Sunday, June 14, 2009

Fire and Rain

It's been almost a week since my very first structure fire. I guess I've had a hard time sitting down to start writing about it. For days, I had been hoping for that first fire. Every time my pager went off, I was praying to hear some extra tightness in the dispatcher's voice as the words "structure fire" came over the radio. A week ago, it finally happened. But it wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

I was in bed, early in the morning, when the tones dropped. The first words to come over the radio were "commercial structure fire", and I was in my vehicle before they were even able to say anything else. My adrenaline and excitement were almost overwhelming. It was only just as I was reaching the highway that we got any further information from the dispatcher. Someone hadn't made it out yet. My excitement turned to dread, and although as personal vehicles we have no right to break traffic laws (preventing me from speeding), my fingers began to clutch the steering wheel even tighter than they had when I was merely suffering from adrenaline.

The first units on the scene gave a size up indicating that the house was already significantly involved in the fire. Still no sign of the man inside. All anyone knew was that he should be somewhere in the back right corner of the house. In the sky ahead of me, I could see the pillar of smoke rising up into the clouds. Although this was my first non-training fire, I knew enough to realize just how serious the fire must be given that huge visual indicator.

By the time I arrived, the whole of the House was mostly a wall of flames. I knew roughly what the odds were of someone still being alive in a situation like that, but I didn't want to admit that to myself. The crew I was assigned to was given the task of going in the back door to find this man. Reading the faces of my crewmates, I knew that this was probably a body recovery operation and not a rescue, but I didn't want to admit that to myself either. The flames were too intense for us to make a good entry, though, and eventually the roof came in. At the same time another crew of firefighters was cutting a hole in the wall of the house where they expected the man to be. Given the condition of what was left of the building, I was now certain of the outcome. But it wasn't until the hole was open and I saw the body that any real emotion hit me.

One of the division chiefs (the one who ran my training class) was standing by asking us to use the hose line to protect the body from the still raging flames, hoping to prevent any further damage for the sake of the family. I tried to focus on directing my water streamed towards hotspots in the room, but my mind was elsewhere. why wasn't he able to get out? why did it take so long to report the fire? How much fear must he have gone through, waking up in a blaze like that? how long was he conscious enough to experience it? Could we have saved him if we had arrived five minutes earlier? Did he feel any pain?

The man's charred remains held no answers for me. The gear on my body and the hose line in my hand, weapons to combat an enemy who had already won. I remembered bitterly how I had wanted so badly to get to fight a fire. well, I guess I got exactly what I wanted. As silly as it was, I felt a deep guilt for ever wishing for such a disaster to come into somebody's life, as though I might have prevented this incident by not desiring it so badly.

For the next couple hours we doused the entire building in water and foam, all to prevent it from reigniting. During that time I tried my best to focus on the task at hand and not to glance over at that corner where I knew the corpse lay. I kept a mantra going in my head, steeling myself for the time that I knew would be ahead when we would have to move the body from the building.

Finally the moment came, and other firefighters moved vehicles and strung up tarps to prevent the bystanders from witnessing what was about to occur. Me, I wanted to put my hands on the victim. I wanted to be the one to shoulder the unpleasant task of extricating the body from the smoldering remains of the house. As some sort of a self imposed penance, I wanted to force myself to deal with the consequences of the fire that I had been hoping for. And I did. The man, and a dog that had been trapped in the room with him, were both moved with as much dignity as possible into the vehicle that would carry them away.

I will be happy if I never have to do that again.

But with the pain and frustration and guilt came another emotion: relief. Ever since I started training to become a firefighter, my biggest worry had been that when I finally came face to face with gruesome and unjust death I would be unable to cope and unfit to perform my duties. I can think of very few scenarios that are worse in my mind than a fatality resulting from being trapped in a fire. yet there I was, witnessing one of the worst (I hope) calls I have or will ever have to deal with, and I was okay. Not happy, not calm, certainly not dispassionate, but able to perform efficiently the tasks assigned to me. Although I do not believe any amount of experience will stop me from feeling some sympathy for victims and patients, I know now that I can handle it. In the midst of my surprise and sadness at the loss of somebody's father I am relieved just to know that I can do my job.

I think I've had enough excitement for this week.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Getting Real

I've had a lot of fun playing hero. The gear was cool, the calls were fun, but last night I got a perspective adjustment that hit me like a 2x4 between the eyes.

We had just gotten back from a gas odor call. Although the emergency itself was not of any particular interest, it was the first time I've actually gotten to ride to a call on the fire truck. Now THAT is a cool experience. Driving fast, sirens blaring, people making way for you on the road; not gonna lie, that's fun. So we made sure everything was safe while the utility company sent a truck out to fix the gas line, no big deal.

Just as we're getting back off the truck in the station, the tones go off again. Everybody smiles, excited that the night is turning out to be so lively. We all pile back into the engine as we listen for the dispatch.

"Engine 801, engine 1408, motorcycle accident..."

My smile drops. This could turn out to be a little more intense than I'd expected. My brother is driving the engine, and I can feel our speed increase a little as further information comes over the radio. It doesn't sound good. One motorcycle, ran into a guardrail, victim is not moving.

I start rehearsing in my head every thing that will need to happen once we arrived at the scene. We'll need the medical pack and the backboard for sure. I pull my latex gloves on in preparation, half anxious to help, half hoping someone else will take care of the victim so that I don't have to.

No time to think about it though. The engine stops and we all jump out, each grabbing the equipment we were assigned. I throw the backboard off the engine over my shoulder and immediately start striding towards the cluster of people I can see already pulling the victim back onto the roadway. Secretly I don't want to look; I've never seen any trauma before, and honestly, I'm scared of how I might react. Will I get sick? Will I just freeze? But this is what I signed up for, and I know it, so I try to stay focused on what I need to do instead of processing what I'm seeing.

I throw the backboard on the ground and start tearing off the straps. In theory, I know what is supposed to happen next; we will put this guy on a backboard and load him into the ambulance. This isn't the same as working with a dummy though; the weight of his limbs is eerily familiar. Exactly what my leg would feel like if I lifted it with my arm. Just by touch, I can tell this is a real human. And he is dying.

The injuries are extensive, and the odds don't look good, but we start CPR in a desperate attempt to save him. Now, I'm well trained in CPR; we went through all the mechanics and techniques during recruit class. But it's just not the same on a human. I don't think I ever realized just how fragile our bodies really are.

I can feel my companions working around me. Dressing wounds, clearing clothing, a well oiled machine working at a feverish pace. I don't want to think about it. I just keep my eyes on my hands, pumping his chest, trying to keep enough blood moving to save him. I know if I think too hard about what I'm looking at, it will be too much. I'll see the damage done to him and to think "what would that feel like?". But speculation is not a luxury I can afford at the moment.

The medics call for everybody to clear the body for a second so they can check his vitals. I sit back on my knees, hands in the air to show 'I'm clear'; and that's when the feeling really hits me. This guy is not going to make it. Eyes vacant, skin pale, he stares blankly at the sky. The medics glanced forlornly at the paper printing out of their machine. "One more round, and then we'll call it." Frustrated and a little shocked, I start compressing the chest again with renewed vigor, somehow convincing myself that if we were to just try hard enough we might make a difference.

Just believing something doesn't make it so.

"Thank you everyone", the medic says, "that was a really good attempt".

I feel sick.

As I walk back to the engine (slowly now, all urgency gone), I try to figure out how I feel about the whole situation. Somebody is dead, and in a very traumatic way. Do I feel bad about it? Yeah, I guess so. I'm a little stunned for sure, but somehow not "devastated" the way it seems like I should be. It's a strange bit of cognitive dissonance. It's almost like I WANT to feel bad, but I can't summon enough emotion and feel any amount of depression or loss. Just a vague sense of malaise and failed effort. What's wrong with me? This is somebody's son, someone's friend, who is never coming back. Why can't I feel for them the way I should?

And yet, I feel terrible. Terrible for not being able to make a difference. For not being able to save a life, and for not feeling bad enough about the loss of a fellow human being.

I don't know what to think. So I don't.

My brother pulls me aside later and asks how I'm doing. I answer him honestly, I'm doing better than I thought I would be, but somehow I'm unsatisfied. He had some advice I hope I can take heart: "This is not your fault. You didn't cause of the crash. You didn't cause his injuries. You came here to help, and you can't win them all. Be happy about the ones you CAN save, but don't get hung up on the ones you can't."

He's right. The amount of death and loss that firefighters encounter is staggering. Empathy for one's fellow man is an admirable and virtuous trait, but it comes at a cost. If your friend were to lose a parent, you could cope. You could bear a part of their pain and sadness. Maybe even the suffering of a few friends simultaneously. But if an emergency worker were to take on the guilt, pain, loss, and sorrow of every loss of life they witnessed, the burden would be too great for any one soul to bear.

So I just don't think about it. Well, that's a lie. I try not to think about it. The first fatality I ever witnessed will probably stick in my memory for the rest of my life. But no amount of sorrow or depression will save his life or heal any of the family members he left behind. I've done everything I can for him, God rest his soul, and now the only thing left to do is focus on those will need help in the future.

That's life.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

In the Field

It's been over a week since I graduated from recruit class. in that timeframe, I've run more calls than I expected to get my first month. So what has it taught me? A few things. For one, people really seem to like scheduling their emergencies for the middle of the night. that means I'm going to have to become accustomed to awaking around 2 AM, but that's actually okay for me because it means that there's less interference with my work or social life. A more important thing I've discovered, though, is that actual emergencies are nothing like recruit class. There are no coaches looking over my shoulder, making sure I don't screw up; the dummies we practiced on for medical care are now replaced with live human beings who are hurting and scared.

The rush of emotions that come with all these new experiences can be confusing in its variety. When driving to a call, I'm excited. It's all I can do to control my heart rate and the speed of my vehicle. When walking on to an emergency scene, I'm focused. What needs to be done? Who needs help? When actually performing my duties, I'm scared to hell. What if somebody realizes that I'm brand-new to this? What if a patient looks up at me and sees the uncertainty of someone who hasn't handled that many emergencies before? It can almost be overwhelming.

But I'm sure that will go away. Some day, maybe a year from now, I'll look back on these first calls as the building blocks of what will then be a confident and competent firefighter. For now, they are mostly notches in my belt; first-time experiences that will give me more knowledge and experience for next time.

In the last week, I've responded to emergencies of a surprising variety for such a short time span. The very first night I had my pager by my bed, a car went off a bridge in a rural area during early hours of the morning. The next night, a neighborhood women nearly gave birth in the middle of her driveway. A fall victim, a vehicle fire, respiratory distress, a flooded home, and most recently a head-on collision where one of the drivers needed to be extricated from her crumpled vehicle.

In a way it's exciting; I never know what's going to happen next or when it's going to happen. But the unpredictability can be intimidating. What if I'm the first one to show up at a major incident? Or any incident, really? Will I know what to do? Or will I freeze up?

I guess this post is kind of scattered, but that's how my mind is: half stoked, half freaked. Excited and frightened. That's the honest truth. But if anyone asks, just tell them I'm fine. Appearances are half the battle. And someday soon (I hope) my mind's state will match the confidence on my face when I go rushing in to help.

Monday, June 1, 2009

New Heat Exhaustion Article on Firelink

If you've read my blog before, you know I've had some trouble with heat exhaustion in the past. I've written an article that contains some tips, and it's been published on firelink. Check the link below:

http://www.firelink.com/benefits/articles/7433-can-you-take-the-heat