, I get to be there when patients begin regaining consciousness after an injury or illness. That can be terrifying. I know what it is like to be that scared. That is the fear of battle. For some, their last memory was traumatic and/or the cause of their condition. For some, my ventilator is their last stop before the end. I’m able to help calm and guide them using what 16 years of therapy and personal work have taught me.

Though I’m physically broken and still fighting battles of the heart, I have found peace in my life by fighting for the lives of others.

TL;DR: Getting back into the fight on my own terms by becoming a respiratory therapist helped me heal.

Edit for grammar and spelling.

Greetings my fellow booger bandits, I just finished handling a pretty obstructive mucus plug and it occurred to me that I don't know how many times I've saved a life as an RRT. I can remember the lives I saved as an Army Combat Medic, but I can only remember a handful of people I've helped as an RRT over the last 8 years.

If you ask most people if they have ever saved a life, the few who have can usually tell you every detail of how they were involved. Meanwhile, I can barely recall the events of my last code. We do life saving things so often that it doesn't even feel special anymore. Its litteraly just part of the job. Am I the only one that thinks this is nuts? I love being an RT.