I wish you could comprehend a wife’s horror at 6 in the morning as I check her husband of 40 years for a pulse and found none. I start CPR anyway, hoping to
bring him back, knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done to try and save his life.
I wish you knew the unique smell of burning insulation, the taste of
soot-filled mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your turnout
gear, the sound of flames crackling, the eeriness of being able to see absolutely nothing in dense smoke-sensations that I’ve become too familiar with.
I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a call, Is this a false
alarm or a working fire? How is the building constructed? What Hazards await me? Is anyone trapped?” Or to call and ask what is wrong with the patient? Is it minor or life threatening? Is the caller really in distress or is he waiting for us with a 2×4 or a gun?
I wish you could be in the emergency room, as a doctor pronounces dead, the beautiful five-year old girl that I have been trying to save during the past 25 minutes, knowing she will never go on her first date or say the words, “I love you Mommy”, ever again.
I wish you could know the frustration I feel in the cab of the
ambulance or engine or cruiser, the driver with his foot pressing down hard on the pedal, my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as you fail to yield the right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic. When you need us however, your first comment upon our arrival will be, “It took you forever to get here!”
I wish you could know my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teenage years from the remains of her automobile. What if this was my daughter, sister, my girlfriend or a friend? What were her parent’s reaction going to be when they opened the door to find a police officer with hat in hand?
I wish you could know how it feels to walk in the back door and greet my parents and family, not having the heart to tell them that I nearly did not come back from the last call.
I wish you could
know how it feels dispatching officers, firefighters
and Paramedics out and when we call for them and our heart drops because no one answers back or to here a bone chilling 911 call of a child or wife needing assistance.
I wish you could feel the hurt as people verbally and sometimes
physically abuse us or belittle what we do, or as they express their
attitudes of “It will never happen to me”. I wish you could realize
the physical, emotional and mental drain of missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition to all the tragedy my eyes have seen.
I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping save a life or preserving someone’s property, or being able to be there in time of crisis, or creating order from total chaos.
I wish you could understand what it feels like to have a little boy
tugging at your arm and asking, “Is my Mommy okay?”! , not even being able to look in his eyes
without tears from your own and not knowing what to say. Or to have to hold back a long time friend who watches his buddy having CPR done on him as they take him away in the Medic Unit. You know all along he did not have his seat belt on. A sensation that I have become too familiar with.
Unless you have lived with this kind of life, you will never truly
understand or appreciate who I am, we are, or what our job really means to us…I wish you could though.
I wish you could…
Article written by/or information provided by tcamos