I've flown for and worked for several medical firms, having done metro and rural air ambulance, and worked the ground as an EMT/Firefighter too. Each place I've flown air ambulance, I've also worked as an aircraft mechanic; my last air ambulance position was director of maintenance as well as line pilot.
The upshot for me was a lot of long hours and very little time off, but I enjoyed the job, the aircraft, and the variety. I've run in and out of rural dirt airstrips or roads illuminated with flare pots (fires) to pick up patients, I've run in and out of some very interesting places. I've flown medical crews to retrieve hearts and organs and bones and skin. I once walked into an ICU unit to retrieve cross matching samples under the watchful eye of the entire extended family of the soon-to-be-deceased...all of whom knew exactly why I was there.
On the night of 09/11 I was to retrieve a heart for a man who desperately needed it, but was prevented from doing so. It was a short notice lear trip for which I got tapped, and then set aside due to the somber politics at the time. I got to see the man on the evening news crying as he was interviewed by a reporter, before he died shortly thereafter.
I've picked up a patient who took a gunshot or a chainsaw to the face, and for whom no amount of packing and dressing could stop the bleeding as we loaded them and flew them to a trauma unit. I've picked up patient at a rural local who was spraying fluids everywhere, and got pulled into the ambulance to help my own crew as the local volunteer crew bailed out...only to get covered in fluids myself. I've had to take series of antibiotics that turned my sweat orange and made the roof of my mouth burn after being exposed to patients, as well as various shots and innoculations. I've picked up suicides or attemtped suicides ranging from violently combative (and have refused some) in restraints to others who were never going to try again.
I picked up a small boy who drowned, and returned his body to the Hopi reservation one night. His services had to be performed and his body taken care of by sunrise, for religious purposes. That was probably the most saddening and heartwrenching flight I've ever made. I felt him sitting in the airplane with me. No nurse, no attendant, just his small wrapped body and me, in the dark, contemplating my own children. And sharing that moment with his family in the silent night of the high desert as I turned him over to them. Heartwrenching.
I lived with the medical crews, one big house; we responded together, cooked together, shopped together, worked together. They often came in for a few days at a time, I was there for two weeks to several months at a time. I worked long irregular hours in the hangar, and flew irregular hours on very short notice all the time. I flew in all kinds of weather, and often made the callous decision based on safety of flight to not respond to a patient in need...another burden of the air ambulance PIC. When you're called to go, you're often desperately needed, and it's up to you to say no when conditions warrant. I've said no, more than a few times, and it's something you live with.
When you fly, you have a mission, and a purpose, and you're accomplishing something. That may not mean much to some, but it may be very important to you. It's crucial to me; I can only last at a job so long when I don't believe in the mission or feel necessary. Unless I find I'm necessary to the operation, I'll move on. I've done it many times before. I've never been satisfied drawing a paycheck, though I do take great satisfaction in earning one. What this means to you is a personal decision that may determine weather you stay or go.
An ambulatory patient who was riding in the airplane from a hospital to his villiage, once had a heart attack alongside me. He was seated up front, it was night, we were without medical personnel because he was merely being returned home after going in for some tests. On another occasion, a patient who I was merely transporting as a charter, without benifit or need of an attendant, turned out to be a suicide. A very big girl, she sat quietly beside me for the trip to the city. While I waited with her for the ambulance to arrive, she said she had a headache. I offered tylenol; she said she couldn't take meds. I asked why, and you guessed it...she was going in for psychological treatment for attempted suicide. Nobody told the pilot.
I had a nurse flip out once; she fell asleep next to me and woke up screaming when she opened her eyes and realized she was flying. Don't ask me why; some people's kids...
I flew an infant in an isolette in a light twin from a remote location to a metro area for medical treatment. We were accompanied by the chief nurse and the mother. The door opened up enroute, just a little. I tried sealing it with charts, which sucked up against the opening, to prevent loss of heat. THe door opened more, and sucked out my charts. I tried medical tape, which worked until the door opened more and sucked out the tape with a bang. I removed my jacket and used that, and it went too, though I was able to haul it back in by the sleeve. We had to land at an unattended strip enroute to repair the door temporarily with a leatherman tool, before continuing to the destination.
I've been handed containers of hears, kidneys, livers, legs, bones, hands, fingers...sometimes visible, sometimes not, sometimes merely bags of fatty material that used to be walking around as part of someone a few hours before...as medical crews came and went. I had a flashlight freeze to my lips and pull skin off while loading a patient in a cold mountain airfield one winter night. I spent the last few hours with a friend whom I taught to fly, who had a heart attack early one morning. I didn't know it was him until I arrived at the hospital and he spoke to me in the emergency room; I flew him to the last hospital he'd ever see that morning, and then spent the rest of the morning being screamed at by an overzelous FAA inspector who elected to ramp me with a vengence. Good days and bad...ambulance work is like that. I used an oxygen powered breathing device to forcibly ventillate an overdose patient who was being worked on, one sunday morning...he came to quickly, grabbed my head and punched me in the face, and passed out. It happened again the second time I ventillated him, and on the third I finally wised up and moved. Always different, always unique.
I picked up a young man at a ski resort mountain field once; twenty years old he'd broken his back while snow boarding. The reason his back broke was a massive tumor that had destroyed the material around his neck. It was discovered whle x-raying for the snowboarding injury. When we flew him to a metro area for further evaluation, neither he, nor his mother knew that he was terminal. That unpleasant secret was ours; he was the fourth or fifth youth that week whom I'd flown who was going somewhere to die and who was terminal. It was a depressing week. Sometimes it gets like that. Sometimes it's much better.
What's ambulance work like? Try it for yourself and see. The last outfit for whom I flew had a policy of always responding to every request, unless safety demanded otherwise. Every other air ambulance operator in the area would only respond if they could verify good insurance from the patient. I took great pride in the fact that while our company often saw only a 50% payment rate (lots of indigents who couldn't or didn't pay, or who didn't and were no longer around to pay), we were always there, and had a reputation upon which we could be counted to perform. I believed in our mission. I'd have trusted my life to any of our medical crew; they were good, they were dedicated, and anyone in my airplane with those people was in very, very good hands. More than a few folks owed their lives to them. A few sued them. A few said thanks. Many lived, some died (never on board; nobody dies on my airplane), some lived better. Someone else, much higher and in charge, makes those decisions; your mission in the driver's seat only allows you to assist in carrying it out.
Give it a shot. No pun intended.