I wish you could know what it is like to search a burning bedroom for
trapped children at 3 AM, 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 false alarm or a working fire? How is the building
constructed? What hazards await me? Is anyone trapped?" Or to 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, we are, or what our job really means to us...

I wish you could, though.


* Author Unknown *