I know I'm not the only one, but I've been asked plenty of times before. That same old cliched line: "How do you do what you do?"

Always at some uncomfortable party where I'm the least paid, least formally educated and least talkative person in the room. Then word leaks out about what I do for a living and the odd voyeurism starts. It's never intentional on their part, yet the visceral excitement to those on the outside of my line of work is always palpable. "What's the worst thing you've seen?" "That must be so exciting!" "How can you handle all that blood?"

Always the same basic questions, always the same feigned interest. When the truth comes out, that not every day or every call is an episode of ER or Rescue 911, the interest usually fades rapidly. This is where the reality hits me: people, as a general rule, don't give a crap about what I do. Once the bright lights and heroic facade are pulled back and people see the down and dirty nature of what we do, it loses it's romance pretty damn fast. This is also apparent when the kid who joins a fire department because he wants a license plate and a dash light sees his first dead body. The wheat and chaff of who wants to say they do this job and those who really want to do this job get separated pretty damn fast.

Maybe the more important question to ask is: Why? Why do we do what we do?

Let's rule out a few no brainers. It's not the money. Even though in my current job I'm one of the highest paid in my field, it's not that much. And rule out fame, prestige, glory or respect unless we're talking about the support from our teammates and our families. And lets also forget retirement. A lot of us will be pretty broken, if not broke, by the time we get there. More family time? We're gone from our families for, at a usual minimum, 12 hours at a whack. This doesn't include driving, charting, training, etc. Many of my brothers and sisters do still longer shifts. And when your little boy says "I miss you when you're working" in a tone that makes him sound so desperate to hug you, no paycheck is worth that.

This really goes for anyone in the "business" of service to the public. They don't think about the guys working for the DOT or Public Works until the road needs to be plowed. And then they never move fast enough. People never think about dispatchers until they are praying for someone to answer 911 for them. Cops, firemen and EMS are lazy bums wasting tax dollars, eating donuts, sleeping in the firehouse or just posting in the rescue until someone they love or they themselves are a) being attacked, b) on fire, c) desperately sick/hurt or d) some combination of the above. And doctors and nurses have the unmitigated gall to make them wait three hours to be seen for their sore throat that they have had for three weeks just because they are working that silly pediatric trauma code.

I guess for me, and probably most of us, it really is the intangibles that make it worth it. The pride in doing a good job that really helps people (whether they notice or not) is huge. The support from my teammates (which sometimes is disguised as brutal heckling about my employment indecision) and the fun that we have despite moments of terror, frustration or just plain heartbreak is a true life jacket for me some days. My personal pride in leaving it all out there on a call; being willing to risk it all to make the difference for someone who truly needs it, is amazingly gratifying. To feel like I am truly worthy of that kind of responsibility is an honor that is crushing in it's humility and so uplifting in its fulfillment at the same time. Last and certainly not least, basking in the glow of my son being so excited to have "coffee" with the guys, try on daddy's helmets, sit in the truck or helicopter he is assigned to and say "And when I'm bigger I can have my own helmet and ride with you, right Dad?"

I started this job as a very young man, on a mission to repay some self imposed penance. Eighteen years later, there are still some days I feel I have not quite atoned for whatever imagined slight set me on this course. Perhaps though, just a little, I might be getting there. For me, the romance of my line of work has long since left. Reality is a harsh brush, scraping away the glossy veneer of this line of work and exposing the harsh realities of nature, against whom we may stem the flow but rarely stop the river. However there are some days I surprise myself; so excited to get to work. That little boy with so little understanding of what it means to do this job, who wants nothing more than to be just like his dad. That innocence and peace; it's a pretty profound thing to wrap your head around. Knowing I can still feel that gives me hope that I'm not as cold and hard as I feel some days. That somewhere in there, I'm still just a happy little kid who wants nothing more than to be just like his dad. Here's hoping I still can.

Joe Moore is a flight paramedic with Lifeflight of Maine in Bangor and a call division firefighter/paramedic with Rockland Fire/EMS.