Disposable Society

A mid-afternoon call into an area two stations away. A T/C, auto versus pedestrian, in front of a school. As the call was a good distance away, dispatch requested and received an engine from a neighboring department. While en-route, we fired up the UHF radio and listened to the mutual aid engine arrive on scene and give a report on conditions to their dispatch.

"Dispatch, engine 4 on scene, we have one patient on the ground being tended to by locals. Appears to be moderate injuries."

That was somewhat of a relief to us. The mutual aid engine was an ALS engine, they should have had things well in hand by the time we arrived. I was sure that we would assist them in loading for transport and that would be it.

Imagine my surprise four minutes later as I saw the mutual aid crew performing CPR on a teenager, as a large crowd of high school students watched.

We dismounted and assisted CFD Engine 4 with establishing a line, CPR and spinal precautions. After a long wait, the ambulance arrived and we loaded the patient. Two of our people went with the patient to the hospital to assist with CPR.

I released the mutual aid engine but didn't ask what happened between "moderate injuries" and full arrest.. My engineer and I made the 30 minute drive to the trauma center to pick up our people. My engineer and I discussed the call and wondered what had transpired, both with the accident and the early part of the call.

The next morning, we read in the paper that our patient was a resident at a local group home for abused and troubled kids, ones who for a number of reasons, can no longer live in their home environment. According to the local rags, our patient ran out into the street in front of the car; the driver having no time to swerve or stop.

Later that afternoon, I drove by the accident site after picking my kids up from a nearby school. A small cross marked the spot, some pictures and stuffed animals placed there to honor our patient. Although the shrine was not as large or as elaborate as many that I have seen, I felt relieved knowing that someone cared enough to make the effort. I know how difficult it is for kids who are "in the system" or wards of the state to make friends and be accepted.

I wonder if our patient was missed by family members when the tragedy became known. The group home where our patient lived is operated by a company with numerous small facilities in several counties. Did any of the staff mourn the loss or was the event viewed as another vacancy to fill.

It is somewhat hypocritical of me to ask these questions. Although I want to know the answers, I don't want to make the emotional investment to be part of a solution for kids with these kinds of issues. To me, it seems as these kids are a by-product of a situation where the people who should have put the kid's needs above their own didn't. In short, they are disposable.

Thanks for reading,
Schmoe

Then and Now

While unloading my truck at work yesterday morning, I was thinking about how I used to be able to bungee cord my Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) to my Honda CB700SC motorcycle and pull a day half at another station.

I didn't have the room for my bedding, spare uniforms or shaving kit, so I if got lucky and caught a full shift, I would ask the saint that I am married to to bring that stuff by the station after she got off of work.

I didn't even own a gear bag until 1990 or so. I didn't need one. I now have two. Lets take a look and see how much stuff I have picked up over the years.

This was the extent of PPE I carried in the eighties. Note how well my brush coat and pants roll up and fit into my boots and how the helmet strap goes around the coat. No mask or fire shelter, those were shared. My coat also held a 2-cell flashlight and one pair of fire-craft gloves. Carrying your PPE like this made it easier to keep track of when riding on the tailboard, it was less likely to fall off.

The two bags of PPE I carry now. The green one is for my wild-land PPE, the red for everything else. There wouldn't be room on the tailboard for two firefighters and four bags.

 

 

The contents of my PPE bags. All of this stuff was issued to me by my agency. Additions include a brush helmet, brush boots, brush gloves, web gear, fire shelter and helmet lantern. Oh yes, I almost forgot my special long sleeve t-shirt.

An EMS bag including eye and splash protection, N95 mask and latex gloves has been added as has my own SCBA mask and flash hood. Note the three pairs of gloves, one for structure fires and rescues, one for wildland fires and a pair of work gloves.

My personal favorite is the traffic safety vest. What a waste. I am lucky however, as the Kinda Big FPD usually buys decent quality stuff. I just wish they would a porter to wash it and haul it around for me.

Cell-Phones

I really don't like it when I pull up on scene and see our patients talking on their phones. When this happens, I can usually count on anywhere from two to ten more people showing up on scene within a few minutes. Besides getting in the way, confusing my patient and offering useless and inaccurate advice, they often get offended when they are asked to keep back out of the way. Sometimes, this entourage beats us on scene.

Every once in a while, someone shows up who performs a useful function such as interpreting or taking custody of a child or pet. This is rare however. There is nothing you can really do about this, except maintain scene control and remember that the whole family is watching and often video taping.

Ahh, the miracles of modern technology.

Thanks for reading.

Strangers in their own land.

The doorbell rang at work the other day. As I was in the office, I answered the door. The visitor happened to be Ricardo, a retired firefighter from my agency. I hadn't seen Ricardo in four or five years. He looked great, retirement apparently is agreeing with him quite well.

Ricardo was in the neighborhood on business and thought he would stop by. He had heard that I worked at this station. Ricardo and I had worked together at the Big House of Pain for quite a few years. One summer, I went on vacation and returned to find that Ricardo had retired, he had enough and was done.

I asked Ricardo into the station and gave him the tour. I introduced him to the rest of the crew, only one of whom was on the job when Ricardo pulled the pin.

Later, we went into the kitchen and had a cup of coffee. Ricardo admitted to me that he was reluctant to drop by, as he was afraid the entire crew would be new enough that he wouldn't know them.

I have seen that happen. One morning at a district HQ, the doorbell rang and a gentleman in his seventies was standing at the door. He introduced himself as retired Captain So and So. I recognized the name, but I came on the job on after he had retired. I asked him in and showed him around. He didn't recognize the building that he spent so much of his career in, as it had been remodeled several times over the years. Our conversation was pleasant enough, but I could tell that he wasn't really there to chat with me. He was looking for something that I wasn't able to give him. Maybe a link to his past, a familiar face, I didn't know.

After fifteen minutes or so, I glanced at my watch and realized that we had an appointment to inspect  an apartment complex. Now, I began to feel anxious as I didn't want to blow off this man  who contributed thirty plus years to my beloved agency. Yet, I had an appointment to keep. One that I had spent a considerable amount of time and effort to arrange. I was really torn and was trying to figure out a graceful solution when, out of the blue, a reprieve was granted to me.

The doorbell rang again. This time, there was another gentleman standing at the door. He turned out to be an engineer from our agency who had retired long before I had come on. I didn't recognize his name, but my first visitor did. Apparently they had worked together at some point during their careers. It was old home week at the big house of pain. They were both extremely happy to see each other and hugged like long lost cousins at a family reunion.

As I watched these two old veterans converse, I saw the look of happiness on their faces. I understood that my first visitor had found what he came here for. I also realized that although we shared the honor of working at the Kinda Big Fire Protection District - the culture, people and experience was entirely different for them than it is for me. The bond they shared was much stronger than wearing the same badge or patch, it was the bond of sharing a life.

My time issue was now acute. I did the only civilized thing I could do. I led them upstairs to the kitchen, made sure the boot had a fresh pot of coffee on the Bunn-o-Matic and told these old dragon slayers to make themselves at home. I explained that we had an appointment to keep and told them to stay as long as they like.

The last I saw them, they were seated at the table talking it up. We did the inspection, ran a call or two, then came back to the barn. They were gone when we returned. I hope they had a nice visit and that they keep in touch.

Ricardo's fear of not being recognized and the old dragon slayers chance reunion remind me that my time with the K.B.F.P.D. is just a small segment of our agency's history. There will be a time when every member of the district will have never met me, likely never heard of me. Hopefully, I will live long enough to see it.


After Ricardo finished his coffee, it was time for him to go. We promised to keep in touch. I hope to have breakfast with him occasionally. I don't want to wait for a chance encounter at the Big House of Pain to see him again.

Thanks for reading,
Schmoe