Every once in a while, the stuff that comes through the mailbox asking me to "pass it on" is actually worth being passed on. Like this.
I got this from my cousin, who is a forensic detective, and my dad, who is a volunteer firefighter and retired police officer. It could have come from my uncle, an O.P.P. officer who passed away while on duty. Or it could have come from my mother, who was an ambulance dispatcher at one point and an auxiliary police officer at another. Or it could have come from another cousin, who is a firefighter. Or...well, you can perhaps see why I feel people should read this...

Dedicated to Paramedics, Fire and Police Officers and their Dispatchers:


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 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-sensations that I've become
too familiar with.

I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a call, Is this a false
alarm or a working fire? How is the building constructed? What Hazards
await me? Is anyone trapped?". Or to call and ask 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, knowing she will never go on her first date or say
the words, "I love you Mommy", ever again.

I wish you could know the frustration I feel in the cab of the
ambulance or engine or cruiser, 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 Paramedics out and when we call for them and our heart
drops because no one answers back or to here 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 we 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 my 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.