By Uniform Stories
This is a guest post from former firefighter Nick Halmasy, who is now a registered psychotherapist (qualifying). Check out his website at afterthecall.org.
My first call to a death as a firefighter occurred in my first year of service. A person had died by jumping in front of a train. I told myself that being involved in this call would tell me if I could “handle the job or not.”
I arrived in one of the later vehicles. Police had already taken up some road and our first arriving crew was attending to what lay ahead. EMS was en route, albeit slowly, given that there was nothing in their arsenal that could reverse the damage done.
As I walked toward the scene, the rocks that line the railway gave from underneath my feet, and I continued to prep myself. My imagination ran wild. What would the body look like? What would I see? Would it be messy?
I continued to look down at the ground, wearing my thoughts as a shield. Step after step, ignoring that we were closing in on this unfortunate soul who lay underneath the train. While still in deep thought, with my eyes fixated on my feet, I stepped over a foot. That moment plays through my head to this day.
For me, there was a continuum of emotions that came from this experience. Excitement and curiosity as I was on a truck responding to a scene, with little real appreciation of what lay ahead. Worry, as I got closer to the scene and to the body; how would I react? Would I be able to handle it?
Disgust at what I saw came next. A human body that was turned unrecognizable as it collided with thousands of tons of steel. Quickly, pain and confusion set it. What could compel someone to take his or her life in this way, or any way? I began to cycle through my limited experiences to try and find something, anything that would remotely warrant wanting to end my life.
Then anger. The “selfishness" of suicide, as it was referred to. Why would someone choose to die where many would be witness to their tragedy? Why couldn’t they “suck it up" and get over what they were experiencing? What was so bad in their life that this was the answer?
Answering all these questions was a fool’s errand, as I would later understand. Each life and each path is one’s own to navigate, and no matter what I’ve experienced or what pain I’ve endured, it would never be the same as someone else’s. My inability to relate was simply the cap on the experiences that I had. I would later understand the complexity of suicide and why I was asking myself all the wrong questions.
For first responders, I would come to learn, this is part of the job. On top of all the stress, we are left to create whatever narrative we can to make sense of what we see. Even if there is nothing that would ever sufficiently explain it, we continue to search.
The rest of the call was relatively uneventful. We spent most of the time trying to find humor, trying to try to take the weight of the scene off each other’s backs. Finding humor near death is sometimes our only protection against the weight of a call. This is something that outsiders have a hard time understanding. But, humor (much like our bunker gear) can only protect us so much. There are the calls and the scenes that transcend any psychological protection we set up for ourselves.
What came next were the sleepless nights. Nightmares, restlessness and some insomnia were secondary to the disturbing thoughts that seemed to come from nowhere. I understand now, but I had no idea what was happening to me during that period, that my body and mind were working hard to understand, to make sense of what I had seen.
The funny thing about the calls that shake us is that they also shape us. At least, this call shaped me.
Now, crossing railways is not entirely innocent. I check down the rails almost expecting to see the train, the body underneath it, and the responders standing around. I know that this is unlikely, but still I check.
Every time.
I didn’t know what was happening to me back on that cold day. I didn’t know what was happening to me during the following weeks. I was lucky, however, that I was able to talk with some people who understood.
I now understand how that scene really impacted me and stuck with me. I certainly wasn’t alone there either, but the “superhero" mentality is still strong in this field, so no one said anything.
This is exactly where change can occur. We can continue to look around the room and echo “I’m fine" like our brothers and sisters before us. We can bury the problem underneath the fear and stigma that a mental health problem is something to be ashamed of, something that shows that you’re flawed.
Or, we can do the real “heroic" thing. When a scene is “stuck with you," name it. It will be a relief to the few who, like you, are just trying to understand something that they have never experienced before.
Over the years, my experiences have warped and torn my memory, reducing them to postcard-like snapshots. Some of the details are hard to trust, while others have forever etched themselves into my brain. What is important is to try and remember what you are able to learn from each of the calls, not simply remember what you saw. Each incident is a chance to grow not just professionally, but also psychologically.
We are able, as research shows, to experience Post-Traumatic Growth.
