I
Wish You Could
I wish you could see the
sadness of a business man as his livelihood goes up in flames
or that family returning home, only to find their house and belongings
damaged or destroyed.
I wish you could know what it is
to search a burning bedroom for trapped children, flames rolling
above your head, your palms and knees burning as you crawl, the
floor sagging under your weight as the kitchen beneath you burns.
I wish you could comprehend a wife's
horror at 3 A.M. as I check her husband of forty years for a
pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping against hope
to bring him back, knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting
his wife and family to know everything possible was done.
I wish you could know the unique
smell of burning insulation or the taste of soot-filled mucus,
the feeling of intense heat through your turnout gear, the sound
of flames crackling, and the eeriness of being able to see absolutely
nothing in dense smoke, "sensations that I have become all
too familiar with."
I wish you could understand
how it feels to go to school in the morning after having spent
most of the night, hot and soaking wet at a multiple alarm fire.
I wish you could read my
mind as I respond to a building fire, "Is this a false alarm
or a working, breathing fire? How is the building constructed?
What hazards await me? Is anyone trapped?" or to an EMS
call, "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 2x4 or a gun?"
I wish you could be in the
emergency room, as the doctor pronounces dead the beautiful little
five-year old girl that I have been trying to save during the
past twenty-five minutes, who will never go on her first date
or say the words, "I love you Mommy!", again.
I wish you could know the
frustration I feel in the cab of the engine, 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 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 read my
thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teenage years from the
mangled remains of her automobile, "What if this were my
sister, my girlfriend, or a friend? What were her parents' reactions
going to be as they open the door to find a police officer, 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 you nearly did not come
home from this last call.
I wish you could feel my
hurt as people verbally, and sometimes physically, abuse us or
belittle what I 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 viewed.
I wish you could know the
brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping save a life or preserving
someone's property, of being there in times of crisis, or creating
order from total CHAOS.
I wish you could understand
what it feels like to have a little boy tugging on your arm and
asking, "Is my mommy o.k.?" Not even being able to
look in his eyes without tears falling from your own and not
knowing what to say. Or to have held back a long-time friend
who watches his buddy having rescue breathing done on him as
they take him away in the ambulance. You knowing all along he
did not have his seat belt on--sensations that have become too
familiar.
Unless you have lived this
kind of life, you will never truly understand or appreciate who
I am, what we are, or what our job really means to us.
I WISH YOU COULD!
---author unknown