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.