text: STORY CONTAINS SOME DEPICTION OF VIOLENCE, MENTAL HEALTH, PROFANITY, DARK HUMOR ASHLEY SHAFER The Cost of Healing Others Here we go again. It’s freaking 2:30 a.m. in the morning. I begrudgingly get out of my bed, taking off my comfy work shorts (honestly, they’re like basketball shorts), slide on my pants with its many pockets, and quickly shove my feet into my black boots. My boots have laces like normal work boots, but these also have a zipper on the side. It’s really nice when you’re barely awake and rushing to get out the door. I go to the bay. The bay is where our firetrucks and ambulances reside. My best friend got me into this job. I never thought I would ever find my calling, but then he invited me to come hang with him at the firehouse. I got to talkin’ with an older guy, a veteran in the service, really. He’d been in the fire/EMS service for 40 years. Talking to him that night, I just knew that this was going to be the job that I would be in for the rest of my life. I jump into the passenger seat of the ambulance and pick up the tablet from its dock that sits in the center of the dashboard. I look to see what the call is for. The dispatch notes say: F 73YO CHEST PAIN FEELING SICK AND IS ALONE Under that is the address, dispatch identifying number, and time of dispatch sent out. I look at my partner, Garner, at the same time he looks at me. We don’t even have to say anything, our expressions, mood, and eyes all say the same thing. We’re really fucking tired, and this is another bullshit call. “Seventy-three-year-old and the 970 address, that’s Rose ain’t it?” I ask Jack. In the firefighter world, it can be like the military in how we talk to each other. Everyone calls each other by their last name, it’s just a thing. Don’t ask me why though, ‘cause who the hell knows. “Yep. What a great fucking time, amiright?” Garner sarcastically replies. We drive to the house in silence. Most people are zombies in the morning without some type of caffeine flowing through their bloodstream. Let’s just say, us firefighters and EMS run on caffeine. It’s pretty much how we survive. Arriving to the house, I get out of the ambulance and take the tablet with me because I know she’s going to refuse going to the hospital and Garner grabs some things from the back of the ambulance. We walk in and it smells like it always does, cat piss and baby powder. Everything in the house seems to have a layer of grime. We greet her, take some vitals, ask some questions. Same thing every time. And every single time it is the same outcome, the same diagnosis: she just wants someone to talk to. After talking to her for 45 minutes, we leave and get back to the firehouse around 3:30 a.m. I take my boots off and strip off my work pants, putting my comfy shorts back on. I blissfully fall back asleep. We don’t have another run for the rest of my shift. . . . . . Four years earlier: “So, how’s your first two weeks been?” Tyler asks me. “I think I finally found my job, my calling, man” I answer, grinning. We’re sitting outside on his back patio, drinking cold beers, country music playing in the background. “I told you you’d love it” Tyler says to me, with a smug look on his face. “After talking with that guy, umm..” I blank, forgetting his name. “Deets” Tyler tells me. “Yeah. Deets. He had so many stories. Him just explaining his time in the fire service was pretty interesting." “So, how is Ellie doing? Hunter is the cutest baby around. You’re gonna have your hands full for a while” Tyler says. Ellie, my sweet, kind, and selfless wife just gave birth to our son, Hunter. He’s 3 months old and the cutest little guy. He had a full head of light blonde hair when he was born. He’s got his momma’s hazel eyes and little cute nose. He has my full lips, and a little freckle here and there sprinkled along his cheeks and nose. His cheeks are a little chubby, the same as his mama when she was born. He has a long torso and legs. Ellie’s only 5’1 in height. I’m 6’5 in height, fit but not ripped, black hair, brown eyes, black glasses. Tanned arms, or t-shirt tanned arms, and the rest of me is as white as can be. Ellie’s white but she has a nice, light tan every summer. “She’s doing okay. She’s still sore but her c-section is healing nicely. It still blows my mind that Hunter was nine pounds and six ounces when he was born. He’s got those long legs” I say, drinking a big swig of beer from the bottle. “What sucks the most is I know I’m going to be away from home a lot and it will be just her. I know we can ask friends and family for help, but y’see, when your kid is first born, everyone is all ‘call us if you need help’ and ‘I can take care of him so you can have a break’, but ninety percent of the time it’s all BS. I know they mean well and it’s a gesture of kindness but that’s all it is. They don’t actually expect to help. ‘Cause I know if we asked for the help that we’ll actually need, it’s gonna be ‘I can’t today’ and stuff like that.” Tyler looks down at his bottle of beer, nodding his head and agreeing. It’s quiet for a moment. I look up at the sky, staring at the red and pink hues of color from the sun setting. Tyler clears his throat and looks at me. “You know I would help you every time you asked, right? You know I would drop everything for you?’ he asks, but it sounds more like a statement. I grin, “of course. You’re my best friend.” “Shiiiitttt- “he says, dragging the word out. “Look at us getting all mushy and cute. I’d touch that booty anytime” he says, starting to laugh. I hear the sliding door to the patio open and we both turn to see Ellie and Cassie, who is Tyler’s wife, coming out to the patio. “What are you two laughing about?” Ellie asks playfully. Before I can get a word out, Tyler says “butt stuff with my boyfriend.” Ellie and Cassie both shake their head at the same time, smiling at how ridiculous Tyler and I are. “Well, lovebirds, dinner is ready” Ellie tells us. She comes over to my patio chair and kisses me deeply on the lips. I love her kisses, just can’t get enough of em’. Cassie takes Tyler’s hand, and he stands up. We all walk into the house for dinner. Six months later “Honey, I can’t do anything about it. You know that! I am sorry that I got forced overtime but being the new probie, I’m at the bottom. I don’t get priority, and I don’t get to choose.” Being a probie in the fire service basically means you’re the new guy. You get all the crap no one else wants to do or deal with. At the Forte Fire Department, there’s a list of names. If you’re at the bottom of that list, you’re the first person forced to work overtime. Once you do work that overtime shift, your name moves to the top of the list. But being the new guy, that list doesn’t really matter. At least for the first year of being at the fire department, anyway. I don’t like arguing or fighting with Ellie. We hardly ever fight. I think we’ve only fought or argued like this 3 or maybe 4 times since being together for five years. We’re a pretty healthy couple. We communicate with each other very well and we trust each other. It amazes me how a lot of couples don’t communicate in their relationships. Right now, I’m being forced overtime for Thanksgiving. I don’t have a choice. Ellie is very upset with me about it, which is fair. I can’t do anything about it, though. They call it forced for a reason. “I told all of our family that you would be there, that we all would be there! We had this planned out! We were going to go to your parents’ house tomorrow and spend Thanksgiving with your family. Then the day after, we go to my family’s Thanksgiving dinner” she says, her voice becoming angrier and more hysterical. “I know what we had planned. You don’t have to remind me. I can not do anything about it” I say slowly, hoping that she will calm down and understand what I’m telling her. “I don’t want to go by myself. I already have major anxiety around big groups of people, whether they’re family or not. I don’t want to deal with the anxiety of having both of our family’s’ judging faces with how I take care of Hunter. I get overstimulated so easy. Honestly, if you work, I might just stay home instead of putting myself through that stress.” I can see tears forming in her eyes as she tells me this. Whenever she’s angry she cries. She hates that about herself. We’re standing in the kitchen, me leaned up against the counter and Ellie in the middle of the kitchen floor. I stand up, pulling her into my arms and she wraps her arms around me. She puts her head against my chest. I can smell her floral shampoo and her Coach perfume that I got her. “I know, baby. I know. I love you so much. If I could do something about it, you know I would have already. Being the new guy sucks. But we’re getting closer to the year mark and soon I won’t be the new guy anymore” I say. She makes a big sigh sound. I pull her back a little so I can see her face, still holding her. She looks up at me. “You are the most beautiful woman and the best mother in the world. I love you, Ellie” I compliment her, admiring my messy haired wife. She smiles softly, pulling me down to her by the back of my neck so she can kiss me. We passionately kiss for what feels like forever. I know this won’t be the last time that something like this situation happens again, and that sucks. It really, fucking sucks. ⁕ ⁕ ⁕ It’s been almost two years since the Thanksgiving disaster. I’ve missed birthdays, events, holidays all throughout the passing time. Off and on, mild arguments have taken place. At least Ellie understands now nothing can be done about forced OT (overtime) and me picking up shifts for extra money. When I started my fire/ems journey, I was young and filled with fire and I was so excited to experience everything this job had to offer. I still love my job, even on the shittiest days. What I wasn’t ready for is the sacrifices and the things that this job takes away from you. I wasn’t ready for how this job can affect your life in all types of different ways. From home life to mental health, it takes a big bite out of you. Five weeks ago, there was a shooting. Four people dead and 6 more injured. It was a freaking birthday party for a teen girl. She was turning 17 years old. She won’t be seeing 18... ever. I can’t really talk about all of the details because HIPAA. Which, that’s basically a medical law/policy. You can’t talk about patients or about any of their personal information. But basically, birthday girl, what we’ll call her, had broken up with her boyfriend. But she had a new boyfriend. I guess ex-boyfriend, who was the shooter, didn’t like that. Obviously, because he went into the house while the birthday party was going on and just started shooting. I wasn’t the one dispatched to that tragic call but a colleague at a different station had been. Being dispatched to call like that can mess with your head. Or a better-known term: PTSD. When us firefighters and EMS go to bad calls like this one, it can stay with us. We can be traumatized by the horrors we see. At least mental health is recognized among our line of work now. After that night the call happened, our city fire departments had debriefed with all shifts at all stations. After a bad call, we all come together to talk about it. We go over the resources available to us again. I knew when starting this line of work, there was the possibility of bad calls and bad days, but it never put me off. I love helping people and I still love this job. TODAY I wake up, my alarm going off. I grab my phone, hitting the X on the screen to stop the alarm. I get out of bed, stretching as I stand up. I yawn, still a little bit tired. ‘I need coffee’ I think to myself. I take off my work shorts, put them in my thin locker that is against the wall at the end of my bed. There are 3 more lockers that are like mine, beige, thin, names taped above the doors. They’re all attached together like you would see at a school. The lockers go from top to bottom, long. I put my shorts on the little shelf at the top inside the locker. I slip on my work pants, dark navy blue, and pull on my tennis shoes. I put my boots inside my locker at the bottom. I like to leave my boots at work because even though I clean them after a gross run, whether it be blood, vomit, or someone’s feces (yeah, that happens), I don’t like to take them home with me. I don’t want to bring that gross shit home to my wife and son. I pack up my bedding and other stuff like toiletries and things I take to work. There’s a lot of us and not a whole lot of beds, so you bring your own bedding and make your bed when you get to work in the morning. I work every third day, and shifts are 24 hours. I walk out of the bunk room and into the kitchen. I fill my stainless-steel cup, that I take with me to work, with coffee that’s already been made by one of the other guys or Mason, the one girl on my shift. “Morning” Mason says, filling her own personal cup with coffee. “Morning” I mumble, still not fully awake. The living room, dining table, and kitchen are basically in one big open room. Garner sets his stuff down against one of the walls. Guys from the oncoming shift are just arriving, thirty minutes before the shift start time. Everyone always shows up 30 minutes before their shift so a debrief about calls and information can be passed from the last shift to the new shift. We always talk about different things like the runs we had the day before or that morning, what supplies need refilled on the ambulance or firetruck, fire department information that the new shift needs to know, etc. I look at Garner, taking a sip of my coffee, burning my tongue but not caring. “Don’t you look beautiful” I joke, Garner’s hair a mess. “Oh, thanks babe, it’s my new style” Garner replies, smirking. We both chuckle. “Man, two weeks of no work. I bet you’re excited to have some vacation time. Don’t forget to cuddle your pillow and think of me” Garner says. I laugh and tell him “don’t worry I will.” “But for real, enjoy that time with the wife and kid. Everyone needs a good break after a while. It’s hard enough being away from family as is” he says, looking more serious. “I know. Trust me, I know.” We all debrief the oncoming shift, sit around for a minute and talk, then we all leave to go home. I arrive home, parking the car in the driveway. I leave my bedding and other work stuff in the trunk of our blue 2021 Honda Civic for now. I walk to the front door and step inside the house and as soon as I’m inside, Ellie comes to me, grabs me, and pulls me into a hug. I hold her as she holds me. “Good morning, baby” I greet her. She looks up at me, a small smile playing on her lips. “Good morning. I missed you” she confesses. “I always miss you. C’mon, let’s cuddle on the couch for a little bit before getting up and doing stuff today” I tell her, taking her hand and leading her to the couch. She tucks her head under my chin, laying on my chest. We pick a movie from one of our streaming services that we pay for and settle in. Neither of us say a word, blissfully happy, Hunter still asleep. I smell her shampoo, like her own personal scent. I love it. It’s moments like this one, right here, that matter the most. Because not every day is promised, and the time that we get together is made more special because of my line of work. I love these moments. I smile to myself, happy with how my life has turned out. I have my dream job, the love of my life, and my amazing son. It’s funny how you assume or think that one thing is going to look and be a certain way, but it ends up being like nothing you imagined and surprising you even more.