I WISH YOU COULD KNOW

I wish you could know what it is like to search a burning
bedroom for trapped children at 3AM, flames rolling above
your head, your palms and knees burning as you crawl, the
floor sagging under your weight as the kitchen below you
burns.

I wish you could comprehend a wife's horror at 6 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 to
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 - sensations that I've become too familiar with.

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 a 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 a doctor
pronounces dead the beautiful five-year old girl that I
have been trying to save during the past 25 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, squad, 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 my thoughts as I help extricate a
girl of teenage years from the remains of her automobile.
"What if this was my daughter, sister, my girlfriend or a
friend? What were her parents reaction going to be when
they opened the door to find a police officer with 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 I nearly did not come back from
the last call.

I wish you could know how it feels dispatching officers,
firefighters and EMT's out and when we call for them and
our heart drops because no one answers back or to hear a
bone chilling 911 call of a child or wife needing assistance.

I wish you could feel the 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 or 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
okay?" Not even 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 long time friend who watches his
buddy having CPR done on him as they take him away in
the Medic Unit. You know all along he did not have his
seat belt on. A sensation that I have become too familiar
with.

Unless you have lived with this kind of life, you will never
truly understand or appreciate who I am, who we are, or
what our job really means to us...

I wish you could though.