The Beehive

Keeping up this blog is harder than I thought it would be. I'm always too busy, too tired, or there's too many other things I need to attend to. I should be polishing my boots now, but I decided to wash all the cloths and rags so I'm also doing laundry... so I'll do it in a bit, while watching the hockey game. So now it's Blog Time!

There are some things that are givens that come with a career in Emergency Services. Some of the stereotypes hold true, some are past traditions, some are negative/positive, some are mystical, some are downright legendary... Police or Fire, when you work under stressful conditions with a bunch of Type-As banging heads, some interesting stuff comes out. Having had the unique experience of being a cop, then switching to fire, has unveiled some interesting observations. The hard part is trying to figure out where to start!

Let's start with the things we have in common. Cops and Firefighters are public servants, to serve the community, make it a better place, to protect and serve. Blah blah blah. Whatever slogan you choose, it's all the same. We are city employees, overworked and grossly underpaid for the amount of skills required to do our jobs effectively. But for both of these professions, you don't get into it for the money. You do it because you possess an innate call to duty. I can't explain it, and if you really need to ask, you won't understand. We who wear the uniform as protectors willingly enter situations when the shit hits the fan, everything is going sideways, and there is a risk of death or bodily harm. But we have tools of the trade, and we learn to use them – whether it be a gun, baton, firehose, or set of irons... We walk in when everyone is running out, and we do it not because we have to, but because we want to.

Now because of the nature of the job, the personalities of the people who choose to do it, and the darkness that often surrounds the calls we go to as cops or firefighters, civilians sometimes don't understand how we deal with things. That creates stress, and it's no coincidence that the divorce rate in the Police and Fire Services are amongst the highest of all professions. I guess that's why during our first week, our Training Officers asked how many of us were married – half put up their hands. "Good luck", they laughed, and proceeded to give us the name and number of the best divorce lawyer in town. Yikes!

Camaraderie. Brotherhood. Fraternity. Join the police or fire service, and you have a ready-made family. That's what I was looking for when I first became a cop. I figured we all wore the same uniform, had the same goals to serve and protect the community and make the world a better place. Riiiiiigggghhhttt! But the duties of a police officer require clear independent thinking, and the ability to adapt to a changing situation which is often stressful. So it's quite feasible to work alone much of the time, or if you are an RCMP officer in a one-Mountie town, you are alone ALL of the time. So police officers, unless you have a long-term partnership, are quite self-sufficient. Firefighters are opposite. We train together, eat together, sleep together (NO, not in the same bed!) and fight fires – together. This is exactly what they are instilling into us during Recruit Training. When the situation gets dicey, we don't start freelancing. We fall back on our meticulous training... hours of drills, repeating the same Job Performance Requirements (JPRs) over and over, until it becomes second nature. Of course, I have yet to put my training to task in the real world, and I have yet to even meet the crew I have been assigned... but I know that THEY WILL BE THERE FOR ME.

A major drawback to belonging to such a closed-off world in Police and Fire is the Beehive. Buzz, buzz, buzz... lots of activity, looks like a gigantic clusterfuck, and if you disturb it, look out! One of my TOs gleefully admits to enjoying the aftermath – he just gives the beehive a whack, takes a step back, and watches the shitshow that results! Yes, that's another little something cops and firefighters have in common. They love to gossip. It's ridiculous, actually. On the outside, macho-man-superhero-defender-of-justice. On the inside, it's high school locker talk of "he-said-she-said". Police are bad, but firefighters are worse. They don't even try to hide it. Telephone, telegraph, tellafirefighter. It's a time-honoured tradition that will not go away, so my choice is to try to fly under the radar, or just duck and cover. Kinda hard when you are the 4th female on the floor, and a visible minority to boot. Great.

Next post we'll look at some of the major differences between Police and Fire. Friendly rivals? Foes? Colleagues or competitors, hmmm. But I'm starting to fade so that's my cue to sign off...

TD

Past the Hump!

Tomorrow my class starts Week 6. Where the heck did the time go? If all goes well, we will be ready to hit the trucks in our assigned halls in 4 weeks. Holy crap!

When I think back about where we started, what we've been through, and where we are going, it boggles the mind. Well maybe just me, but I wake up everyday still thankful for this opportunity to share a piece of the best job in the world.

Last week was First Responder training, and this week we continue with testing and practical scenarios. We also have a five-chapter module test, so while not a physically exhausting two weeks, we still have to work hard on skills and theory. We also have to be self-motivated to practice out Job Performance Requirements (JPRs) on which we will be evaluated the week after next. So that means a lot of staying behind after our scheduled class, and going through timed drills, over and over. But really, apart from being on a beach in Maui at the moment, is there anything else I'd rather be doing? And the answer is still "no".

I forgot to mention that last week (I think it was last week!) we got our custom-fitted turnout gear! Brand-spanking new black bunker gear, emblazoned with ABBOTSFORD in a semicircle across the back of the shoulders, our last names on the bottom, and a whole lotta yellow reflective tape. Yes, I will admit, I felt pretty cool putting on the stuff fresh out of the bags! And it fit! And they spelled my name right! Whoo hoo! What a difference, ahhhhh! The hand-me-downs I was borrowing in the interim were still too big – turnout coat skimming my knees, pants that no matter how tight the suspenders, still had me waddling around with my crotch mid-thigh. Yes, I can hear you laughing, but it made simple things, like going up stairs and squatting, difficult. I dar you to try it! Go put on your ski or snowboard pants, yank 'em down to your thighs, and walk around! Fun, huh? All that was left to complete the ensemble was proper turnout boots, as the ones I were using were (big surprise) too big. Actually, they were so big I've sustained some minor tissue damage on the top of my left foot from the constant banging and sliding around. I actually feared I had a stress fracture, but got it checked out and all's well. However, the FR weeks have let me recover, and well whaddaya know! My smaller-sized boots came in! They feel pretty good, even if the guys make fun of how tiny they are ;-). Thank goodness I'm not a guy right now!

You may have noticed an absence of photos on this blog, and that's because I'm respecting the AFR's wishes not to post anything with the uniform at the moment. Maybe later, but I'm not going to rock the boat yet, although the DC did want us to start documenting our time here to look back upon when we graduate (next year!). We'll see.

Well, it's past my bedtime as I am up at 5am. Good night!

t

Good Days, Great Days... or Fan-fricken-TASTIC Days!! Which do you prefer?

Cancer survivor, inspirational cyclist and seven-time Tour De France winner Lance Armstrong is often quoted with the following: "I take nothing for granted. I now have only good days or great days."

I like that, because it's the key to a positive outlook on life. When I look at the tough training I've been enduring the last few weeks, I know it's good because in the lowest moments when I'm just gassed and I think I've got nothing left to give, I find the strength to go on and I realize – there is nothing else that I'd rather be doing! So this past week was action-packed and information-filled, with lots of room for a big learning curve and mistakes to boot. But man, when it dawns on you that they are PAYING you to do this crazy fun stuff, whether as a recruit in training, obedient probie, or veteran career firefighter, it just doesn't get any better... it's a GREAT, not just good, DAY!!

Put a bunch of those great days together and you get a Fan-fricken-TASTIC week! A lot of variety; we did more building construction tours, marched in the Remembrance Day parade, trained for vehicle and dumpster fires, spent 12 hours at the burn building with live fire, climbed aerial ladders, did ground ladder evolutions, victim rescues... does it get any better? Well yeah, but for now, I'm enjoying every minute... bruised shoulders and all. Some things I have noticed during the more physical side of training:

• Being vertically challenged, and depending on my position during the drill, ground ladder carries with other people means either I get slammed with a whole lotta ladder, or I am in a full overhead press (if I am even lucky enough to reach the rungs & beams). Now we invert the ladder, meaning we flip it over while we are carrying it. Now we practice carrying it through a narrow passageway... yup, that's me hanging off the middle! Now try all of that while running. Makes for some fun times!

• It's all about hose handling. Our T.O.s have driven this into us from the beginning, but as we progress during our training evolutions, no matter what new fire suppression technique we are learning that day, what beats me down every time is humpin' charged hoseline. No amount of strength & cardio training can prepare you for this particularly eveil-yet-necessary task. I'm consoled by the fact that every other person, in my recruit class and any firefighter that knows this, shares my pain because what it boils down to is it's hard physical work. Nothing fancy or special, no magic technique to make it easier, just a ridiculous amount of grunting and sweating to get the job done. Truth be told, I'll take the unbearable heat of the burning building over the punched-in-the-gut feeling of complete exhaustion from humping hose anytime.
  

• Using proper body mechanics, a small gal like me (5'4", 130lbs) can "rescue" the biggest guy in class (6'5", 265lbs - no gear) and carry him down a ladder. And when the safety line snaps off accidentally? No prob... I got ya. That was a nice feeling.

• The CPAT fitness test, while challenging to a point, is really the bare-bones minimum to what the physical demands of firefighting really are. Hindsight being 20/20, I would have done a lot more HEAVY kettlebell workouts, then build endurance from there. Exercises of choice, if given only 2 choices, would be clean & jerks and snatches. I would use no less than a 16kg bell, optimally working towards a 20kg, then top off with a few reps of 24kg. This is pretty heavy weight to be swinging around for a female my size, but once I am able to get back to a regular training routine, that is my goal. And it's a goal not to impress anyone, not even myself, but it's a necessary goal to be able to do this job effectively. I'm going to hit the gym tomorrow, and give it a shot. It should be interesting, because I haven't done a KB workout in over a month, but at the same time I have been pushing HARD since training began. I'll report back in my next post.

Well, it's past my bedtime AGAIN, so love to hear from ya! BTW, my website is down for the next few days, and has been since Friday, so if any emails sent around then (or even a day or two before) haven't been answered, I apologize but will get back to you as soon as the site is back up. Please email me at triciadong@gmail.com or message me on FaceBook until then!

TD

CISM blogging: public therapy for private demons.

NOTE: There are some graphic descriptions in this post that may disturb some readers.

I've been thinking about this all weekend, knowing that there are people out there waiting to read my blog. I don't know why it surprises me, that people actually read my blog; I guess the Internet is a mighty powerful tool! Well, my last post spoke about the importance of Critical Incident Stress Management (CISM), and all week I've been reflecting about events in my life and career that would fall under this category.

A couple of things came up, and before I spilled my guts, opened my heart, and exposed my vulnerabilities to the world, I wanted to talk things over with a confidante that has helped my put many of life's questions into perspective. If you are one of my good friends reading this, you will know that I did not call you, and you also know that one of my biggest weaknesses is simply not dealing with extremely stressful or devastating events in my life... my M.O. is to keep a full and hectic schedule, take on incredibly large or complex projects, and generally keep so busy so I don't have to deal with the tough stuff. Sound familiar? Not only that, but I am of the personality to not want to burden anyone with my problems; I am usually the stable rock, the shoulder to cry on, the one you can call at 3am, no questions asked. Well, my confidante, who is a military Padre and an expert in CISM debriefing and defusing, as well as dealing with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), lent an open ear and gave me some great advice. So let's start.

When I think of the stressful incidents I have dealt with over the years, there is no particular common theme. During my years as a police officer, I can vividly recall numerous horrific motor vehicle accidents (MVAs), Sudden Deaths, and being the bearer of bad news on next-of-kin notifications. Those really sucked, because you know you are about to walk into someone's home and change their lives forever... and not for the good. It's a heavy burden. A few times, during big incidents, we had a CISM team come in for a debriefing or defusing, and even though not a lot was said, it was nice to have that resource available.

One incident stands out, an MVA on New Year's Day, involving a stolen vehicle running a red light and smashing into a minivan with an innocent family inside. My partner and I were first on scene, and there were bodies everywhere. So much happened all at once, I don't even remember the details, but what has always stayed with me was the fact that I attended the most seriously wounded, a woman with a large head wound who was lying on the ground with foamy blood coming out of her mouth. Her daughter lay on the ground a few feet away. The mother was floating in and out of consciousness, and I felt absolutely powerless. I wanted so badly to help and to fix her, but at that time, I had no formal training in first aid of any kind. Instinctively I told her to keep still, and I took off my jacket to lay over top of her and keep her warm in the freezing cold. I kept on telling her to hold on, the ambulance was on its way, and that her daughter was right over there and needed her mother to stay awake. I remember their names to this day. The rest is a blur, all I know is that I went to the hospital after my shift to check up on her, something that was not really encouraged by the department but I had to see if she was ok. She was surrounded by family, alive, but in critical condition. At least she survived the night. The next day, there was a picture of me attending to that woman at the crash scene, on Page 3 of The Province. I had no idea the media were there that night. To this day, however, I still wonder what happened to her, and it haunts me that I couldn't do more.

Another event that affected me, but not to the degree that I thought it would, was when I was attacked on Skytrain last year. During that incident I sustained some bumps, bruises, and a broken foot. Instead of recounting the whole event, click HERE for an article I wrote for the Georgia Straight. The short-term effects from that incident were not debilitating, but for a few weeks after, I admit I was skittish taking public transit, and was constantly looking for my attackers in the sea of faces waiting to board the trains. But time has healed those wounds, and it's nothing but a memory now.

But the biggest one of all, the most devastating event that will never go away, was the untimely death of my mother. It was July 2, 2003, three days before my birthday, and I recall clearly that I was supposed to be at BC Place Stadium, working for CBC Television News helping to cover the announcement of the host city for the 2010 Winter Games. Instead, I was at Royal Columbian Hospital, praying for a miracle.

It started on the Thursday prior. Mom went to our family doctor complaining of dizziness and other symptoms. Doc looked at her blood stuff (I'm not very technical with these kinds of things) and told her she needed to get to the hospital for a blood transfusion – her red cell count was dangerously low, in fact he didn't even know how she was still standing. So off to the hospital she went, and underwent a battery of tests to try and find out what the heck was going on. But of course, it was the Canada Day long weekend, and the technicians and equipment were low staffed, so results didn't come in right away. More tests, and some tumours were discovered in her lungs. Huh? Mom used to smoke, decades ago, but had quit cold turkey. They thought maybe the damage had been done. More tests. More tumours, this time in her stomach, and other parts. Time to call in the specialists. Test after test after test; she was bleeding internally, and they didn't know why. Slowly the reality came down upon us. Cancer, oh yes, but where it started from was still yet to be determined. What was non-negotiable, though, was the devastating news that she probably only had up to a year to live. WHAT?? How? Why? She just had a full medical that came clean! We needed answers, but we were still waiting for results. And still trying to find the source of the bleed so they could stop it, then think about treatment. If it was "just" lung cancer in one lung, they could take out a lung, right? Or, maybe take out her stomach if it was there? How about the pancreas? No, it had spread too much. Through it all, Mom was a rock. She was always the strongest, never wanted to let anyone see her hurt, physically or emotionally. I guess I know where I got that from. She was always in good spirits, cheering us up, telling us she felt good. Meanwhile, I was dying inside. More than anything, I wanted to be able to give her a grandchild right then, something that realistically could not happen, even if she lived for a year. A moment that is a snapshot in time, for me, is when my childhood friend and sister-I-never-had Bridgit brought her 3-month-old daughter Maiya to visit. As my mother held her in her arms, I will never forget the look on my mom's face, I can't even describe it, but I knew we both knew that this would be the closest she would ever come to holding a granddaughter. To this day, whenever I look at Maiya, I think of the joy she brought to my mother during her last days.

At 3am Wednesday morning, on July 2, we got a phone call from the hospital to come quick, mom wasn't doing too well, and we should be there... a phone call we dreaded, but welcomed so that we could be there. We rushed over, but turns out they stabilized her, and she was in good care. We stayed the night, I curled up on her bed near her feet, my (ex) husband Rafael, and brother Tony in chairs and other uncomfortable hospital furniture. Close to noon she shooed us away, saying she was good, to at least go get lunch and have a shower. So we did, and came back in the afternoon. Just as my husband and I were parking the truck and walking towards the hospital entrance, I get a frantic call from my cousin – get here NOW, things are going bad... – We're in the parking lot, I told him, we'll be there ASAP.
When we get there, we don't even need to go to her room. She's been taken out to a different area, curtained off, and when I go over to see what's going on, I feel like I've walked on set to any number of hospital shows. There were doctors and nurses everywhere, instruments, machines, noises... and the blood. There was so much blood, it looked like someone had been murdered. I knew it wasn't good, but the ex-cop in me took over as I sorted out what to do. First I told my cousin not to let my 80 year-old grandmother anywhere near the room because I didn't want her to see the blood and frantic-ness of the situation. Next I had to find out what the heck was going on. Basically, she started bleeding again, heavy this time, and they needed to transport her to the Cancer Clinic in Surrey to radiate whatever's bleeding. Ok, when do we leave, I said. Oh, no, they said, you can't go in the ambulance. Using everything I had to maintain composure, I explained I was an ex-cop, I could handle it, not interfere or freak out... and that my mom needed me. If she wasn't going to make it, I needed to be there. By a small miracle, they let me ride shotgun in the ambulance while they worked on her in the back. Didn't know where to have the family meet, either RCH or Surrey Memorial, so I just told them all to go back to my brother's in Coquitlam and wait for me to call and let them know where we'd be.

That was the longest ambulance ride in history. As a cop, I've gone Code 3 (lights and siren) many times, and had dealt with clueless drivers that failed to yield. But when it's your mother in the back of the ambulance, "sense of urgency" just doesn't cut it when drivers fail to yield to emergency vehicles. Again, that helpless feeling as we weaved in and out of traffic, precious minutes wasted as drivers nonchalantly toodled about their business. "Get out of the way!" I screamed to no effect. Finally we arrived. They hauled out the stretcher, and I told my mom she was doing well. Hang on, we're here, I told her. They wheeled her into the hallway right outside the room with the machine. There was a small army of hospital personnel waiting to leap into action. What's going on, I asked. They need to stabilize her before putting her on the machine, they said. Well, what's the delay, I asked. She's losing blood faster than we can replace it, they said. Meanwhile, the hospital staff are working furiously to stabilize her, and my mother in all her dignity is still worried about her hospital gown falling open, and having to throw up, even though she's had no food. Everything that's coming out of her is blood, and she's apologizing for making a mess. That's my mom. All this time, I'm at her side, talking to her, trying to keep her awake. She's in and out of consciousness, fading in, fading out. I'm holding her hand, and she's looking at me... then she looks through me, and closes her eyes one last time. Mom? Mom!! MOM!! I'm screaming at her now, as if louder is better and she will be able to snap out of it. MOM!!!! She doesn't open her eyes, but I can see her breathing, short gasps.
"I love you, Mom".

And she's gone.

I know it, because that's when everyone stops fussing, and I can tell by the way they are looking at me. They don't need to say anything. They let me be, they allow me to cry in the hallway, on the gurney, a few feet from the machine that could have saved her life... or at least bought us more time. When I come up for air, they take control. They take my mom to clean her up, and let me gather my thoughts before I have to make that dreaded phone call. Oh no. What am I going to say? How do I find the words? N.O.K. notifications sucked when I wasn a cop and it was for strangers, but this is my entire family I'm about to devastate. But I couldn't put it off, they were waiting. So I called my brother, and I think I said something to the effect that she was really strong and put up a good fight, and that the docs tried everything they could to stabilize her... but she was gone. "WHAT?" screamed my brother. "Mom died", I think I said. Then I could hear everyone in the background lose it, crying, hugging, and I felt like shit because I had to do it over the phone. They all came to Surrey Memorial, and said goodbye. I'm glad that when they saw her, she was clean, and looking like she was sleeping.

The funeral had to be perfect. I know it's not custom for immediate family to speak, but it was my Mom, and I had to say exactly what I wanted everyone to hear about my mom and how much she meant to me, to us, her family. So I wrote her a letter, and read it out loud. I'll post the content of that letter below. My dad flew in Hawaiian leis, made from all of my mom's favourite flowers. Purple orchids, tuberose, were there gardenias too? It was perfect, she would have loved it.

The days, weeks, months and years following my mother's death have been filled with ups and downs. As usual, I kept busy, but as I mentioned in a previous post, I have found much comfort in dedicating my hula dancing to my mother's memory. I have my moments of complete breakdown, and a good cry is a healthy purge now and then. But what alarmed me the most was the physiological reation I had... to ambulances. I would see an ambulance, and immediately, I felt like someone was squeezing my heart, my throat closed up, and I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. It would pass quickly, but why did it happen? Eventually, the physical symptoms stopped, and now when I see an ambulance I think about my mom, but it's a passing thought. I think choosing to channel my healing through dance has helped. Oh, and it turned out she died from Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, a blood cancer. So in 2005 I also trained for and ran the San Diego Rock & Roll Marathon in her memory, as part of Team In Training, for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society of Canada. I raised just over $7,000.

This has been a much longer post than I had anticipated, and I have to get up in 4 hours. Feel free to comment, but friends, please don't call me to see if I'm ok... I am. And writing this post helps. I encourage any of you who may have gone through a similar situation to find an avenue for healing, or to write things out and express what's bottled up inside. You don't have to make a public statement, even just something for your eyes only may help. Or, talk to a friend. Cry it out. But face it, head on.

Thanks for reading.

Trish

Here's the letter I wrote to my Mom:

Dear Mom,

How do I find the words to say goodbye? You left us so suddenly; we are still bewildered that you are gone. I guess I can start by saying thank you.

Thank you for giving me life. As a mother, you gave Tony and I only the best of yourself. We know and appreciate the sacrifices you willingly made for us, because as your children, we were your world. You gave us anything we wanted, and everything we needed. But you didn’t spoil us. Okay, maybe just a little. But I think we turned out okay. You allowed us to spread our wings, and to learn from our own mistakes. Yet you never interfered in our personal lives as we were growing up. We could always come to you with a problem, and you would always be there to listen, but not to judge. You were the envy of all other moms as we were growing up. And we were, and will always be, proud to call you our Mom.

Thank you for teaching us life’s lessons, not with words, but by example. You showed us what it meant to be patient and kind, and to never say bad things about people. Even though they may have hurt you, you showed us how to be the better person by treating those people with respect, in the same way they should have treated you. What goes around, comes around, and at the end of the day, you were always able to hold your head up high with dignity and grace, knowing your actions were honourable.

You showed us that good things come to those who wait. You were able to find love not once, but twice in your life. You and Dad kept our family together, even though it didn’t work out between the two of you. You were a class act, and you stayed strong for our family. And after many years, you found love again with Ricardo. You showed us that you don’t have to search for happiness, but sometimes it just finds you. And I am so happy that you were able to share another lifetime of joy with Ricardo, while keeping your love and friendship alive with Dad. It meant a lot to us, and we welcome Ricardo into our family with open arms.

You showed us that inner strength can define a person’s character. With the many hardships you faced in your lifetime, you always dealt with them with strength and courage. For that we admire you. Even when you were diagnosed with cancer just over two weeks ago, and they told you that you may have only months to live, you took it like a champ and stayed strong. Mom, we were so scared when we found out, but we drew from your strength and were able to share many special moments before you left us.

Most importantly, you showed us the importance of family. Family is not just a priority, or an occasion when relatives get together for holidays or dinner. It is a living thing that needs to be nurtured with love. Family is here for you when the going gets rough. They share the highs and the lows. Life’s troubles don’t seem to be as big when you know you have a family that loves you. Thank you, Mom, for showing us the importance of family.

I don’t feel any bitterness that you’re gone, just sadness for the things you will miss. I’m sad that you never got the chance to meet Raf’s family, who accepted me as a daughter from the first time I met them. I’m sad that I won’t get to see the look of happiness on your face when you watch Tony say his wedding vows to the woman of his dreams when he gets married. And I’m sad that I won’t be able see you smile as you hold your first grandchild in your arms. I know you will be there in spirit, but we will all miss your presence on those special occasions when we are together as a family. We will miss you terribly, and my heart aches for you now.

But I’m not angry that you’re gone. Maybe that’s because you never showed anger when things went wrong in your life. You lived by the Serenity Prayer – God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. I take solace in knowing I was at your side during the last moments of your life, and I am comforted in knowing that the last words you heard as you slipped away were, “I love you, Mom.”

Drawing from your strength and your courage, Mom, we as a family will pull together, dry our tears, and celebrate your life. You made such an incredible impact on us all, especially on Tony and me. We couldn’t have asked for a more loving Mom, and for that, we will miss you more than words can describe. But know in your heart just how much we love you, and now that you are an angel in Heaven, we know you will be watching over us. So I guess I won’t say “goodbye”, but “until we meet again”, I love you Mom.

With all my love,

Your daughter Tricia.

Playing the Game

Oh, those folks who design fire academy curriculums really know how to mess with you. Like Military Basic Training (what REAL Bootcamps are made of, not these glam-circuses with 3lb dumbbells and yoga mats, don't even get me started...), what's happened to me in the last 2 1/2 weeks has been textbook – break us down, so they can build us back up. Stronger, better, and smarter. Well, I don't know so much about that last one, but at least more knowledgable so we can figure out to squirt the cold stuff onto the hot stuff... :-).

But break us down they did, relentlessly, as I recounted in the past few entries. I should know better, because I do the same things to my clients, only on a much smaller scale. But not to THAT degree! Well, this week has been one of physical, mental, and spiritual recovery. This balance is something CRUCIAL I teach in my classes, and to actually go through it COMPLETELY is a gratifying experience. Now, my training is FAR from over, and it's going to get just as intense, and we WILL be yelled at, but it's part and parcel of becoming the best we can be... as a team. We train together, we learn together, we make mistakes together... so that we can do our jobs together, efficiently, effectively, safely, so that we can all go home – together.

Now just because we didn't get our asses handed to us on a platter didn't make it any less worthy. Reviewing theory is crucial for all, especially someone like me who comes from a non fire-related background. My class has some incredibly talented guys, with years of auxilliary firefighting experience or relevant trades that may make the theory side seem repetitive, but I for one sure appreciate it.

The one thing I did have experience in is experiencing critical incident stress. This is a "touchy feely" subject because many will deny the impact a horrific or tragic call or event can have, but the effects can be long lasting and debilitating if not dealt with in a timely manner. As a police officer, I saw many things the average person should never ever have to see, and I was only with the department for four years. But the major incidents were dealt with professionally and the department took care of its officers through defusings and debriefings.

At this point I'm going to have to take a break and divide this post into two parts. What I want to communicate requires more thought and will most likely be emotional for me, but I have to hit the books and ready for a big test on Monday... so I will continue this later when I can focus more clearly. In the meantime, if you have any comments on critical incident stress, I'd love to hear from you!

Best,

TD