Because I Can… the random thoughts of Marc Scott

One of the most common questions I’m asked when people find out I’m a Firefighter, besides “have you rescued a cat,” (refer to this blog No Glove… No Love!) is, “is there a pole in your fire station?”

The answer to that question, sadly, is no.  As much as I wish there was, and as much fun as it would be to slide down it each time a call comes in, that isn’t how it works in a volunteer station.  I carry a pager.  I could be anywhere, doing anything when the call comes in.  I’ve had to get up and leave in the middle of a haircut.  I’ve had to leave in the middle of church.  I’ve run out of family dinners, grocery shopping, and the shower.  Often, I get woke up in the middle of the night.  When you do this volunteer, you’re on call 24/7.

Today I was on the couch.  A relaxing Sunday afternoon.  I was planning on getting in a good power nap during the NASCAR Pre-Race Show and waking up just in time for the green flag.  My plan was right on track too.  I was sound asleep, not more than 5 minutes into a solid slumber when the pager went off.  As is my routine, I grab my pager, grab my wallet, grab my keys, and start running to the fire hall.  Thankfully, I don’t live far away  It would be pretty embarrassing to be winded from the run to the hall and not have enough energy left to get on the truck!

I’ve recently lost about 20lbs.  I’ve worked hard at it.  I didn’t necessarily need to lose a lot of weight as much as I needed to bring some of what I had under control.  Being a single guy, I have come to understand that the ladies aren’t necessarily attracted to large flaps of skin hanging over your belt.  That’s not to say that some don’t love it.  I’m sure they do.  It would just seem they are the minority!

With this in mind, and the hopes of getting myself into shape; a shape other than a pear, I started working out.  It’s really been working too.  In fact, I recently had to go out and buy all new jeans a size smaller.

Splash pants are the wardrobe of choice on lazy Sunday afternoons.  Comfy, loose, perfect.  Today I was wearing a pair I haven’t had on in a while.  For sleeping on the couch, they fit great.  For running to the fire hall, as I came to learn, perhaps not so much.

My wallet is heavy.  Not because it’s filled with cash mind you.  It’s just a big, bulky wallet.  It’s a guy thing I think.  All guys seem to have thick, ridiculous wallets.  With mine in my back pocket, and my newly shrunk waist, I made it almost to the end of the hallway in my apartment building before my pants were halfway to my ankles!

Moments like these are funny, if your perspective in life is to laugh at the stupid things.  Of course, the amount of humor involved is usually dictated by the size of the audience in view.  No audience… very funny.  Audience… very embarrassing!

I came through the door to the stairwell at a slowed pace.  My left hand, outstretched to open the door.  My right hand, reaching for the waist of my pants, holding on for dear life and reefing them back into position.  At the same moment as I came through the door, an elderly lady was stepping off the flight of stairs on the other side.

I assure you that I was not getting fresh with her.  Single or not… I have morals and standards that I daily try to uphold.  Dropping my drawers for senior citizens does not fall into either of those categories.  So my intention was never for this poor dear to see, and inform me, that my boxers were blue!  All I can say is I hope she enjoyed the show, and as a result, I hope she doesn’t sue!

I’m glad I lost my 20lbs.  But next time, I’m tying the drawstring!

I don’t recall to many of my birthday’s.  There have been 30.  For many of them I was working and they simply passed as any other day.  Time marches on, the calendar turns a page.  It’s of little importance to me.  Certainly everyone remembers their 16th, or at least those of us in Ontario do.  That was the day I went and got my Learner’s Permit to be able to drive.

I remember my 30th.  It was only a few months ago.  I slept in half the day, woke up, baked myself a cake, and then ate it while watching Fred & Ginger movies on the couch.  That was a pretty solid day.  I should note, that while I did indeed eat the whole cake, I didn’t eat it all that day.  I tried to pace myself a little.  I’m not a complete glutton.

Perhaps, though, the most memorable of all was my 22.  In the week leading up to, and following my 22nd birthday, I got the greatest gift I could’ve hoped for.  Two days before my 22nd birthday, I got accepted onto the Fire Department.  It was an opportunity I had worked and waited for, for three years.  No better gift could I have received.

I was sitting in my room one night, I still lived with Dad at the time, watching TV.  I don’t recall what I was watching, it was probably nothing great.  In the midst of the show a thundering bang echoed through the chambers of the upstairs hallway.  Dad was beating on the wall.  He is not a crazed lunatic, it was just the easiest way for him to get my attention when I was watching TV.

I came to the top of the stairs to find out what he wanted and he told me to get dressed and get ready.  The Fire Station in the neighbouring town had just been paged out for a structure fire and it was more than likely that we were getting called in next.  This was going to be it.  My first structure fire!  Much of what took place in the moments that followed is a blur to me.

Dad and I responded to our Station; he is now retired, but served for 33 years.  We geared up, got in the Pump and we were on our way.  My first structure fire… holy crap!

We arrived on the scene of a large fire which had spread among a barn and some greenhouses.  The guys that were with us were dropped off at the scene and Dad and I were instructed to take the Pump one concession south.  Our job was to fill Tankers from small creek that ran nearby.  Part of me couldn’t believe I was driving away from the action, although, being a rookie, I understood.  The other part of me was riding in a Fire Truck with Dad; and this time not just in a parade!

We went and got set up, and what took place next made me want to cry.  Something inside our Pump broke.  As a result, we couldn’t fill Tankers and there was no use for us to be on scene.  The truck needed to be returned to the hall and we needed to find a way to fix it.  Now, not only had I driven away from the flames, but I was about to drive away from the scene entirely!  This was NOT how I saw my first structure fire going!

Once we were back at the hall, I probably moped around and whined a bit, I don’t recall for sure, but that is likely what I did.  Guys worked at trying to diagnose and repair the problem with the Pump.  Then it happened.  A second chance!  One of the Officers pulled up and offered to take me back to the scene with him. Thank you Captain Mitchell!!!

Much time had passed when we returned to the scene.  The bulk of the fire was knocked down, but I didn’t care.  I was still there, and this time around, I was going to play.  I was assigned to a sector and an officer, and, being the Probie, I was given instructions to stay close by and not doing anything stupid.  I agreed to comply.  I would’ve agreed to anything at that point!  I just wanted to get my gear dirty!  Little did I know how dirty it was about to become!

I was assigned to run a deluge gun.  It’s a master stream device that delivers a lot of water in a hurry.  My objective, keep the hydraulic lines of an excavator tearing apart the wreckage of the structure cool.  It seemed easy enough.  All I cared about was in that moment, I become a Firefighter!

I spent hours, I don’t even recall how many, standing knee deep in a manure pile, in the middle of a torrential rain and lightning storm, thinking if lightning strikes and I’m working this deluge gun, I’m going to die.  I didn’t rescue any children.  I didn’t run into a burning building.  I did nothing heroic, nothing like you’ve seen in the movies.  I just waded through a heap of crap and sprayed some water.  Yet, it was the greatest birthday I’ve had yet!

I was talking with someone the other day about the Fire Department.  More specifically, they were asking me about some of my stories.  Having been on for 9 years now, I’ve got a few stories to tell.  They cover the spectrum as well.  The good to the bad, the happy to the sad, the intense to the downright hilarious.

I recall one particular day when a call came in for “a tractor over the embankment, man trapped.”  Living along the north shore of Lake Erie, it was easy enough to imagine such an event.  Many of the houses on the lakeshore had steep drops to the water and sand below.

As we geared up in the back of the truck, responding to the scene, we began to discuss strategies.  Really, we had very little info to go on.  A tractor, for example, could be a lot of different things.  There are a number of farms along the lake, then there is always construction equipment such as a front end loader.  It was kind of hard to plan without knowing exactly what we were about to face.

While you’re riding, you begin to prepare yourself mentally, and physically, or at least, I do.  I start to think about what I may see, what I may hear, what sort of obstacles I may face.  I think about equipment, training, operating procedures and possible unknowns as well.  I want to be ready for anything.  On a call like this, the reality is, what we could potentially face could be unpleasant.  Simply take a moment to reflect on the dispatch.  ”Tractor over the embankment, man trapped.”  It doesn’t take long to start visualizing potential scenes.

When we pulled up to the address, what we faced wasn’t even remotely close to what we were preparing for.  We found a gentleman, sitting in a lawn chair, drinking a beer with his buddy.  He was mowing his lawn, got a little to close to the edge, and rolled his riding lawn mower, which ultimately landed on his leg.  I think it’s safe to say that we all simultaneously breathed a great sigh of relief, and then had a good laugh!

As I thought about this call, I couldn’t help but think about communication in general, and how easy it can be to lose messages and meaning in interpretation.  How many times have you sent somebody an email, wrote on somebody’s Facebook wall, or sent somebody a text message and had them take it entirely the wrong way?

It’s amazing what a difference traditional communication can make over digital at times.  A facial expression can convey a feeling.  Vocal inflection can articulate a meaning.  A laugh, or a tear can reveal an emotion.  All of these things can be lost, or missed, in many forms of digital communication.

It’s ironic, to me, how much I rely on digital communication, and, how comfortable I’ve become with it.  As somebody who makes a living communicating with his voice, who better than I, to understand the limitations of an email or a text message over a phone call or a face to face conversation.  Communication is what I do.  Delivering messages, expressing emotion, painting visual pictures through the thoughtful craftsmanship of words and inflection.

I’ve often wondered even with my little blogs, how differently they would be received by you if I were to post them as podcast, versus posting them as text.  If you could actually hear me tell the story, would it mean something different to you?  I suspect that it would.

I’ve recently met somebody who is encouraging me, whether they are aware of it or not, to expand my borders of communication.  I’ve always been content, and comfortable, to send an email.  There is certainly something to be said about the convenience of a text or a “tweet” or a Facebook post.  That being said, there is truly something more personal and meaningful about a phone call.

If I were to be perfectly honest, there is a romance about it.  I liken it to the difference between a handwritten letter and a typed one.  The time and care that goes into a handwritten letter speaks a message of it’s own that goes beyond the words penned.  In the same way, the way you speak, the words you choose, the manner in which you articulate, in a conversation brings about a life that would otherwise be lost on paper.

The next time you plan to make contact with friend or family, I’d like to encourage to turn off the computer and pick up the phone.  If time and distance permit, pay them a visit.  Meet somewhere for coffee.  Have a conversation with them where you can walk away knowing that nothing got lost in translation.

When people find out that I’m a Volunteer Firefighter, almost like clockwork, I am asked two questions.  The first is whether or not I have ever saved a cat.  The answer is, I have. (Refer to this post No Glove… No Love!) for more on that.  The second is an inquiry as to the most difficult thing I’ve seen or done.

I’ve always wondered about this second question.  Is it a simple curiosity that brings it out?  Or, perhaps, is it more about understanding the challenges that we, as Firefighters, can face on any given day?  Certainly I have stories I could tell.  But 2 stand out for me in particular, and neither are quite what you’d expect.

Generally, when a Firefighter talks about the most difficult thing they’ve seen or done it involves a graphic scene from a motor vehicle collision, or it involves something with a small child.  I’ve done calls involving both.  The story I’ll share today involves the latter, a child.  But not necessarily in the manner you might expect.

It was only a couple of months ago.  It’s a day I’ll never forgot.  A Saturday in the Fall, October to be exact.  I was still in bed, sound asleep.  I had to work on this particular Saturday, but it was still early.  My alarm clock was still silent and would be for nearly another 2 hours.

The pager woke me, as it does many mornings.  As I sprang from bed, and shook the grogginess from my head, I listened intently to the details being dispatched.  I grabbed my pants, looked for the tag, and put them on.  When I’m awoke from a good sleep by the pager, it’s not uncommon for me to dress myself backwards.  That’s not usually a big deal until you have to go to the bathroom!  I pulled my shirt over my head, moved towards the door, stepped into my shoes, grabbed my wallet, keys, and a hat, and I was off.

I live the closest to the fire hall.  In fact, I could practically spit out my bedroom window and hit the side of the building.  It was a cool morning.  I ran down the stairs from my building in a t-shirt, and hurried up the street to the hall.  As usual, I was the first to the hall.  I stepped inside, hit the button for the automatic bay doors, continued to my locker and started climbing into my gear.

The call was a medical, ambulance needed an assist with the lift.  This is a pretty common thing for us.  Many times there are stairs to deal with, or some other obstacle or challenge to safely getting the patient to the bus, so we are called to lend a couple extra pairs of hands.  It’s pretty routine.  This particular morning, so we’d soon find out, it was anything but routine.

Arriving on scene, we climbed from the back of the truck and were met by a Paramedic who informed us the patient had gone VSA, or, vital signs absent.  Almost as if on cue, all of us immediately doubled our pace.  As I quickly made my way into the house I walked past a man in panic, I would assume the husband, and a little girl, no more than about 7 or 8, running back and forth unsure of what was happening.

I knelt down at the woman’s head and assisted the medic in the room with CPR efforts while two other firefighters prepared a way to remove her.  The woman had received 3 shocks from a defibrillator, and in all honesty, at this point it seemed our efforts, no matter how noble, were futile.

We placed the woman on a backboard, strapped her in, and 4 of us carried her through the maze of hallways and obstacles of furniture, past a husband with tears in his eyes and fear in his heart.

When I’m in the midst of a call like this my training takes over.  I’m emotionless as a robot and focused solely on the task at hand.  We got the patient down the stairs and to the driveway where we placed her on the stretcher and loaded her in the ambulance.

Once I got in the back of the truck though, I took a moment to process what I just experienced.  A husband about to lose a wife.  A girl, so young and precious, about to lose her mommy.  A family waking up to tragedy when they should have been waking up to Lucky Charms and Saturday morning cartoons.

In my adult life I have cried 1 time.  But as I’ve got older, my heart has grown softer, and tears seem to be coming easier to me.  I’ve seemingly developed greater emotion, a new found tenderness.  I find myself with a  softness and gentleness you might expect in a newly blessed daddy, and a compassion unlike anything I’ve known.

In the back of the truck, returning to the hall, tears welled up in my eyes as images of that precious girls face replayed in my mind.  There was a probie on that call with us.  It was the first time he had experienced anything like that.  He replayed the scene out loud.  He just wanted to talk it through.  I understood.  I was in his shoes once.  I fought my back my emotion, and listened to him speak.  I encouraged him on a job well done.

I got back to my apartment with a little time to collect myself before I had to go to work.  I don’t remember anything about my air shift that day.  I’ve been on the Fire Department since 2000, and only 1 other time had a call affected me to my core.  I kept replaying the scene of a husband and father in shock, and of a sweet little girl unable to comprehend what was unfolding before her.  These are the calls that make it hard.

A lot of words are used to describe Firefighters.  Brave, courageous, heroes.  I’ve been called crazy and insane on more than one occasion as well.  When you see us on scene, we may seem hard and cold.  We may come across as men and women without emotion.  We do our job unfazed by what is happening around us.  Circumstances at the time aren’t nearly as important as simply getting the job done.  But when the task is complete, when the fire is out, when the person has been extricated, when the patient is in the ambulance, we are no different than any other.  We can hurt.  We can feel.  We can cry.  The longer I do this job, the more I find it to be true.

WARNING: The following blog contains graphic details of heroism and bravery and may not be suitable for all audiences.  Reader discretion is advised! (Now you may laugh)

The following is an excerpt from an article in the Chicago Sun-Times…

As flames ripped through a Back of the Yards home Tuesday, firefighters heard the cries of a cat as they opened the front door to save an ailing woman inside.

Chicago firefighter John Gricus and fire Lt. Mike Videka rushed into the home at 47th and Laflin to rescue the woman, while firefighter Chuck Sanow grabbed the cat, its fur singed by the fire and soaking wet from the water.

“A life is a life, no matter whether it’s a person or an animal,” Sanow said.

There is a irony in this article because, since seemingly the beginning of the fire service, Firefighters have been connected with rescuing cats.  I always used to laugh about this.  In fact, when I first joined the Fire Service 9 years ago, that was the most common response I’d get when I’d tell people.  “Have you rescued any cats yet?”

A couple of years after I joined, I actually got the chance to do that very thing.  I rescued a cat.  What makes the story even better is that it’s completely unconventional.  Nobody sees my response coming when they ask the question and I give it to them.  After reading that article today though, I felt compelled to share my  story.

Several years ago we got a “public assistance” call.  In the truck on our way to the address nobody was sure what to expect, which made it tough to prepare.  Looking back though, all the preparation and pre-incident planning in the world wouldn’t have equipped us for what we encountered.

We were greeted by the homeowner who informed us that her new cat had somehow trapped itself inside the wall.  We entered the home and navigated our way through it to the basement.  Once there, we stood looking at a 4ft high cinder block wall.  The cinder blocks, as you know, have 2 hollows in them.  The cat, much to our surprise, had managed to fall down inside the hollow of the blocks nearly all the way to the bottom of the wall.  The poor thing was completely wedged inside the hollow.

As we discussed our options, we immediately ruled out two.  Nobody could reach in with their arm because the cat was simply too far in.  So that option was out.  We also didn’t want to use any form of demolition that would wreck the structure or harm the cat. 

We discussed several other options, when almost at the exact same time we all looked across the basement and saw the answer sitting in the corner.  The answer was a high powered shop vac!

Perhaps it was because I was the junior member on the scene, I’m not entirely sure, but I was selected as the one whom would attempt to suck this cat out of the wall with a high powered shop vac.  As I mentioned earlier, not exactly the typical scenario you picture when you think of a Firefighter rescuing a cat!

I proceeded to stick the hose down the hollow until it reached the cat.  We then turned to shop-vac on, crossed our fingers, I said a little prayer, and away we went.  The rescue mission was officially on!  I’m not going to lie to you.  I didn’t think it would work.  Much to my shock and amazement though, it did.  Well… almost.  I manged to draw the cat up almost to the top of the wall when it became wedged yet again.  This time, using the shop-vac wouldn’t work.

Not only was I the junior Firefighter on the scene, but I also had the skinniest arm.  Guess what that meant?  Since the cat was nearly to the top and I was the only one who could get his arm in the hollow, I was volunteered to continue with the rescue.  I removed my bunker coat and gloves, eased my arm into the void, and worked to free the cats legs.

I managed, with great effort and discomfort, to manoeuvre my arm in such a way as to free the little fellow.  Once his legs were no longer caught, I carefully brought him to the top of the wall and back to freedom.  What happened next, however, I did not expect. 

As soon as the cat was free, he took off straight up my arm, onto my shoulder, up my neck, across my face, off the back of my head, and then shot across the room like a bullet.  Perhaps he was less than thrilled with our rescue technique?  I guess that is something I’ll never know.  But, for my bravery and heroism, I got a trip the ER!  I had scratches and cuts from my hand to my head, and I had to get shots as a precaution!!!

From that day forward, whenever I was greeted by my fellow Firefighters, they all said the same thing… “no glove… no love!”

There are a lot of ways that people can identify me.  I could identified as a Radio Personality – I’ve worked in broadcasting going on 14 years now.  I could be identified as a Firefighter – I’m proud to have served as a Volunteer Firefighter since 2000.  What other qualities or traits could one use?  I could be identified as a resident of the town where I live.  Perhaps by physical appearance.  Those who know me well could identify me as a hermit!

Have you ever stopped and wondered how you might be identified by others?  Morbid as it may be, have you ever taken a moment to ponder your legacy when the sands run out on the hourglass of this life?

Jorma Hogbacka has such a wonderful story.  Perhaps you recognize the name.  This past week he came forward as one of the winners of a near $45,000,000 Lotto 6/49 jackpot.  His share of the winnings – $14.8 million.

Not much is known of this man.  He is 60 years old.  He is retired.  His wardrobe of choice, track suits.  If you’re comfortable, why not?  Regardless of the little we do know, perhaps the most poignant insight into this man was revealed by a single act following his win.

Mr Hogbacka was a regular customer at a Tim Horton’s in St. Catharines Ontario.  Over the years he had developed a friendly relationship with half a dozen employees at his favorite spot.  In conversations sprinkled throughout his visits he often said that one day, when he won the lottery, he wouldn’t forget them!

As of Saturday, Mr Hogbacka has made good on his word, and despite the little we do know of him we now know this… he is a man of integrity!  To each of the 6 employees of Tim Horton’s, many whom have long since moved on in their lives, $30,000!  

My hat is off to you sir.  Society needs an example like you.  A flesh and blood illustration of that which we should all be so noble as to aspire to.  An individual who says what he means, and means what he says!  You are an inspiration!

Beauty, like blossoming flowers in a spring garden, will fade.  Possessions, like dust in the wind, are here for a moment, and gone in the next.  Money can be lost in an instant, even more quickly than it can be collected.  A successful career, without warning, can swiftly be replaced with a position in the unemployment line.  So much of what we hold in high regard, so much of what we use to assess self worth, so much of what we work towards, and for, is really of little value.  When the rest has disappeared, one remains… integrity!

I don’t mind being recognized for being a Firefighter, or a Radio Personality, or a Voice Talent, or a nice guy, a shy guy or a quiet guy.  However, when the light switch if flicked off for the final time, my daily prayer is that I will be remembered as a man of great integrity, and with each passing moment, I strive to make it true!

President Barack Obama is the 44th President of the United States.  The first African American President in the history of the country.  History in the making, taking place before us!  Yesterday was his first full day in office and he already started laying the smack down on several issues.

A day in office and the President has put the wheels in motion to shut down Guantanamo Bay, and he’s ordered a freeze on wages for top people in the White House (a call I certainly respect).  There is one other thing he did… he retook the oath of office due to the fact that both he, and Chief Justice Roberts absolutely destroyed it during the inauguration ceremonies.  Everything is OK now.  If there was any doubt in your mind, lay it to rest.  Obama is officially the President!

I feel that it’s important for me to highlight some of the events of the day from yesterday because you might have missed them.  You see, all the things the new, history making President worked on, were overshadowed by something else.

As I surfed around the internet yesterday, and even still today, looking for things to talk about on my radio show, one headline popped up more than any other.  It was on the front page of MSN.ca and .com, Yahoo.ca and .com, AOL.ca and .com and a dozen other web sites as well.

It had nothing to do with the stance the President has taken on Gitmo.  It had nothing to do with the ceasefire between Gaza and Israel.  There was no mention of the war in Afghanistan.  It wasn’t about the encomony, recession or the unemployment rate.

Yesterday the world seemed to be only talking about, searching for, and concerned with one thing… a dress.  Yes, with all that’s going on the world, with history unfolding in the United States, people only cared about one thing… a dress.

I couldn’t escape it.  The First Lady of Fashion.  God bless America!  It’s good to see you’ve got your priorities straight!!!

On that note, this morning I’m wearing a sexy little number from Old Navy.  The base of the outfit is a comfy pair of Fruit Of The Looms, blue with a grey band.  Dark blue… real men wear dark blue!  My feet are draped with an elegant pair of white socks that so gently caress my ankles.  To the surprise of my female readers, yes, they are clean, and no, they don’t have holes in the ankles!!!

The pants are black with 2 white stripes and single blue stripe on each leg.  They send a very clear message that this is man who’s not afraid to spice things up with a splash of color!  They also say, here is a guy that color coordinates his pants and his underwear, because you never know when you might be in an accident and a cute nurse has to see your boxers!!!

Fruit of the Loom plays an important role in this mornings ensemble.  Nothing but the best to touch the soft skin of this body.  The V-neck Fruit of the Looms undershirt offers a glance of the chest.  PG… not R.  It’s enough to intrigue you, are they pecks or saggy man boobs you’ll wonder?  Well keep wondering baby, because that’s all the show you’ll get to see!

Over top of the V-neck, a red shirt.  And why red on this crisp winters morn?  My day started with a fire call, and Firefighters wear red because flames are hot!  This sophisticated long sleeved number gracefully drapes over my form, disguising even the slightest hint of a belly.  Is there a 6 pack under there?  You just keep asking yourself that!

Now that you’ve finished choking on your corn flakes I ask you this.  What makes my outfit any less newsworthy than the First Lady?  Or, vice versa… what makes the first ladies outfit anymore newsworthy than mine?

Vanity.  It’s all vanity.  We actually devote our time, energy, and dollars to achieve a certain image, and to what end?  To be popular?  To be socially acceptable?  To gain fame?  To gain praise?  To dominate the headlines as the First Lady of Fashion?

We wear clothes because of who endorses them.  We buy perfumes and beauty products because of the name on the bottle.  We spend outrageous sums of money on this quest for beauty, perfection, acceptance.  The problem is, we never find it!

If you’re not content with whats inside, all the designer labels and celebrity endorsed products in the world won’t make you content with what’s on the outside.

When the media describes Michelle Obama’s outfit, so many people watch it and read about it.  When I described my outfit, you laughed, and you should!  Devoting so much focus to such frivilous things is a joke!  Only, maybe now you’ll realize it.

Marc Scott

Today has been a long day.  I know what you’re thinking.  It’s an overused cliche that we all say on regular basis.  Much like the boy who cried wolf, a person lamenting about their long day is something that is often cast aside.  A statement ignored because of the complacency of it’s all to frequent mention in our day to day lives.

This day for me, started yesterday at 8am.  So you see, it really has been a long day!  As I write this now I’ve been going for nearly 37 hours.  I’ve had virtually no sleep, very little to eat, and hardly a moment to catch my breath.

I was sitting on the couch last night watching TV.  In fact, I was watching as Jack Bauer, the epitome of a modern day Superhero, begins yet another quest to save the world from certain disaster.  Around 11:50p last night (Sunday), things were just getting good on 24.  About 15 minutes later, as I was really getting into the show, my pager went off.

The call was an alarm activation.  No big deal.  A quick run to a place we visit regularly, and in 30 minutes or less I’d be back on my couch to finish watching Jack save the universe before I went to bed for the night.

That alarm call was the typical call.  And almost 30 minutes to the minute, all trucks were radioed to dispatch as being back in the hall and in service.  As all the guys were saying goodnight and we readied to make our trips back home a second call came in.  This time around, something a little more serious than a false alarm.

We were paged out for a fully involved barn fire around 12:35a.  That is where I spent the night.  It was bitterly cold, and working with water made things even more miserable.  Numerous times my gear was frozen.  Caked in ice, making even regular movement difficult.  Frequent trips to the truck to try and thaw out were made by all.  It’s not a glamourous job!

A little after 10a this morning I finally made it back to my apartment.  I jumped in the shower and proceeded to spend the next 20 minutes or so trying to restore circulation to my limbs and trying fend off the chill that had come over me from a night in the cold and ice.

After an all to brief power nap, it was back to it.  Only this time, to my full time job.  The job that actually pays the bills.  I needed to get some prep together and make my way to work to cover the Afternoon Drive slot for our regular host who is in vacation.

When I arrived at the station I was still chilled to the bone.  My eyes were heavy.  Every so often tears would form simply as a result of the exhaustion, and the burning sensation from being overtired made it difficult to keep them open.  No matter of my physical state, there was a job to do.  As they say, the show must go on!

I could feel my voice fading from me throughout the afternoon.  No doubt a product of the cold and sleep deprivation.  In moments when I’d feel it drifting away from me, I’d muster up all the energy I had and fight through another break. 

As my show was winding down a colleague encouraged me to go home, turn off the pager, and get some rest.  I assured them that I would take care of the first request and the latter request, but I couldn’t agree to that small request sandwiched in the middle.

A little surprised they simply asked why, and I simply responded, “because it’s what I do.”

Forget the radio show.  Forget the TV shows.  Forget the big voice over jobs.  All of these accomplishments are wonderful and I cherish them all.  However, combine them all together, and they still can’t hold a candle to the sense of pride that I feel being a Firefighter.  When asked my proudest accomplishment, my greatest accomplishment, the answer then, now and to come, will always be being a Firefighter.

I’ve been up for 37 hours because an all night barn fire took away my opportunity to sleep last night.  As I sit here writing this for you now, if my pager went off in this moment and called me away again, without hesitation, I’d answer that call.

Some can’t comprehend it.  I’m a Volunteer Firefighter after all.  It’s not like it’s my full time job.  True enough.  But as long as I am able, I’ll always answer that call because, it’s what I do!

Marc Scott

A Day in the Life of a Fireman

I wish you could see the sadness of a business man as his livelihood goes up in flames or of a family returning home to find their house and belongings lost for good.

I wish you could know what it’s like to search a burning bedroom for trapped children, flames rolling above your head, your palms and knees burning as you crawl and the floor sagging under your weight as the kitchen blow you burns.

I wish you could comprehend a wife’s horror at 3 in the morning as I check her husband of 40 years for a pulse and find 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.

I wish you could understand how it feels to go to work 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 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 at 2×4 or a gun?”

I wish you could be in an emergency room as a doctor pronounces dead the beautiful five year old girl that I have been trying to save for 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 or my personal vehicle, 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 how it feels to walk in the back door and greet my family, not having the heart to tell them that I nearly did not come back from the last call.

I wish you could feel the hurt as people orally, 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 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 Mommy OK?” Not 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 longtime friend who watches his buddy having rescue breathing done on him as they take him away in the ambulance. You know all along he did not have his seat belt on.

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 mean to us…..I wish you could though!

-Author Unknown-