Over the past few weeks I have been mourning a great personal loss. On Friday, June 10th 2011, I lost a dear close personal friend, Ryan Patrick Douthit. (he happens to be the person next to me in the background picture) As the hours without him turned to days, and days into weeks, I have reflected greatly on the impression he has made, and the void that is left on me, my family and the fire service. I wont get into the personal side of things, after all this is a blog about one mans accounts of the fire service. And in the fire service Ryan exemplified a rare breed of firefighters.
I met Ryan at the Fire company picnic in July 2005. It happened to be the day he was moving into the fire house as a live in. As with most live ins, He had been down to visit with his mom & dad a few months before. Took a tour of the station, and filled out his application. The next meeting he was voted in as a member on a kind of "delayed entry" meaning his membership & probation period would not begin until he moved in. At first impression, he seemed like a good kid, athletic, good personality and an good looking kid. As one of the senior firefighters I made way over to him and introduced myself to him and his parents and started talking. Not long after he ran off to grab a bite to eat or something & i stayed to talk with his parents. It was obvious to me that they had some concerns so i spoke with them and answered any questions they had about the department and what their "little boy" was getting into. Their concerns were that of any parent, How would he adjust and how would he do in school (ryan moved here to take fire science classes as ccac) but as discussion went on I was able to pick up that they were not new to the fire service, just from some terminology they had used. As I come to find out his Dad was a past fire chief of the City of DuBois Fire department. This means one of two things, as history has shown, a new member who's father is a fire chief some where, the kid will either be a stick in the ass "fire snob" who thinks they know everything because daddy was a fire chief, or he's going to have his head screwed on straight and really understand the job for what it is and what it truly means to be a firefighter. As I continued to talk to his dad, i was beginning to believe that this was the latter of the two and that he would be just fine.
As his career at #5 began, he was doing everything he could to learn as much as he could. Not to mention jumping in to help out with whatever around the station or simply finding stuff to do. It wasn't more than a few days, maybe a week at most until Ryan passed his first "probie test" and was able to start responding to calls on the rigs. You see, at #5 every probie has two tests they have to take in the first 6 months. The first test, commonly called "the riding test" tests basic knowledge needed to be of any use on the fire ground. Using the map books, talking on the radio, using our SCBA's (self contained breathing apparatus...our air packs and masks) and understanding what rigs roll on what type of call and in what order. Ryan was now riding, he was on top of the world, a fireman in what he called, "The Big City"
As his probation carried on, he found his nich and fit right into the department. Coming from a small single engine company in DuBois to a busy "big city" firehouse with 2 engines a ladder truck and a tanker is a big step and a world of difference. But he made the transition flawlessly, and he began taking a liking to the ladder truck. He would ask me all the time about truck company operations....how to do this and how to do that, and as fast as I could tell him, he'd soak it in and have another question. Every time I was at the station, he was a shadow, but I didn't mind, I was taking a liking to the kid. He reminded me of myself a bit, and i could tell he was here to not only do the job, but to do the job as best as he could.
Ryan would grow to be one of the best damn firefighters I have had the privilege to work with, and thats no bull shit. He was one of the smartest and aggressive firefighters I had seen in some time. From time to time, you could see his adolescence kick in and he might pull a bone head move. But as soon as he did, he knew it, and you could bet your ass he wouldn't make that mistake again. He grew as a firefighter with every fire alarm, car accident, structure fire and ambulance call he took.
One night we got a call to the local low income apartment complex for a reported working structure fire that immediately went to a second alarm after the initial dispatch. We pulled up and this place was OFF!!! Huge amounts of fire and a broken hydrant.... not a good combination. Ryan was with the first bunch of guys through the door. He quickly and methodically began performing searches. More hand lines were stretched into the building with hopes of keeping the fire in check, and about the time they got a water supply outside, 2 of the hand lines inside, burnt through. It was at this time they decided to pull the plug on an interior operation and get the guys the hell out. As Ryan moved from a back bedroom to exit the structure, the roof collapsed. Knocking him down and pinning him to the floor, only 10 ft from the door. As he wiggled to free himself a firefighter from #4 saw him and helped pull him to safety. We did a quick accountability check of all our guys to be sure everyone was accounted for. Then gathered in front of the ladder truck to discuss our plan of attack. During discussion, Ryan is seen standing kind of behind the huddle, waving his hand like a first grader that has to go to the bathroom. Our Assistant Chief Mike, (aka Lurch) asks "what do you need" And ryan calmly asks, "Is it OK if I go throw up?" Lurch kindly replied "Sure dude, go ahead, you don't need to ask, just go do it by their (another companies) engine." And off he went. Now as funny as it sounds, there is profound meaning to that story.... Ryan was lucky, 20+ guys were injured in that collapse, 16 of which were transported to the hospital, (luckily none life threatening) yet he stayed to keep fighting and actually asked permission to puke, not because he wasn't allowed, but because he was afraid it might make himself and his company, look weak. I later explained to him that I as well as some of the other guys had been there....in that we had also had our close calls... and the sick feeling you get in your stomach you get after your outside and begin to wrap your mind around what just happened and how close it really was. There's really nothing more you can do but thank the man upstairs, take a big breath in a sigh of relief and sometimes, you puke.
That fire would be the one I think that calmed the adolescence in him down. He constantly played that over in his head trying to figure out what he could have done differently, as did many of us. But he realized that in this jobs there are some things you just cant control, so he didn't beat himself up about it...he learned from it.
Another fire I remember was in #4's area. While working on an old car in the garage, the home owner dropped and ruptured a full gas tank on the car & in the frantic moments that followed, knocked over a work light. The light hit the ground, the bulb popped and the gas lit off and it lit off big. As we approached we could see the column of thick black smoke. We pulled in as the second engine we could see smoke from every window and flames beginning to peak over the roof of the house. Ryan jumped off the engine and gave his ever famous "Oh yea....We got this" and away he went, with his air bottle on his back, and no air mask. He ran down the driveway following a 2 1/2" hand line on side 2 (the left side looking at the house) as he came to the back he noticed a kid from the first in engine kneeling on the ground 30 ft from the house with the nozzle only opened half way in a sort of "spray and pray" mode. (spray water at the fire an pray it go's out) Ryan, still running full steam, began yelling at him "Get the fuck in there!" but the kid didn't budge. With our missing a beat Ryan (still running) lowered his shoulder and 3-pointed this kid clean off his feet from a kneeling position.
Ryan rolls once then hops up and begins screaming again "Get the fuck in there you pussy....or give me the line and get the fuck outta my way!" Still dazed from the truck that just ran him over, the kid hands over the knob (nozzle). Ryan grabs it moves into position, and with flames literally shooting 12 to 15 ft out of a 2 car garage door and rolling up the back of the house higher than the roof, he begins his attack. Using a hand line that normally takes 2 to 4 guys, He wrestled that 2 1/2 inch line like it was nothing, and put a big knock on the fire, and with out an air mask, made entry into the garage putting out more and more fire with every step until one of our other guys, realizing not having a mask in such and environment isn't exactly a good Idea, went in after him and yanked him out to put a mask on and let someone else mop up the rest of the fire.
We fought that fire for about another 15 to 20 minuets, chasing hotspots throughout the upstairs. Ryan would eventually join me inside on the first floor and again become a victim of a collapse, only this time it would be nothing more than the wall board & plaster off the ceiling. Just enough to give you a head ache and piss you off. Once the fire was over we cleaned up and went back to the fire house to "hotwash" or critique the fire. This is where we discuss everything that happened. We point out flaws to learn from and thins we could have done differently. Throughout the entire hot wash it all kept going back to Ryan, or "Rip" as he was called, and the great knock he put on the fire....and of course his James Harrison approach to getting the nozzle. But I can say that with as much fire as there was, The knockdown he put on the fire was one for the books. He alone put that fire out....the rest of us just mopped up the little stuff after the fact.
Throughout his time here at #5, he was always apologizing to me for making mistakes....or as he would say... "I fucked up" He would eventually learn that it's OK to make mistakes and that he wasn't expected to be perfect on the job, but to simply learn from the mistakes you made. This would help advance him with in the department and Ryan would move on to become a Lieutenant in the department. And altho he was a stickler for making sure all the small equipment was operational at all times, the guys looked up to him. He was a natural leader and firefighter and through all this, he never forgot his roots from a small single engine firehouse in DuBois. As it would turn out, he wasn't the snot nosed punk who's daddy was chief, He was your traditional, no bullshit, go get em kinda firefighter and a damn good one at that. Aggressive but humble, proud but quiet. He wasn't there to impress anyone or to be "that guy" who makes some miraculous save. He was there to do the job and he did it well. He was a Firefighter.
The fire service has lost one of a rare breed. But as I remember my friend Ryan and his place in the fire service, I have no doubt that he has gone on to become a member of that big truck company company in the sky. And If I know him, he's standing on the roof over hell (without a mask of course) cutting a huge vent hole and screaming down at the devil "What now Mother Fucker"
That was just how he did it....all out, 100%, every time, and I am honored to be able to tell you that I was able to breath some of the same smoke as him and call him my friend.
"We Got This"
Lt. Ryan "Rip" Douthit
1985 - 2011
Monday, July 4, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
The one I'll never forget.
As you follow along, you will realize that Im not going in any chronological order in regards to my career as a firefighter/EMT. Today, Im going to fast forward a few years in to my career. After I began to establish myself as a "real" firefighter, I wanted more action...so I began looking for a busier company to join. My search led me about 8 miles away, just across the county line to a station I'll refer to as "Number 5". No. 5 is one of a hand full of volunteer fire departments that also provides EMS services. In most other towns you have the fire dept. and then separate from them you have the Ambulance Corps. Sure they work together on a multitude of emergencies, but aside from that they are totally separate. Up until now, that was the extent of the relationship I had with any ambulance corp. so this was going to be a big step.
I joined early in 1998 and began learning their ways. (every station has a different way of doing things) and I slowly began riding as an "observer" on the ambulance...or as we call them, the "gut bucket" or "the bus." I wouldn't do much except help carry equipment and help get the patient on the stretcher, but eventually I would have to get my EMT and start doing more. So, I signed up for the first class I could. From that point on I would be "learning on the call", doing everything on scene that I was learning in class, from taking blood pressures, assessing respiration's and pulse, and as I would later find out, CPR.
I was a little over half way into my EMT class and had a few calls under my belt, all of them "routine", things like difficulty breathing, minor vehicle accidents and some minor traumas like twisted or broken arms. On night while I was "sleeping up", this is when you actualy sleep at the station, #5 was a busy enough company that they allowed this and actually had live ins, guys that lived at the fire house. Anyway, I was sleeping up this particular night and had gone to bed at around 23:30 (thats 11:30 PM civilian time) I couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour when the house bells went off (the loud ass bells that ring for a call) and someone screamed over the intercom "LETS GO LETS GO LETS GO" Half asleep and sort of confused I stager out of my bunk and head for the slide pole and slide down into the apparatus bays. As I hit the bay floor I hear the ambulance starting up and one of the guys, Rick, yell..."You'll have to do, get your fuckin shit and lets go!"
I rush to my gear and step into my boots, pull up my bunker pants and head for the bus and hop in the back as it starts to pull away. Before I can sit down in the back, the Ambulance makes the right off the aprons (the "drive way" in front of the apparatus bays) and Im thrown onto the stretcher. I begin to pick myself up and we make the turn at the end of the road and I'm thrown onto the bench seat opposite the stretcher. As I finaly get my bearing and get into my seat I notice that we are hauling ass...I mean this fuckin ambulance has wings. I lean forward into the front cab to see Bill driving, which is comforting, He was an excellent wheel man (driver) and to this day he remains one of the best emergency vehicle drivers I have ever ridden with.
He calmly says, "You may wanna put your seatbelt on there slick"
And I ask where the hell are we going and for what.
Rick says, "Mutual aid into the next town and it aint good"
Before I can say anything else, the dispatcher calls us on the radio to inform us that they're giving "pre-arrivals." Pre-arrivals are the instructions on giving CPR. They are given by the dispatcher to the person who called 911.
I ask again whats going on but Im ignored as Rick reads directions from the map book for Bill. By now I can feel the intensity in the air....what ever it is cant be good.
I sit quietly in the back, my mind racing as to what could possibly await us when we arrive on scene. My hear beats so hard I swear I could hear it over the siren and the roar of the motor. My thoughts are finally broken when I hear Rick tell Bill that after he makes the next turn, the house will be the second one on the right.
I again lean forward into the front cab..."Will someone please tell me what the Hell is going on?!!"
Briefly ignored again, Rick explains to Bill the fastest way to get out of were we're going is to bust a "U-ey" but to drop us off before hand. Rick then looks at me and says "Look, this aint no bull shit, its a 7 month old baby in cardiac arrest, we don't have time to fuck around, He's (Bill) gonna drop us off in front of the house, hall ass, grab the kid and get back out here so Bill and I can switch." Bill, was also a Paramedic, with far more training than me as an EMT..
We rounded the last bend, still going what seemed like mach 2 and we pulled up noticing that the local cops had also just arrived and were running into the house with such hast that he didn't even shut his siren off. Bill slows down enough for Rick and I to hop out, and I hit the ground moving. Now I don't know how far it was from the street to the house, but it seemed like i made it in only 2 steps...only Im sure it was farther than that. I burst in the front door with a level of focus I had never experienced to see a young mother, in her 30's holding a lifeless baby girl in her arms, attempting to do CPR, fighting back tears and feelings I cant even begin to fathom.
As the police officer reaches to grab the baby from the woman's arms, he looks at me, I simply says "ambulance" and the lady looks up and turns to hand me the child....."Please.....save my baby..."
Almost as if it were instinct, I quickly but gently grab the child, laying her on on my forearm with her little head in the palm of my hand and I head for the door. At this point Rick was making his way in, saw me coming and held the door open...."Pump and blow man, pump and blow" (ems slang for administering CPR) We head for the bus which Bill already had turned around with the drivers door open, ready and waiting. He was in the back getting the pediatric bag opened and ready (bad full of medical supplies designed specifically for "wee ones") I hear Rick yell up to the officer the name of the hospital we would be going to and hop on the ambulance, sit on the bench seat and continue CPR as bill shuts the back doors and Rich throws it in drive...we're off.
I can remember stopping for a second to catch a quick breath from all the running combined with CPR. I hesitated for a split second more than I wanted because for the first time I actually looked at the child. She was a cute little thing, with a little swirl of hair on top of her head, and beautiful blue eyes that I could barely make out threw her half closed eye lids.
Bill asks me "What the hell are you doing?" referring to my lack of CPR....trying to keep my composure, I simply tell him "checking for a pulse"....but I couldn't feel it....so he reached over....."Yea....its there....but barely...keep doing what your doing, I'll set up the (heart) monitor"
I again place my mouth over the tiny little face and gently blow, watching the chest on this little body slowly rise and fall then follow with chest compressions using only 2 fingers. I swear I repeated this for what seemed like hours. As I look back, the ride to the hospital doesn't seem like it took all that long, and faintly remember Bill calling a report into the hospital, and periodically checking for a pulse, but never really telling me what or if he felt anything. Then before I knew it Rick hollers into the back "We're here" (at the hospital)
The ambulance comes to a stop, the back doors open and in jumps a guy in scrubs who announces himself as Dr. so and so. He politely asks me to stop CPR and begins checking for a pulse....the look on his face tells me that he cant feel anything...so he takes his stethoscope and listens...and with a disappointed look, softly shakes his head "no" followed with, "Lets get her inside"
He takes the baby, steps out and head for the ER doors and I'm right on his heals....they get her into the room a few more Dr's take a look and bill gives them his report.
"How long has she been without a pulse?" they ask
Bill softly answers, "5, maybe 10 minuets, and before that it was very weak"
One of the Dr's lets out a big sigh and says..."thats it....call it"......"time of death, 12:53"
My heart dropped like a stone...and I could feel my eyes starting to well up so i turned and left the room....walked out of the ER. As if what I had just been through wasn't bad enough, as I'm walking out I notice a police car pull up to the ambulance entrance and a woman frantically jump out and run in. She Recognizes me and the person she handed her child off to and trusted to save her daughters life....
"Where is my baby?"
"Room 11" I reply
"How is she?" she then asked...still fighting back an onslaught of tears.
Now I ask you....how do you answer that?.... After having someone hand you their child trusting you will save them and knowing you didn't.....what do you say? To this day I still don't think I know how to answer that, and I sure didn't that night....I just looked at her, and the tears running down my face said enough.
She let out a scream with a feeling of agony I wouldn't wish on anybody, then collapsed to the floor right there inside the ER doors, completely hysterical. The police officer began to comfort her as did the nurses who responded to her scream. I just stood there and began to ball with my face in my hands...and for the split I could muster simply said "I'm sorry" then turned and walked out to the ambulance.
Now as you can probably imagine...I didn't sleep that night, neither did Rick or Bill. As the luck of that night would have it, about a day or two later in EMT class we had the hands on portion of our Mid term....and what did i have to do?....you guessed it....infant CPR....and I couldn't. As I held that mannequin and tried to complete the task I couldn't stop thinking about the feel of a real lifeless child in my arms, and the smell of what I would assume was the little girls baby lotion......so I walked out. Sitting on the curb outside the school my instructor came out and sat next to me...he had heard what happened, a lot of people had. He told me I didn't have to do it...I had already done enough. He than began to tell me of a child he had lost once...It's not easy.....and it is by far the shittiest part of the job...but you gotta keep at it.
I had done everything we could of that night...but the final decision wasn't ours to make...but I decided to do this for a reason...and I have to accept the bad with the good.
It wasn't until about 3 or 4 days later that I was actually able to sleep, and that was only out of pure physical and emotional exhaustion. It bothered all 3 of us for some time....it was probably about 2 weeks until I started feeling some what normal, and that was only after the Chief ordered us to take some time off from the station to regroup.
Believe it or not, some good did come out of that horrific night. A policy was put into place that stated anytime there would be a loss of life involving children, the hospital would send over staff and every person involved would attend "Critical incident stress debriefing" to help us to work through it....and after experiencing what I had, I can say thats a good thing. But still....all these years later....this is the one that still, from time to time, wakes me up at night.
I joined early in 1998 and began learning their ways. (every station has a different way of doing things) and I slowly began riding as an "observer" on the ambulance...or as we call them, the "gut bucket" or "the bus." I wouldn't do much except help carry equipment and help get the patient on the stretcher, but eventually I would have to get my EMT and start doing more. So, I signed up for the first class I could. From that point on I would be "learning on the call", doing everything on scene that I was learning in class, from taking blood pressures, assessing respiration's and pulse, and as I would later find out, CPR.
I was a little over half way into my EMT class and had a few calls under my belt, all of them "routine", things like difficulty breathing, minor vehicle accidents and some minor traumas like twisted or broken arms. On night while I was "sleeping up", this is when you actualy sleep at the station, #5 was a busy enough company that they allowed this and actually had live ins, guys that lived at the fire house. Anyway, I was sleeping up this particular night and had gone to bed at around 23:30 (thats 11:30 PM civilian time) I couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour when the house bells went off (the loud ass bells that ring for a call) and someone screamed over the intercom "LETS GO LETS GO LETS GO" Half asleep and sort of confused I stager out of my bunk and head for the slide pole and slide down into the apparatus bays. As I hit the bay floor I hear the ambulance starting up and one of the guys, Rick, yell..."You'll have to do, get your fuckin shit and lets go!"
I rush to my gear and step into my boots, pull up my bunker pants and head for the bus and hop in the back as it starts to pull away. Before I can sit down in the back, the Ambulance makes the right off the aprons (the "drive way" in front of the apparatus bays) and Im thrown onto the stretcher. I begin to pick myself up and we make the turn at the end of the road and I'm thrown onto the bench seat opposite the stretcher. As I finaly get my bearing and get into my seat I notice that we are hauling ass...I mean this fuckin ambulance has wings. I lean forward into the front cab to see Bill driving, which is comforting, He was an excellent wheel man (driver) and to this day he remains one of the best emergency vehicle drivers I have ever ridden with.
He calmly says, "You may wanna put your seatbelt on there slick"
And I ask where the hell are we going and for what.
Rick says, "Mutual aid into the next town and it aint good"
Before I can say anything else, the dispatcher calls us on the radio to inform us that they're giving "pre-arrivals." Pre-arrivals are the instructions on giving CPR. They are given by the dispatcher to the person who called 911.
I ask again whats going on but Im ignored as Rick reads directions from the map book for Bill. By now I can feel the intensity in the air....what ever it is cant be good.
I sit quietly in the back, my mind racing as to what could possibly await us when we arrive on scene. My hear beats so hard I swear I could hear it over the siren and the roar of the motor. My thoughts are finally broken when I hear Rick tell Bill that after he makes the next turn, the house will be the second one on the right.
I again lean forward into the front cab..."Will someone please tell me what the Hell is going on?!!"
Briefly ignored again, Rick explains to Bill the fastest way to get out of were we're going is to bust a "U-ey" but to drop us off before hand. Rick then looks at me and says "Look, this aint no bull shit, its a 7 month old baby in cardiac arrest, we don't have time to fuck around, He's (Bill) gonna drop us off in front of the house, hall ass, grab the kid and get back out here so Bill and I can switch." Bill, was also a Paramedic, with far more training than me as an EMT..
We rounded the last bend, still going what seemed like mach 2 and we pulled up noticing that the local cops had also just arrived and were running into the house with such hast that he didn't even shut his siren off. Bill slows down enough for Rick and I to hop out, and I hit the ground moving. Now I don't know how far it was from the street to the house, but it seemed like i made it in only 2 steps...only Im sure it was farther than that. I burst in the front door with a level of focus I had never experienced to see a young mother, in her 30's holding a lifeless baby girl in her arms, attempting to do CPR, fighting back tears and feelings I cant even begin to fathom.
As the police officer reaches to grab the baby from the woman's arms, he looks at me, I simply says "ambulance" and the lady looks up and turns to hand me the child....."Please.....save my baby..."
Almost as if it were instinct, I quickly but gently grab the child, laying her on on my forearm with her little head in the palm of my hand and I head for the door. At this point Rick was making his way in, saw me coming and held the door open...."Pump and blow man, pump and blow" (ems slang for administering CPR) We head for the bus which Bill already had turned around with the drivers door open, ready and waiting. He was in the back getting the pediatric bag opened and ready (bad full of medical supplies designed specifically for "wee ones") I hear Rick yell up to the officer the name of the hospital we would be going to and hop on the ambulance, sit on the bench seat and continue CPR as bill shuts the back doors and Rich throws it in drive...we're off.
I can remember stopping for a second to catch a quick breath from all the running combined with CPR. I hesitated for a split second more than I wanted because for the first time I actually looked at the child. She was a cute little thing, with a little swirl of hair on top of her head, and beautiful blue eyes that I could barely make out threw her half closed eye lids.
Bill asks me "What the hell are you doing?" referring to my lack of CPR....trying to keep my composure, I simply tell him "checking for a pulse"....but I couldn't feel it....so he reached over....."Yea....its there....but barely...keep doing what your doing, I'll set up the (heart) monitor"
I again place my mouth over the tiny little face and gently blow, watching the chest on this little body slowly rise and fall then follow with chest compressions using only 2 fingers. I swear I repeated this for what seemed like hours. As I look back, the ride to the hospital doesn't seem like it took all that long, and faintly remember Bill calling a report into the hospital, and periodically checking for a pulse, but never really telling me what or if he felt anything. Then before I knew it Rick hollers into the back "We're here" (at the hospital)
The ambulance comes to a stop, the back doors open and in jumps a guy in scrubs who announces himself as Dr. so and so. He politely asks me to stop CPR and begins checking for a pulse....the look on his face tells me that he cant feel anything...so he takes his stethoscope and listens...and with a disappointed look, softly shakes his head "no" followed with, "Lets get her inside"
He takes the baby, steps out and head for the ER doors and I'm right on his heals....they get her into the room a few more Dr's take a look and bill gives them his report.
"How long has she been without a pulse?" they ask
Bill softly answers, "5, maybe 10 minuets, and before that it was very weak"
One of the Dr's lets out a big sigh and says..."thats it....call it"......"time of death, 12:53"
My heart dropped like a stone...and I could feel my eyes starting to well up so i turned and left the room....walked out of the ER. As if what I had just been through wasn't bad enough, as I'm walking out I notice a police car pull up to the ambulance entrance and a woman frantically jump out and run in. She Recognizes me and the person she handed her child off to and trusted to save her daughters life....
"Where is my baby?"
"Room 11" I reply
"How is she?" she then asked...still fighting back an onslaught of tears.
Now I ask you....how do you answer that?.... After having someone hand you their child trusting you will save them and knowing you didn't.....what do you say? To this day I still don't think I know how to answer that, and I sure didn't that night....I just looked at her, and the tears running down my face said enough.
She let out a scream with a feeling of agony I wouldn't wish on anybody, then collapsed to the floor right there inside the ER doors, completely hysterical. The police officer began to comfort her as did the nurses who responded to her scream. I just stood there and began to ball with my face in my hands...and for the split I could muster simply said "I'm sorry" then turned and walked out to the ambulance.
Now as you can probably imagine...I didn't sleep that night, neither did Rick or Bill. As the luck of that night would have it, about a day or two later in EMT class we had the hands on portion of our Mid term....and what did i have to do?....you guessed it....infant CPR....and I couldn't. As I held that mannequin and tried to complete the task I couldn't stop thinking about the feel of a real lifeless child in my arms, and the smell of what I would assume was the little girls baby lotion......so I walked out. Sitting on the curb outside the school my instructor came out and sat next to me...he had heard what happened, a lot of people had. He told me I didn't have to do it...I had already done enough. He than began to tell me of a child he had lost once...It's not easy.....and it is by far the shittiest part of the job...but you gotta keep at it.
I had done everything we could of that night...but the final decision wasn't ours to make...but I decided to do this for a reason...and I have to accept the bad with the good.
It wasn't until about 3 or 4 days later that I was actually able to sleep, and that was only out of pure physical and emotional exhaustion. It bothered all 3 of us for some time....it was probably about 2 weeks until I started feeling some what normal, and that was only after the Chief ordered us to take some time off from the station to regroup.
Believe it or not, some good did come out of that horrific night. A policy was put into place that stated anytime there would be a loss of life involving children, the hospital would send over staff and every person involved would attend "Critical incident stress debriefing" to help us to work through it....and after experiencing what I had, I can say thats a good thing. But still....all these years later....this is the one that still, from time to time, wakes me up at night.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
OK Kid, it's Show Time
As I begun to become more rooted in the fire service, I began taking classes, the first of which was "Junior/Rookie Fire Training" This is the basic of basic fire courses for the probie. It consist of ladders, Hose and SCBA (self contained breathing apparatus....in civilian terms thats the air bottles and mask we wear.) Each subject was broken down into 3 parts wich taught you how to use/work with these tools on scene. It was a good class and my first real "test" at being a fireman.. I had to" trow" (place in if need be extend) ladders, pack & roll what seemed like miles of hose, and learn to operate, understand and use the SCBA, all things you would need to know on to work on scene....I could officially do more than just hit the hydrant.
As the days turned into months, I would attend drill every month to learn new things, I would read the fire magazines that came to the station to learn new techniques. I was on the way to being ready, ready to make my way into a house fire even if it was the guy at the front door flaking hose (laying the hose out at the front door and helping to push the hose into the house for the guys on the nozzle) I had the minimum 3 requirements at my station to be an interior fire fighter, now all I needed was the call.
It was common, when I had free time to spend it at the firehouse. constantly doing something, even if it were just polishing up the engines. And like clockwork, I would stop at the local convenient store and get a drink. One day as I'm paying, i hear it.....it starts as with a loud humming sound and quickly climes to an mistakable scream. It's, the fire whistle, we've all heard one. Only this time it meant something...my heart about jumped out of my chest as I just threw the money at the clerk and took off out the door like a bat out of hell. I raced to the land yacht I was driving at the time then sped the 1/8 of a mile to the fire station. In that short distance, my mind races....I wonder what it is?! Judging from the time of day, it could be an car wreck, or probably that automatic fire alarm we've been running in station 87's area all week. As I pull into the parking lot i notice only 2 other vehicles, and don't sense any real urgency, so my run into the station turns to a jog. As I come through the door I see this older guy with glasses and a cigar standing there with his fire coat under his arm and his white helmet on with this serious yet some what puzzled look on his face. It's Bill, my First Assistant Chief.
Now what you need to understand is when I got into the service, there were guys in the 60's and 70's who were still running calls, especially in your small town volunteer fire departments, usually they would just drive, or make the hydrant connections. But Bill was a little different than them, he had the experience to back up the fact that he was Assistant Chief. Bill was a big part in standardizing formal fire fighter training in the volunteer fire service. Simply put, when it comes to firefighting, this man knows his shit.
I calmly ask bill we're we're going as I hear someone fire up the engine.
"Station 3's area...for a house fire, get on"
I run to my locker and frantically step into my boots, grabbed my coat and helmet and took off for the engine. I hope on and immediately put on my nomex hood (fire retardant hood that covers the head and neck) and my coat then i notice the engine starts moving, and no one else has gotten on the engine. It's just me, Bill in the officers seat (front passanger) and the guy driving was Al. Bill screams at me to start getting ready, so I sit back into the jump seat and begin putting my SCBA on. Now Station 3s area is only about 1/2 mile from the station so no sooner that I get my air pack strapped on we're stopping, and I hear Bill on the radio report heavy smoke showing, followed by Station 3 acknowledging the call....then it hits me.....no one else is in rout yet....it's just us and theres only 3 of us. Now my mind is really racing....how in the hell are we going to do this?!
I make my way off the engine and Bill screams "Stretch that hand line!" So I grab the 200 foot long neatly bundled pile of hose and pull, leaving a 150 foot long pile of spaghetti on the ground at the side of the engine. I frantically take off for the front door and lay the nozzle on the ground on the porch then rush back to untangle the spaghetti I left at the engine. Bill is already there and has it all but completed. He pauses steps over to me and says "OK kid, it's show time, stay low, breath from the floor, hit it hard and don't make me have to come drag your ass out, now get in there and put that fuckin fire out!"
I nod and head for the porch, my heart ready to pound out of my chest, dodging the jumping hose line as it's charged with water and quickly wonder what the hell he meant by "breath from the floor". As I reach the nozzle and neel down next to it and reach for the mask thats hanging around my neck, only it's not there....holy shit!.....i didn't grab the mask when i put my air pack on...oh my god did I fu*k this up....Bills going to kill me. As I turn to look Bill yells "What the hell are you waiting for, get in there" And before as I can tell him about my lack of face piece, it's hits me....breath from the floor.
You see in a fire, there are whats called thermal layers. If you could take a room thats on fire, pause it and cut it in half, you would see different layers in the smoke from the ceiling down to the floor where you will find "fresh(er)" air. Each layer has differnt thicknesses, different looking smoke, and a different teprature, with the ceiling being as high as 1200 degrees F. It's actualy really neat looking...
But that was the key....breath from the floor. The cleanest somewhat smoke free air would be the first few inches above the floor.
I take one deep breath of out side air, grab the knob (nozzle) and start down what to this point in my short fire service career, was the most ominous looking hall way. With rolling dark black and grey smoke from the ceiling down to about 3 or 4 feet off the floor and every so often you'd notice a flash of orange like the tip of the devils sword. Now as I start down the hall way, hunched over a little bit to see under the smoke, and I as I get closer to the room thats burning the heat and smoke start getting lower and lower, slowly forcing me to a crouch. Now when your in and or near the fire room you hear the crackle and hiss of the fire, breaking glass, and the sound of things falling to the floor, but at the same time you could practically hear yourself think.
As I shuffle my feet down the what seemed to be the worlds longest hallway, and a few feet to the door to the fire room, I stumble and fall face first into the wall. As I hit the wall, the nozzle that Im holding at waist height digs into my gut, forcing every bit of breath out of me and pushing the bail forward (the lever on top of the nozzle that turns the water flow on and off) and I get blasted in the face with water, knocking my helmet off. I scramble to shut the bail and try to hold what breath I have left, then get my face as close to the floor as possible to catch my breath. So far, it's not exactly the "ideal" fire attack. But I hold back a few coughs, take another breath and turn for the fire room to see one of the most amazing sights. The fire room, was roughly 14 ft by 16 ft and appeared to be a living room, with a couch on the opposite side of the room fully engulfed in flames along with just about everything around it. The radiant heat hits my face and kinda duck away andI hurry to pull my hood up as far as possible and fold down my face shield to protect myself from getting burned. I get set on my feet and open the nozzle up point it at the ceiling and draw a "Z" from the ceiling down across the fire to the floor, just like everyone had told me. The room begins to darken down and and the fire begins to hiss and crackle louder at me, almost as if I pissed it off. Then this cloud of steam filled smoke hits me, and I burry my face in the crook of my elbow to protect my face but my ears begin to burn in a pain that was best described by a friend as "a hundred bee's stinging you in the same spot at the same time" ....god it hurts like hell. I try and hold out but I'm starting to feel like it might be time to get the hell out when I hear this loud crash of glass. I peak out of my arm to see that someone had broken out the window from the outside pulling the heat, steam and smoke away from me. I notice a silhouette standing in the smoke filled sunlight. It's Bill who hollers "You alright kid?"
I give him a quick nod yes and he continues "Good!, now finish putting that out, then let the guys from 3 clean it up"
I open the nozzle back up for a few short minuets, working my way closer to what ,was the "heart" of the fire, blasting anything the even remotely looks like it's on fire. Then I shut off the bail, and look over to the window at Bill who tells me to leave the line there and come on out.
On the way out, I notice things I had walked right past and didn't even see on the way in, like a set of stairs leading to the upper floor and i notice that the mile long hallway I forced myself down a few minuets earlier wasn't more than maybe 15 ft long. I continue to make my way out passing a few guys from Engine 3 rushing to get to the fire room to mop up what was left. Bill greats me at the front door, and with a grin says "You alright kid?...you look like shit."
I simply nodded yes because by now the coughing that I had been fighting back had caught up to me and I feel as if I was going to hack a lung up right there on the porch. It feels like what you get with a nasty chest cold, you know, that kind of burning and scratchy feeling when you cough. And the boogers....holy hell.....you wouldn't think that the human nose could contain so much mucus. And all of it black with soot and smoke. On top of all of that lovely stuff there's the headache you get, not to mention your ears are still stinging.....but when you step outside and start taking all the gear off...the outside air feels so cool and even in the 80 degree heat steam pours off your body.
I make my way over to the engine, Bill hands me a bottle of water and says, "Well kid, you finally got your cherry popped.....hows it feel?"
I was so physically spent, it was all I could do to give him the biggest grin, and to some one like him who's practically written the book on how to do it, the look on my face says it all.
"You did good kid......you did good"
I had made it...I had officially been baptized into the world of Old man Fire....I had taken on the beast and won....and I did it by my self...with the help of one of the best "coaches" I could have ever asked for. I was officially a fire fighter.....as my career continued I would realize there's a lot more to it, but for now, I was on top of the world.
As the days turned into months, I would attend drill every month to learn new things, I would read the fire magazines that came to the station to learn new techniques. I was on the way to being ready, ready to make my way into a house fire even if it was the guy at the front door flaking hose (laying the hose out at the front door and helping to push the hose into the house for the guys on the nozzle) I had the minimum 3 requirements at my station to be an interior fire fighter, now all I needed was the call.
It was common, when I had free time to spend it at the firehouse. constantly doing something, even if it were just polishing up the engines. And like clockwork, I would stop at the local convenient store and get a drink. One day as I'm paying, i hear it.....it starts as with a loud humming sound and quickly climes to an mistakable scream. It's, the fire whistle, we've all heard one. Only this time it meant something...my heart about jumped out of my chest as I just threw the money at the clerk and took off out the door like a bat out of hell. I raced to the land yacht I was driving at the time then sped the 1/8 of a mile to the fire station. In that short distance, my mind races....I wonder what it is?! Judging from the time of day, it could be an car wreck, or probably that automatic fire alarm we've been running in station 87's area all week. As I pull into the parking lot i notice only 2 other vehicles, and don't sense any real urgency, so my run into the station turns to a jog. As I come through the door I see this older guy with glasses and a cigar standing there with his fire coat under his arm and his white helmet on with this serious yet some what puzzled look on his face. It's Bill, my First Assistant Chief.
Now what you need to understand is when I got into the service, there were guys in the 60's and 70's who were still running calls, especially in your small town volunteer fire departments, usually they would just drive, or make the hydrant connections. But Bill was a little different than them, he had the experience to back up the fact that he was Assistant Chief. Bill was a big part in standardizing formal fire fighter training in the volunteer fire service. Simply put, when it comes to firefighting, this man knows his shit.
I calmly ask bill we're we're going as I hear someone fire up the engine.
"Station 3's area...for a house fire, get on"
I run to my locker and frantically step into my boots, grabbed my coat and helmet and took off for the engine. I hope on and immediately put on my nomex hood (fire retardant hood that covers the head and neck) and my coat then i notice the engine starts moving, and no one else has gotten on the engine. It's just me, Bill in the officers seat (front passanger) and the guy driving was Al. Bill screams at me to start getting ready, so I sit back into the jump seat and begin putting my SCBA on. Now Station 3s area is only about 1/2 mile from the station so no sooner that I get my air pack strapped on we're stopping, and I hear Bill on the radio report heavy smoke showing, followed by Station 3 acknowledging the call....then it hits me.....no one else is in rout yet....it's just us and theres only 3 of us. Now my mind is really racing....how in the hell are we going to do this?!
I make my way off the engine and Bill screams "Stretch that hand line!" So I grab the 200 foot long neatly bundled pile of hose and pull, leaving a 150 foot long pile of spaghetti on the ground at the side of the engine. I frantically take off for the front door and lay the nozzle on the ground on the porch then rush back to untangle the spaghetti I left at the engine. Bill is already there and has it all but completed. He pauses steps over to me and says "OK kid, it's show time, stay low, breath from the floor, hit it hard and don't make me have to come drag your ass out, now get in there and put that fuckin fire out!"
I nod and head for the porch, my heart ready to pound out of my chest, dodging the jumping hose line as it's charged with water and quickly wonder what the hell he meant by "breath from the floor". As I reach the nozzle and neel down next to it and reach for the mask thats hanging around my neck, only it's not there....holy shit!.....i didn't grab the mask when i put my air pack on...oh my god did I fu*k this up....Bills going to kill me. As I turn to look Bill yells "What the hell are you waiting for, get in there" And before as I can tell him about my lack of face piece, it's hits me....breath from the floor.
You see in a fire, there are whats called thermal layers. If you could take a room thats on fire, pause it and cut it in half, you would see different layers in the smoke from the ceiling down to the floor where you will find "fresh(er)" air. Each layer has differnt thicknesses, different looking smoke, and a different teprature, with the ceiling being as high as 1200 degrees F. It's actualy really neat looking...
But that was the key....breath from the floor. The cleanest somewhat smoke free air would be the first few inches above the floor.
I take one deep breath of out side air, grab the knob (nozzle) and start down what to this point in my short fire service career, was the most ominous looking hall way. With rolling dark black and grey smoke from the ceiling down to about 3 or 4 feet off the floor and every so often you'd notice a flash of orange like the tip of the devils sword. Now as I start down the hall way, hunched over a little bit to see under the smoke, and I as I get closer to the room thats burning the heat and smoke start getting lower and lower, slowly forcing me to a crouch. Now when your in and or near the fire room you hear the crackle and hiss of the fire, breaking glass, and the sound of things falling to the floor, but at the same time you could practically hear yourself think.
As I shuffle my feet down the what seemed to be the worlds longest hallway, and a few feet to the door to the fire room, I stumble and fall face first into the wall. As I hit the wall, the nozzle that Im holding at waist height digs into my gut, forcing every bit of breath out of me and pushing the bail forward (the lever on top of the nozzle that turns the water flow on and off) and I get blasted in the face with water, knocking my helmet off. I scramble to shut the bail and try to hold what breath I have left, then get my face as close to the floor as possible to catch my breath. So far, it's not exactly the "ideal" fire attack. But I hold back a few coughs, take another breath and turn for the fire room to see one of the most amazing sights. The fire room, was roughly 14 ft by 16 ft and appeared to be a living room, with a couch on the opposite side of the room fully engulfed in flames along with just about everything around it. The radiant heat hits my face and kinda duck away andI hurry to pull my hood up as far as possible and fold down my face shield to protect myself from getting burned. I get set on my feet and open the nozzle up point it at the ceiling and draw a "Z" from the ceiling down across the fire to the floor, just like everyone had told me. The room begins to darken down and and the fire begins to hiss and crackle louder at me, almost as if I pissed it off. Then this cloud of steam filled smoke hits me, and I burry my face in the crook of my elbow to protect my face but my ears begin to burn in a pain that was best described by a friend as "a hundred bee's stinging you in the same spot at the same time" ....god it hurts like hell. I try and hold out but I'm starting to feel like it might be time to get the hell out when I hear this loud crash of glass. I peak out of my arm to see that someone had broken out the window from the outside pulling the heat, steam and smoke away from me. I notice a silhouette standing in the smoke filled sunlight. It's Bill who hollers "You alright kid?"
I give him a quick nod yes and he continues "Good!, now finish putting that out, then let the guys from 3 clean it up"
I open the nozzle back up for a few short minuets, working my way closer to what ,was the "heart" of the fire, blasting anything the even remotely looks like it's on fire. Then I shut off the bail, and look over to the window at Bill who tells me to leave the line there and come on out.
On the way out, I notice things I had walked right past and didn't even see on the way in, like a set of stairs leading to the upper floor and i notice that the mile long hallway I forced myself down a few minuets earlier wasn't more than maybe 15 ft long. I continue to make my way out passing a few guys from Engine 3 rushing to get to the fire room to mop up what was left. Bill greats me at the front door, and with a grin says "You alright kid?...you look like shit."
I simply nodded yes because by now the coughing that I had been fighting back had caught up to me and I feel as if I was going to hack a lung up right there on the porch. It feels like what you get with a nasty chest cold, you know, that kind of burning and scratchy feeling when you cough. And the boogers....holy hell.....you wouldn't think that the human nose could contain so much mucus. And all of it black with soot and smoke. On top of all of that lovely stuff there's the headache you get, not to mention your ears are still stinging.....but when you step outside and start taking all the gear off...the outside air feels so cool and even in the 80 degree heat steam pours off your body.
I make my way over to the engine, Bill hands me a bottle of water and says, "Well kid, you finally got your cherry popped.....hows it feel?"
I was so physically spent, it was all I could do to give him the biggest grin, and to some one like him who's practically written the book on how to do it, the look on my face says it all.
"You did good kid......you did good"
I had made it...I had officially been baptized into the world of Old man Fire....I had taken on the beast and won....and I did it by my self...with the help of one of the best "coaches" I could have ever asked for. I was officially a fire fighter.....as my career continued I would realize there's a lot more to it, but for now, I was on top of the world.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
The Childhood Dream
Every man can remember when they were a boy wanting at some point in their life to be a fireman. Sliding the pole, riding on the big red fire truck racing through traffic, and getting there just in time to save the day. I have met a lot of adults who secretly deep inside wanted to ride the fire truck with the kids when it shows up at a birthday party. And why wouldn't you....after all when you were young they were one of the coolest things in the world....but As little boys grow, life starts taking shape and we tend to loose sight of the little dreams we had as children. For some boys it was an "army guy" others, a police officer, for me, it was a fireman.
It wasn't until somewhere in my junior year of high school that I decided to give that dream a shot and joined the local volunteer fire department, Engine Company 13. At the time, it seemed pretty cool and hey, why not at least Im doing something good, Little did I know that it would become not just a hobby, but a life style.
For someone young and new in the fire service, or a "probie" (probationary fireman) as their called in the service, there is a lot to learn. From dispatch and radio communications, to LDH (large diameter hose) and SCBA's (self contained breathing apparatus). It doesn't take long to realize there is a whole lot more to it than just "put the wet stuff on the red stuff". So you study tool locations on the rigs,hang out at the station waiting for that fire whistle to blow, working on the rigs or what ever you can to help out. Then after you get a taste of firefighting and you decide that this is in fact what you want to do. It is at this point you accept the fact that at some point you are going to see first hand the worst life has to offer, only you have no idea exactly how bad that is, you know that there will be late nights followed by long days at work and you know that from here on out, there will be missed birthdays, missed anniversaries, missed holidays and a host of other important dates in your life that you will miss and never get back. Basically, when you become a firefighter, you agree to give up part of your life that you haven't even lived yet.
It wasn't until somewhere in my junior year of high school that I decided to give that dream a shot and joined the local volunteer fire department, Engine Company 13. At the time, it seemed pretty cool and hey, why not at least Im doing something good, Little did I know that it would become not just a hobby, but a life style.
For someone young and new in the fire service, or a "probie" (probationary fireman) as their called in the service, there is a lot to learn. From dispatch and radio communications, to LDH (large diameter hose) and SCBA's (self contained breathing apparatus). It doesn't take long to realize there is a whole lot more to it than just "put the wet stuff on the red stuff". So you study tool locations on the rigs,hang out at the station waiting for that fire whistle to blow, working on the rigs or what ever you can to help out. Then after you get a taste of firefighting and you decide that this is in fact what you want to do. It is at this point you accept the fact that at some point you are going to see first hand the worst life has to offer, only you have no idea exactly how bad that is, you know that there will be late nights followed by long days at work and you know that from here on out, there will be missed birthdays, missed anniversaries, missed holidays and a host of other important dates in your life that you will miss and never get back. Basically, when you become a firefighter, you agree to give up part of your life that you haven't even lived yet.
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