Chapter 12
Nick
The “tones” are the first signal of an emergency. Rather than being aggressive, Klaxon-like sirens, the tones are loud but painless. With the tones, a computerized dispatch voice reads off the details of the incident, and the lights in the station flash a warm red.
Every firefighter is trained instinctively to respond to these cues. We know to abandon whatever it is we’re doing and go straight to our vehicles.
Whenever I first hear those tones, I feel a jolt of adrenaline, a thrill that pushes me into action.
Even though the dispatch computer tells us what to expect, you never quite know what an emergency will involve.
You have to be prepared for anything.
But today has already hit me with the biggest surprise—Tristan showing up at work—so I think I really will be ready to handle anything.
Nothing can be a bigger surprise than that.
? ? ?
Because it’s Tristan’s first day on the job, I drive the medic unit.
We blare out of the station, third in line after the ladder truck and the engine truck, our lights flashing and our sirens wailing.
During my first calls with Station 27, when I was a new firefighter-paramedic, Toni narrated everything she did from start to finish to help me understand her thought process.
She said that was one of the most important parts of being an emergency responder—learning how to think during an emergency.
I don’t know what sort of experience Tristan has with emergencies or crises, so I lean toward caution and narrate my thoughts.
“So, we’re going to a car accident,” I say as I navigate through the streets, following the engine truck.
“You never quite know what to expect with these. Dispatch says there are three cars, and that could be as simple as a fender bender, with little to no medical attention needed, or it could mean the cars are totaled, and people are in serious trouble. We have to be prepared for anything.”
I glance over at Tristan and see that his face is white, except for his cheeks, which have high splotches of red on them. “You okay?”
He nods quickly. “Uh-huh.”
“I don’t buy it. I need you to be honest with me if we’re going to be working together like this. It’s okay to be nervous, but I need to know what you’re feeling so that we can work well together.”
He takes a deep breath as I barrel through a turn. “You’re right. Sorry. I’ve got some bad memories of a car accident. I was in a pretty bad one a year ago.”
I nod.
Firefighters and paramedics aren’t immune to disasters and emergencies in our personal lives. Several of us at Station 27 have dealt with our own emergencies.
“I get it. I’ve been on some calls that feel personal, or that remind me of things that have happened in my own life.
For some first responders, that personal connection motivates them to do their best and reminds them that every emergency is personal to someone.
For others, it gets in the way, and they have to compartmentalize those parts of their lives during a call.
You have to figure out which type of first responder you are.
Neither one of them is wrong, or better than the other; you need to know what works for you. ”
“I’m a compartmentalizer,” he says quickly. Maybe too quickly. Then, “I was an ER nurse before this. I’ve learned how to put away my personal baggage when I have to. This is just—this one’s personal.”
I’m curious why, but I know it’s not my place to ask.
Not yet.
Whatever connection Tristan and I had outside of work is different from the relationship we need to have at work.
As much as I want to care for him and look out for him here, too, my priority must be the people in the emergency we’re responding to. I can’t be distracted by my partner. So, I have to trust that he’s going to be okay.
Even if the paleness of his face has me seriously worried.