Tuna confusion

I was in the Firehouse kitchen making something to eat when Rick walked in.

"Whatcha making?" he asks.

"A tuna sandwich.  You want one?"  I ask.

" I need to shower first," he says.  (He just got back from a call).  "I'll make one when I am done."

He goes to the showers and I finish making my sandwich.  Luca, my cat, smells the tuna and is meowing.  I look at the clock and it is one hour before his scheduled feeding time.  I tell him he has to wait but I give him a chunk of my sandwich anyway.

About 20 minutes later a call comes in and I have to leave the Station.  When I return, I go to the kitchen to feed Luca.  It is an hour past his feeding time and he is not happy at all.  I can't find his food.  It was a small container of Meow Mix I had left on the counter.  I look everywhere and can't find it.   I open another container of tuna and feed him that and he is happy and purring.  Still, I am wondering what happened to his food.  I KNOW I left it on the counter.

Rick is in the living room and I ask if he ate yet.  He said yes but he didn't really like the tuna sandwich he made.

"I don't like the albacore tuna you got.  I prefer the chunk light tuna," he says.

"I didn't buy albacore," I said.

"Well, whatever you got, I didn't really like it much," he says.

I go back to the kitchen and see Luca's Meow Mix container in the recycle bin.

I went back to the living room and ask Rick, "Are you wearing your contacts?"

He says no.  Geeeez.  He really should be!  And NO WONDER he didn't like the tuna sandwich he made.  He just ate Luca's food! 

I set the two containers together and realized the mistake he could have made.  But who am I to tell him???? 

Higher Education

When most of us were kids at school, our English teachers used to have us pick out a new word from the dictionary and write it's definition and then use it in 10 sentences. Here in the Firehouse we kind of do something similar with words that have to deal with infections or diseases. Our words don't come from the dictionary though. Two or three times a month the doctors in the ER suggest a word for us. We then spend time learning all we can about this infection or disease. It is always interesting to learn things that we normally wouldn't ever know about.

We had just dropped our patient off in the ER at San Francisco General. The doctors and nurses were extremely busy that day and we were trying to get out of there as soon as possible. Just as we were ready to leave, Sheena decides she wants a "new word" even though there was a lot of commotion going on. So instead of asking a few doctors for this "word" and getting in the way or taking up too much of their time, she stands there and does a "mass announcement" to the ER.

"Does anyone have an infection or disease they can share with me?"

Before I knew it, Captain Harold is smacking his forehead in disbelief and the entire ER went dead silent. Like a slow motion movie, I look around the ER as Sheena stands there waiting for an answer and everyone seems too stunned to answer. Except one old man on a gurney.

"I got an infection I can share with you."

How she gets her foot in her mouth without even knowing it, I will never understand. But she DOES have a great knack for it.

Half way there

Ouch! Ok, that hurt. Its hot here. I think I am on the ground; I'm not sure since my legs are in a strange position indicating that I am draped over something. I believe I was immobile for some time since my PASS alarm is shrilling in my ears and giving me a headache. I hate loud noises. Ok, I will admit that the whoop whoop of our Engine or Squad give me goosebumps even after all these years but that is different.

I can't move. Something heavy is on my legs. I try to kick and fight off the intruder giving me such discomfort but I can't move my legs. I'm irritated I am in this situation. Since I can't move, I will just have to wait for someone to get me out of here. And that alarm will scream until someone does. I swear, when they do, I will hammer it to pieces. Not being able to move has made me realize something. I HATE wrestling with the guys in the Station. One of our new "Physical activities" that we have recently taken an interest in (ok, the guys more than me since I'm not as strong as them!) .... and we have even hired an instructor.... is Wrestling. If I was better at wrestling, I am sure I could get myself out of this predicament. But I can't. Not yet at least.

My radio is blaring... I hear the Battalion Chief and my Captain talking to me, pleading for me to answer. I can't reach my radio. It must have fallen off my coat. I look around. I am (God knows WHERE!) but I suppose I am in the basement of the house we were fighting the fire in. My only thought is that I must have fallen through the floor. I am trying to think. Where was I before this place I am currently a prisoner in? I remember Nick. He was standing next to me. He was breaking the wall away. Rick was there with the hose. I remember yelling at one point telling them to get out of the house. I had a bad premonition. I felt Nick grab my coat. He was running with me in his grasp. Then I remember nothing until now. I don't know if Rick and Nick are ok and this concerns me more than my own plight.

I hear the commotion over the radio. They know where I am. What I don't like is the urgency in their commands and voices. I look around. I know it is hot. I am surrounded by a fire that is set on destroying everything in its path and it doesn't care about me. Why should it? I am only in the way of it's destructive path. To this fire I am just one more thing to gobble up. No big deal, right?

I hear the activity above me. They are making the hole in the floor that I fell through even wider. They must be careful otherwise they will join me down here and then I'll have all the unwanted company I can imagine. I see Nick through the smoke. I am relieved for that. But where is Rick?

It's getting hotter here. A look around again tells me I am 7 feet from a fire all around me. That isn't to mention any beams from overhead falling on me.

They say your life flashes before you when you think you are going to die. Mine doesn't. What happens is all the things that "caught my fancy" in my life throughout the years has found me laughing uncontrollably. Ok, anyone who knew I was crazy before can now say they were correct. Anyone who thought I was crazy has just had their suspicions confirmed.

I am thinking of the time my Father came home from work where he was a cake decorator and he was telling my Mom and I about the cats that waited by the back door to the Bakery every night when he arrived. He said they were feral cats and there were about 6 of them. He told us that they just loved the donuts he fed them. This had been going on for about three months. The following week I went with him to help him out at the Bakery. When we arrived, there were no cats to be found. He said my presence had probably scared them but they would come around. Half hour later, he looks out the door and tells me the cats are there and he is going to feed them. He takes out a large box of day-old donuts and proceeds to feed them. I go to watch him and am horrified. I am reminding him of how many times my Mother told him he needed glasses and that moment was one MAJOR reason why he needed them. "Dad? Those aren't feral cats........ they are feral SKUNKS! Can you PLEASE make an appointment with the eye doctor???"

My mind continues to wander......

I am remembering the time in High School when I had a VW Bug. I promised to take some friends to school one morning and I had "overbooked" my promises. Well, the VW only holds 5 but that day, there were 7 in my car. (I didn't have the heart to exclude anyone). It was raining that morning. We were packed in my VW, driving on the freeway. It was bad enough I had to use the stick shift between the legs of one of my male classmates but when my driver's side windshield wiper flew right off the car, I got to laughing so hard which made it hard trying to listen to the driving directions of the front seat passenger. I can't believe we made it to school without an accident!

My mind comes back to the present. Another alarm has sounded. Actually I heard the alarm before but ignored it. Couldn't do anything about it then and can't do anything about it now. The oxygen in my tank is almost depleted. I look up and can barely see the commotion going on through all the smoke. I still don't know where Rick is or if he is even ok. What I wouldn't do to be accidentally shot or stabbed by him just one more time in this life! What I wouldn't go to play one more joke, one more prank........... I don't want to die. I just want more chances to do all kinds of things in my life.

I can't breathe well now and I am tired..........

I get the feeling that my time is up because I can feel big hands lifting me up to Heaven. Didn't think I would go in that direction but I'm thankful all the same. I hear Rick's voice and figure something happened to him and he got to Heaven before me. Next thing I know I am being shouted at to breathe deeply and an oxygen mask is put over my face. I am thinking maybe I have to be resuscitated before going through Heaven's gates. Gotta walk through those gates on my own, right?

I slowly open my eyes and it hits me all at once. They have rescued me and I have oxygen again. I see Rick and in my heart I am glad he didn't get to Heaven before me. I'm also upset because now there is a 50% chance I won't get there at all. Darn. I was half way there!

Sometimes you get burned out

After years on the job, it isn't unusual for one of us to feel burned out. Things can tend to feel the same day in and day out. Often we just get tired of all the pain and suffering we see people go through. Sometimes we just need to take a look at the overall picture of life. It is only then that we realize what we have been missing or not "seeing" all that time. To all of us who have ever felt burned out or might one day feel burned out... let this song touch your heart and remind you why we came to this calling in our lives in the first place.

God Bless all the Firefighters and EMS workers throughout the World!

Duck all demands

Our Firehouse is one of the older Firehouses in San Francisco. Sure, we'll admit, sometimes we'd like to have a new and more modern and updated Fire Station. But we are quite fond of our Fire Station. We have so many great memories of this place. I'm not sure we are ready for any change.... although that could change at any moment.

My office is just down the hall from the kitchen...... about 500 feet. I am sentimental about this since the back of our Engine says "Keep Back 500 Feet."

Our Firehouse is adequately heated in the winter and somewhat cooled in the summer months. One good thing about the heating vents is that you can hear people talking in the kitchen through the vent in the floor from my office. Over the years, I have learned one thing: If you SMELL coffee in the Firehouse... you have to have some. We have great Italian coffee brewers here. THE BEST!

One day, I was feeling lazy. I smelled the coffee brewing one morning and I could hear some of the guys talking from the kitchen (through the heater vent). So I got on the floor and said to the heater vent: "Rick do you think you can bring me a cup of that great smelling coffee? Please???" Five minutes later he brought me a cup.

This scenario played several times over the next couple weeks with Seguace (our Firehouse duck mascot) watching and listening to each move and word I said.

One day, Seguace went to the heater vent and quacked for 2 minutes. He did this for several days with persistence. Then, the next thing I knew, Rick brought in a cup of coffee for him.

It dawned on me that Suguace had just ordered (and received!) coffee from the kitchen. To this day I still can't believe how smart that duck is. I have to be more careful in the future. I have to admit... I am so very happy I don't have to share MY cofffee with Seguace, since he leaves duck slobber in my cup every time he sneaks a sip when I'm not looking.

Still, the thought of Seguace copying my actions floors me. Who would think of a duck as a caffeine addict? :-)))

'Ya just gotta love this alternative "San Francisco Zoo" !!!!

I'm losing my touch

"Engine 7, Rescue 2, an EMS response on the freeway. 32 year old male injured by an apparent pipe bomb, conscious and alert, bleeding from the arm." (We are given directions to the scene at this point).

"County Fire, Engine 7, Rescue 2 responding."

We arrive on the scene. A Chevy Malibu has impacted the center divide. Reports tell us that a bomb had been thrown into the Malibu from a passing car. It hit our patient in the arm. Our patient is lying on the ground near to his car. Passerbyers who had witnessed what had happened had pulled over to assist the man. His shirt is blackened and his arm is bleeding, obviously burned.

As we attend to the patient, we are told by the police that a suspect has been arrested and is in police custody. We were told it was a molotov cocktail that had been thrown into our patient's car. Our patient is prepped for the ride to the emergency room. He is in stable condition. During the ride, I realized how tired I was. The humming of the squad's engine just about put me to sleep.

Upon arriving at the ER, the attending physician asks for details and updates on the patient.

So I give the pertinent information to the doctor. "32 year old male, hit in arm with a masultov cocktail, BP 130/70, Pulse 85, Respiration 32..."

"Mazultov?" the doctor asks.

"Yes, but he is stable. There was more damage to the car than to the patient," I answer without thinking.

It just took three seconds to hear the giggling of the nurses before I caught on to my verbal mistake. I'm losing my touch. Usually it only takes ONE second!

Acronyms

We use a lot of acronyms in the Firehouse. It's normal. We don't have time to talk... especially at certain times when we are in the middle of a fire or emergency or just plain lazy. Some of us here know AMS (American Sign Language) since Sheena learned it many years ago to "talk" with the deaf and we picked up on it. We know we aren't supposed to enter a scene without being equipped with a SCBA (Self Contained Breathing Apparatus). And Heaven forbid should we forget our PASS (Personal Alert Safety System). For sure CHAOS (Chief Has Arrived On Scene) would have our hides. ("Chaos" is Sheena's nickname here).

Today we learned a new acronym.... it didn't have much to do with Firefighters (or did it?)

We have a BSNM room in our Firehouse. Let me explain a thing or two. A Firehouse of all men can endure anything. We are all the same. But when a woman is involved in the Firehouse, everything changes. This is not necessarily a BAD thing..... it just means we need to change everything about us me. And we did. Actually, we didn't have a choice.

When Sheena first came to the Firehouse, she was the only woman. We have gone through periods of other female Firefighters and Paramedics with our department but those were short lived days. Various reasons kept them from remaining with us... mostly it was for our "personal safety" as Sheena would say. Women have a nice way of wording things!!!

Seriously. Sheena has been pretty much correct in her intuitions in the past but as men we wish she could just be wrong ONCE! (Ok, maybe a few times just to be on par with us!)

Back to the acronyms. We have this room in our Firehouse called the BSNM room.

This is a room where you go to sit down immediately. You MUST take a seat! If you do this, you don't have to worry about any other thing. There is no TV in this room but you can read the paper or a magazine should you desire. No one will come scold you and you won't have to fix the room up when you are done. No one will have to invest in cleaning costs and none of your workmates will have to do "caper duty." Mind you, it is SITTING ROOM only! This room will make anyone happy... except the male that is forced to sit down but he will eventually get used to it. Hopefully.

BSNM stands for Be Seated No Mess. This is the acronym she gave our common bathroom.

Wonder what's next?

Recovery Time

It has been a long 5 months since Captain Harold had his heart attack. We wanted to thank everyone who have been sending their wishes for Harold and keeping him in their thoughts and prayers. Also, thank you to all of you who have sent cards, flowers and letters to him. It has kept him in good spirits all this time.

The best news is that Harold has passed his physical with his doctor and he has been given permission to come back to the Firehouse with the previous restrictions removed. We can now breathe a sigh of relief. There have been many changes in the Firehouse. Although we all ate healthy to begin with, we are still changing our diets with Harold in mind.

It's good to be back! Once again, thank you ALL OF YOU for your support these past five months.

We're BAAAAAAAAAAAAACK! :)))

Life is precious

"You have to get to SF General and immediately," is what I heard on the phone. "One of the guys had a heart attack."

My heart stopped and so did time.

"I'll tell you about Steve when you get here," Rick said.

I am not sure what I was thinking other than being scared. When you know something has happened to one of your Firefighters and you don't know all the details, time stops and everything after that seems to run in slow motion. I know it took me about 45 minutes to reach the hospital but it seemed like days. My head was whirling and I was fearful that I might have to pull my car over just to throw up. That didn't seem so lady-like so I fought the nausea.

I parked quickly in the lot, and ran to the Emergency room. I didn't even know where I was supposed to go. I was trembling so bad that I couldn't even stop to call Rick and ask where they were. I was directed to the Cardiac Care Unit upstairs. I never realized how long elevators could take! How many other people have taken these same elevators rushing to their family members only to feel like they are in a time warp?

I jumped out of the elevator and ran down the hall. I saw Rick standing there. I was running so fast that I misjudged how much time I needed to come to a complete stop and ended up smacking into the Crash Cart in the hall... probably the same Crash Cart they used for Steve. The fact it was in the hall brought a double emotion from my heart: either Steve had been successfully resuscitated or he died. Rick picked me up off the floor.... ok, I can't throw up on the freeway because it wouldn't be lady-like but I have the knack to fall flat on my face many times in my life.... this being one of them.... and it isn't lady-like either but seems to be WHO I am... a total klutz. I looked at everyone who was standing around. One of them was Steve. I was confused. I never knew anyone could have a heart attack and mend so quickly.

I looked at Rick. I always trusted him. He had always told me the truth even when I didn't want to hear it.

"What is going on?" I asked.

"Sheena... I couldn't tell you on the phone. You would have freaked and I was afraid you'd get into an accident."

Ok, now I was totally confused and a bit irritated because I now knew less than an hour ago.

"WHO???" I yelled.

"Captain Harold," was all Rick said before I rushed into the CCU room, fighting off Rick and two others who tried to prevent me from going into the room.

"You can't be in here," the nurse said.

"Like heck!" I screamed and ran to Harold's bedside.

The attending Physician motioned to the nurse and she let me be.

Harold was pale... actually a strange shade of gray. He seemed to be sleeping. My heart ached. Actually it hurt like hell.

The past flashed in front of my eyes. I have had the priveledge to work with Harold for over 25 years. He was like my Father. He was always there for me. He was my Mentor. He was there when I lost friends and family members. He and his wife pulled me into their lives and comforted me when I needed it the most. They never had children. I suppose I was considered their child. I was there when he lost his wife some years ago. He never remarried. While others felt enough years had passed and he should "get out and meet a woman," I knew Harold's heart and what he really felt. He was still in love with his wife of 30+ years. He would never remarry. I respected him for his feelings. I admired him.

And now there he was... in critical condition. 65 years old. He couldn't die on me. I wouldn't allow it. My anger towards Rick for deceiving me and allowing me to believe it was Steve who had the heart attack dissolved. I realized Rick never mentioned in so many words that Harold was the one who had the heart attack... he just said we would TALK about Steve. I needed to know what he meant by that.

I went out to the hall where Rick, Steve and others were. I stared at them all trying to figure out what they were all thinking or feeling. I couldn't. I was too confused with my own feelings.

"Tell me," I said to Rick. And he did.

My partner knows me well. Yes, I would have freaked out if I had known it was Harold who had a heart attack. True, I was devastated that I thought it was Steve. He is one of my men in the Firehouse and I consider him and everyone of them equally important and special to me. But Steve is young and strong and I could have convinced myself that he would pull through a heart attack. Harold is more seasoned and would have to struggle a lot more to get through one. I care deeply about everyone I work with or "KNOW" and I have a difficult time dealing with something bad happening to any of them.

Suddenly I was thankful I didn't know the truth during that phone call. I gave Rick and the other guys a hug and went back into Cap's room. I remained there the entire weekend.... talking to him, crying, scolding, apologizing. He finally woke up and said, "Can you just be quiet for a minute???" I was ecstatic! He NOTICED I was annoying! This was GREAT news!

Captain Harold eventually had an angioplasty. His heart attack was due to a blockage in one of his arteries. Thank God he had the attack in the Firehouse.... and thank God Steve was there to perform CPR. Had Harold been at home (he lives alone)... he would have most likely died.

I am grateful beyond belief for Steve's fast thinking and expertise in CPR. Have I mentioned I have the greatest guys a Firehouse could ever have??? Well, I DO! I am proud of them all more than words could ever describe.

And this is for Harold: GET WELL SOON AND COME BACK "HOME" TO US. WE MISS YOU LOTS! WE LOVE YOU!

PS. Harold is getting stronger and stronger each and every day and we are just so happy and thankful about this. Thank you to everyone who has sent their love and wishes to Harold. God Bless you all!

Getting even... eventually.....

After 6 days of suffering with a sore throat, our fellow Firefighter, Steve, finally went to the doctor to have it checked out. The usual vital signs were taken and the doctor came in a few minutes later. After asking questions regarding his health and how long he had the sore throat for, Steve was given a gown and asked to strip down to his underwear.

He called me on the cell phone at this point.

"What do I do? I'm wearing the briefs I got for my birthday!" (Yes, there are still some people in this world... even grown men.... who get underwear for their birthday!)

"I don't know, " I told him. "There's nothing you can do. Just take it like a man. No one told you to wear those briefs!"

We hung up.

Steve undressed as directed and waited for the worst. The doctor walked in, looked at Steve's underwear and said, "Real cute. From a woman?"

"Yeah. A birthday gift," Steve says.

The doctor was right. Steve's glands were swollen. All the way down to his groin. He was put on antibiotics and sent home to rest for a few days. Instead, he made a detour to the Firehouse.

Steve storms into the Firehouse. "Where IS she???" he asks.

I am sitting in the living room and I can see Sheena's shadow on the wall make a U-turn. After all, she is the only "SHE" here.

Everyone asks him what happened and he tells them. They all begin to laugh and hoot and holler. I swear some of them were rolling around on the ground.

"It's NOT funny!" Steve defends himself.

"Yes it is!"

"This is the best ever!"

"I can't believe this story is about you and not HER!"

"This IS about her. SHE gave them to me!" Steve says.

"She didn't tell you to actually WEAR them," someone says.

"I didn't have any clean ones," he says.

"So let me get this right," Captain Harold says as he comes into the room. "You didn't have clean underwear except the ones Sheena gave you for your birthday." (Harold didn't know the whole story about the briefs Sheena gave Steve). "And now you are upset at her because you had to strip down to your skivvies at the doctor's. I don't understand why you would blame HER for that!"

"You don't understand, Cap," Steve says. "It wasn't the briefs or the fact they were given as a gift. It's what she DID to them! And I owe her one!"

Harold looked confused. He had no clue what Steve was talking about. All of a sudden, Steve lowers his sweat pants to show Harold what he is talking about. By now all the guys are in great fits of laughter. It's the kind of laughter where a guy dances around and jumps up and down and looks totally out of control. (We men know how to have a good time!)

Harold tries to not laugh. And it was very difficult for him. Then he lost it. After he regained control, all he could say was, "I think she is hiding somewhere in here. Go for it!"

Steve took off looking for Sheena. Captain Harold looked at all of us and shook his head. "Where DOES she come up with these things???" He was referring to the personalized screen print on the briefs:

THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING US!

Steve never did find Sheena that day. He wasn't angry at her. He just wanted to tell her to beware because he was going to get her back. He DID get her back about a month later. And it was a great joke. But that will be another story later.

Our Firehouse Mascots: Signore Seguace and Luca

Lately we have been getting many requests for photos of our Firehouse Mascots....... Seguace and Luca. After 60+ requests, we decided to post their photos. Neither one of them holds still long enough to take a picture so this was the best we could do.

Enjoy!
From all of us at the Firehouse

9-11... Can't forget... Won't forget.

I was in Italy at the time of the attack on the World Trade Center. My Captain called me within an hour and asked me to come back to the US immediately. He was gathering together a Search and Rescue team and I was to lead the team. It took me 20 hours from that phone call to the time I landed in San Francisco. I was met at the airport by my partner, Rick and my Captain. On the way to the Firehouse, I was briefed on what was going on.

My Mother had called me as soon as I landed in San Francisco, sounding frantic and she was crying. "Tell me you aren't in New York!" she pleaded.

"No Mamma, I'm not and wasn't." (She was afraid for me because I had been meeting our publisher every couple months for this book our Firehouse is writing).

I didn't want to alarm her but needed to be truthful with her.

"Mamma? Some of us in the Firehouse are going there in the next day or two. We are going to be part of the Search and Rescue. Everything will be ok. Alright?"

She cried more and told me to be careful. I remember as a little girl when Kennedy got shot and how she ran through the house in an epileptic panic and cried and tried to hug me but I couldn't return her hugs effectively because I didn't know what was happening. I was scared too but all I could do was say, "Don't cry, Mamma. Everything will be okay." And here I was saying the same words to her again. And once again she was trying to believe the words of her "little girl."

Five of us on the Search and Rescue team gathered our equipment and headed for New York with our Rescue dogs. I can still feel the horrible ache that was in my heart when I saw what was left of the Twin Towers from our plane. There wasn't a dry eye on the plane and it was only going to get worse. I could feel it.

Arriving at Ground Zero... the smell of metal, burning wires and death made me choke. I tried so hard to fathom what kind of evil people could have done this. It was incomprehensible. This was OUR country but had this happened anywhere else in the world, my heart would have broke all the same. Evil is evil no matter where in the world it shows its face.

One thing I always disliked was when people would say, "God Bless America." I often wondered why people didn't think God would bless the WORLD!

We gathered our rescue dogs and eqipment and we were directed where to start our searches. We were one of the few groups to have our dogs fitted with booties so they wouldn't hurt their feet walking over sharp and dangerous things. I later found out someone had donated booties to all the dogs who were part of the search and rescue efforts.

As we sifted through the rubble, we found people still alive and each time we were overcome with such emotion. Each rescue was a victory. Along with finding survivors, we also found those who didn't survive. There were lots of body parts that we gathered along the way praying and hoping that those people would be identified one day to give their families closure.

One evening, during a search, my dog started whining. He laid down on the ground with his head and eyes down. I knew he had found something. I wasn't prepared for what I was about to see. I hadn't gotten used to the body parts we were finding but I was sure I had seen most everything at that point.

I called for Rick to come to us.

"He found something," I told Rick.

"What is it?" Rick asked.

I told him I wasn't sure yet because I hadn't looked and quite frankly I had a bad feeling about what it was. I motioned the dog away, praising him for finding something. And there is was. It took everything in me not to throw up or faint.

"Jesus Christ!" Rick moaned.

I could feel the tears roll down my face. My hands were shaking. I am a very strong person but at that moment I was proven wrong. I took off the scarf I had around my neck that I was using to keep from inhaling too much dust and smoke from the debris. I gently scooped up what we found and wrapped it in my scarf. I held it close to my chest as if to keep it warm knowing it was much too late.

"You okay?" Rick asked.

I was shivering so bad. I looked at him and his eyes were filled with tears.

"No, I'm not," was all I could say, my teeth chattering.

I knew that there were body bags and buckets where we were putting the body parts we were finding. I couldn't imagine leaving this in a bag or bucket. I didn't want to put it anywhere. I wanted to find the rest of it; where it came from.

I remember seeing the area where they were gathering all the bits and pieces from victims. I don't know what happened to me. I stopped and dropped to the ground on my knees and just wept. I don't remember Rick trying to comfort me. I only know that I could not be comforted. To think that terrorists could do all this without a bit of guilt. It hurt me to the core.

Exhausted, Rick guided me towards the make-shift outdoor morgue.

"Whatcha got?" the Coroner asked.

I couldn't say anything and he asked again.

"This has to go in a special place. Please?" I said, beginning to cry again.

He walked over to me and pulled back the scarf to uncover what I was holding.

"Please?" I said again. "A special place. Not with all the rest of the parts."

"Holy Mother of God!" the Coroner screamed. His face turned pale.

I know Coroners see the worst possible things in life (and death) but looking around Ground Zero, knowing what happened there and thinking to moments that led up to my "find," it was almost impossible to fathom.

"I'll make sure it has a special place," he said calmly. "I promise."

And he took the 5 month fetus from my arms, still wrapped in my scarf. It was a boy. My heart ached for the Mother of this baby. She was still out there perhaps and she had to be reunited with her baby one way or another. A few weeks later, I found out that through DNA, Mother and baby were reunited and buried together.

We spent many more days at Ground Zero. First it was Search and Rescue and then it turned to Recovery efforts. For months after that, my men and I went for counseling to try and understand our emotions. We went through periods of being very sad and depressed to being terribly angry.

People around us always seemed to keep reminding us of Ground Zero. They would give us books or articles about 9-11. We would thank them graciously for the gift. I know they meant well but we could never open any of those books. We still have three of those books sitting in my Firehouse. They have never been opened let alone read. It is not that I want to forget that horrific disaster. I just don't want to remember those days or what all the Rescue workers went through. I don't want my heart to keep breaking forever. And I don't want the image of that unborn baby to haunt me forever.

WHO LET THE DUCK OUT????

We are not a normal Firehouse. I have humbled myself by saying this many times before in the past. We don't have a dog, let alone a Dalmation at best... like several other Stations do. Rather, we have a duck. Yes, a duck. It wasn't by choice. He "followed" us back to the Station one day and we tried many times to persuade him the other way but he didn't listen. He flew onto our rig after a call and several times we removed him trying to get him to "go home." He kept flying back on until we got back to the Firehouse. He waddled into our Station that day like he owned the place and has called it "home" ever since. Hence, he was named Signore Seguace (meaning Mr. Follower in Italian).

Seguace doesn't like "intruders" who come to our Firehouse. He is keen on the color red and yellow. Perhaps this is one of the reasons he followed our rig all the way to the Station. He doesn't do well with things painted black and white or just white. This would include the San Francisco Police Department. The minute one of the Officers arrives at our Firehouse (official business, just to visit, etc) Seguace races out to the outer gate surrounding our Firehouse and quacks wildly and puts on a display of aggression. Mind you, it is the ONLY time he is aggressive and this is a duck whose best friend is a cat. They chase each other around the Station and paw (or peck) each other playfully. You couldn't separate the two if you wanted to!

The minute the Officer enters the gate, they are at the mercy of "the duck." Seguace attacks their boots first..... pecking and drooling all over the shoelaces until he unties them. When he finishes that, he starts pecking at their pant leg and eventually their legs. This gets the Officer jumping up and down trying to avoid the pecking and looking for protective cover. Then the race is on to see who gets into the Firehouse first and it is usually Seguace.

My men are in the upstairs windows laughing their heads off singing, "WHO LET THE DUCK OUT???" in tune to "Who let the dogs out???" and dancing around like fools.

Words cannot describe this scenario well enough. You'd just have to imagine a duck attacking a Police Officer in the City of San Francisco. But then again, this is San Francisco and anything can happen here. Life is great, no?

Hummers

Now that Sheena has had her back surgery and everything is fine again, I thought it only appropriate to recount the ordeal. Ok, ok.... and to get her back for all the times she made me make a fool of myself (although she will say I should give myself credit for doing that all on my own).

The first step for "preparing" her for the surgery was to have steroids injected into her spine to reduce the swelling before they did the surgery. It sounded like a simple procedure...... I mean, she has had injections into her shoulder a couple times before and they were done in the office but this time, perhaps it was because it dealt with her spine, they had to do it in a surgical environment.

They doped her up real good and she didn't want this. In fact, even as they were announcing they would "give her something to relax" she was trying to tell them she didn't need anything... which brings me to this moment. This is WHY I am writing this blog. It is too funny NOT to write about!

Sheena, like the rest of us hate those Hummers that are out on the road. First of all, they are too big, they are gas guzzlers, and seem to be totally unnecessary in this world unless they are involved in Military affairs.

Sheena had just come out of the operating room with steroids in her spine and Looney drugs in her veins. She was as happy as can be. Standard time in the recovery room is 45 minutes. They haul her out after 20. She has lived up to her reputation by being a terrible patient. (I heard she woke up and asked if she could go home. They told her she had to go to recovery first and she told them she was going to call the cops). After recovery, she was put in a wheelchair to be transported to her "car in waiting".

That would be me.

The male nurse rolled her down the hallway and into the parking garage.

"RICK! LOOK! It's a HUMMER!" she yelled. "It's a darn HUMMER!" I look out into the garage and she sees I am looking in the wrong place and corrects me.

"NO, you fool! I'm IN the stupid HUMMER!" Sure enough she was in a black wheelchair.... wide enough and square enough to be considered a HUMMER.

We hate Hummers.

She was humiliated.

"Get me out of this thing!" she yelled. The nurse brought her to the passenger side of my car and off he ran as fast as lightening. No need to stay around, I suppose.



A week later, she gets a brainstorm. This doesn't happen often so we surely take it seriously. She has decided to have the surgery to remove the tumor and have it done immediately. No explanation. We are not surprised. She rarely has an explanation for anything anyway. And when she DOES, it really doesn't pertain to anything.



Surgery is scheduled three weeks later. We have time to plan and prepare. At least you would THINK!!! Nothing goes as planned and we should have known this from the beginning. The Doctor calls and asks her to come in earlier than her 1.30 appointment. He has had a cancellation. She arrives at the hospital at 12.30 and is taken in immediately. Problem is.. the people that have come with her have irritated her to the point of making her blood pressure rise and the surgery is on the brink of being postponed. There is no way in hell she is going to have the surgery postponed. (Mind you, she was instructed not to eat or drink anything from midnight on and here is was..... 3pm and she was not a Happy Camper!) It was bad enough she wouldn't take off her earrings and they had to cover them with electrical tape so she wouldn't "catch fire" if they had to cauterize anything.

A nurse walks into the pre-op room. "Your name?" she asks.

"Isn't it on the chart?" Sheena asks.

"Yes, but I am just making sure I have the right person," the nurse explains.

"Sheena."

"OH! I HEARD about you! Everyone has heard about you!" she says.

"I didn't do it," Sheena says.

The nurse excuses herself and next thing you know, there are three other nurses in the room. One is taking vital signs, one is setting up an IV, the other is writing in the chart.

"So what is it you heard about me?" Sheena asks.

They all laugh. "Dr. Welsh has it written on your chart that you need to be watched. Says you would go AMA even during the surgery."

"And we aren't allowed to put you in a Hummer when you leave the hospital," another nurse says. "Heard you freaked out last time you were in one."

Since her blood pressure wasn't going down, most likely due to the friends in the room and the fact she was in an awful lot of pain, they send the friends away and give her a shot of Morphine. Half hour later they give her a second one.

Bad mistake. She is beyond looney now and gets the giggles. A bird outside the window pooped on the landing and she just couldn't stop laughing.

"I could NEVER do that in public!" she says.

Off to the OR.....

Dr. Welsh comes to talk to her before the surgery. "I heard you didn't take your blood pressure medication this morning," he says.

"The instructions said no food or drink after midnight. So I didn't," she answers.

"I thought my nurse told you the medication was okay to take with a sip of water," he explains.

"Maybe but that is not what the instructions said."

"I heard you had two peices of Jolt gum this morning," he says. (Jolt gum is caffienated gum... two peices has the equivalent amount of caffeine as a cup of coffee).

"Yep," she says. "But I didn't eat or drink them. I just chewed them." (This coming from a girl who "follows the rules"!)

Surgery took about an hour. She didn't go AMA in the middle of it. She didn't catch fire. In fact, everything went well.

I was sitting with her when she woke up. "Good evening, Sleeping Beauty," the nurse says.

"Can I go home now?" Sheena asks. (She never gives up).

"Maybe after recovery time. And you have to walk and pee for us first," the nurse answers.

Sheena looks at her wrists quickly and gives a sigh of relief. They once had to restrain her in the hospital because she tried twice to leave a few hours after major surgery. Even with the restraints she got out of them Houdini style. No one ever knew how she did it.

Captain Harold and three others from the Firehouse came to see her.

"Oh, you are still here!" Harold says. "Wasn't sure if you would be or not but we took a chance."

The nurses started to flock into the room. And I noticed they started taking their time doing what they had to do in the room. Looked to me like they didn't want to leave. Well, heck! Firefighters in uniform! What more could they want? Other nurses walked past the room and came back again standing outside the door watching, waiting to start a conversation with the guys. This went on for about a half hour and then Sheena realized what was happening.

"Can I go home now?" she asked.

"After some time," the nurse said while talking with the guys at the same time. Sheena looks at me and then looks at the nurse and the guys and back to me. "I'm never gonna get out of here" she mouths to me. I was getting that feeling too.

"Can you get me a private room?" Sheena asks.

"Why?" the nurse asks.

"So I can get out of here faster?" The nurse knew what she was insinuating and turned red in the face. She left the room.

The next nurse to come into the room was checking the IV fluids. Sheena tried her luck with this nurse.

"I have to go for a walk and pee," she says. (Sounded like what someone's dog would say!)

Unaware, the nurse pulls the IV pole around the side of the bed, helps Sheena out, and deposits her in the bathroom.

"No listening!" she yells from inside the bathroom.

She comes out and is ready for a walk. The nurse is holding on to her elbow to steady her but Sheena takes off at a fast pace and the nurse is basically running after her saying, "Slow down! I can't push the pole that fast and you're pulling on the tubing!"

Back in the room she is bothering to go home again. Funny how the nurses found things to do before letting her go home. Finally, after another 45 minutes of Sheena using the call button for everything from ice and water to blankets and pillows, they decided they'd had enough of her and let her go. She was unhooked from the IV and went to get dressed. The guys went back to the Station and I went down to the garage to bring the car around to the front entrance of the hospital. A nurse would be bringing her in a wheelchair to the car. Even before I saw it, I KNEW the nurses had gotten their revenge.

"Oh my god, Rick!!!! They put me in another HUMMER! Get me OUT of this thing!!!"


~Ricky~

No frills here..... just lace

Poor Rookies. I was once one.... glad I'm not anymore. When I was a Rookie, we didn't have the steadfast people in our Firehouse that we have today. They played jokes and pranks, yes.... but not as voraciously. Now we always strive to outdo ourselves.

One joke we played on a new Rookie was one of the best we ever did. We still laugh about it today and most new Rookies get initiated this way. We had a very innocent and very naiive Rookie named Ron. We played jokes on him constantly. One of the best jokes was adding extra garments to his bunker pants just before retiring for the evening.

We always lay out our bunker gear and boots beforehand for the next call we go on. The bunker pants are around our boots and the suspenders are attached to the bunker pants. When we get a call, all we have to do it "jump" into our gear and we are ready to go. It saves time for us. We grab the rest of our gear off hooks just before jumping onto the rig.

Problem is, when you are bolted awake in the wee hours of the morning, you aren't thinking too clearly the first few minutes. You go through the routine of "getting dressed" and gathering your gear as if it were second nature. But you wake up while on route to whatever call it is you are going on. Often it is nothing serious.

We were on the rig flying to the scene of a small fire and trying to fully wake up. As a new Rookie, this guy had a harder time coming to grips with waking up. The fire was a garbage container fire. This Rookie was instructed to help put the fire out. Water is doused on the fire and the Rookie is stirring the contents to make sure it is fully out. The neighbors have gathered around to watch as things unfold. One of our senior Firefighters is videotaping.

"Whatcha wearing, Ron?" one of the Firefighters asks. "You get your clothes inside out?"

Ron has no idea what he is talking about and continues to stir the debris.

"Didn't know you were into that, Ron," someone else says.

Half awake, Ron says, "Uh huh."

By now the crowd is talking, laughing and pointing at the Firefighters. With the fire in the garbage container out, Ron returns his equipment to the truck.

"Nice panties," one of the boys in the crowd yells. Of course, waking up and curiosity make Ron look around to see what "panties" the boy is talking about. He looks and looks and comes to the realization that the crowd is staring at HIM. Someone points. He looks down. Wrapped around his calf is a pair of red lace panties.

His face turns red and all he can manage to say is, "I'm NEW around here."

It's hard to get a pair of panties off your leg when you have a size 12 boot on.

~Ricky~

Standard Issued Uniform Shirts

Our last shift had been a busy one compared to most other nights. In the past 12 hours we had been called out on 8 calls. Our total amount of time in the Firehouse has been about 3 hours. Just before the last call, we had been called out to a structural fire that had made its way to a 3 alarm fire. Upon returning to the Station, most of us had taken showers. Sheena had procrasintated saying she just knew that if she got in the shower, the alarms would sound again. It had been quiet while all the others took showers so why should she think it would happen when SHE was in the shower? Captain Harold tells her to go shower and off to the showers she goes and DANG! if those alarms didn't sound again!

"Rick! I forgot my shirt in my locker! Throw me one!" I heard her yelling. I ran to her locker, grabbed the navy blue t-shirt and threw it over the stall to her.

Although she was the last on the rig, she still made it in time, all decked out in her bunkers. All she had to do was get her helmet and gloves on, which she did as we rolled out of the bay.
We were on our way to an accident. Car vs. motorcycle. It was a warm evening. Sheena and I are attending to the rider of the motorcycle. His leg is obviously broke and we begin to stabilize and splint it. Sheena removes her bunker coat and to my horror, she isn't wearing the standard issued uniform T-shirt we all wear.
Since this was an accident, San Francisco PD is on scene to take reports and investigate. I can hear some snickering amongst themselves.
We get our patient loaded up on a gurney to be transported to the hospital and one of the Officers says, "Hey Chief! Since when did your department get new uniforms?"

Everything seemed to be a blur of sentences after that.....

"Whatcha talking about, Miller?"
"New uniforms. Your department have a budget cut?"
"ALL departments have had budget cuts!"
"Your's must have had BIG cut-backs."
"Who cares about uniforms right now at a time like this?"
"SHEEEEEEEEEEENA!!!!" (This would be Captain Harold and he is smacking his own forehead)
"Hey, nice uniform!" (Yelled by several other police officers)
"What IS it with you people talking about uniforms???"
"Look, mommy! Winnie the Pooh!"

That's when it registers. She looks down at her shirt.

"Oh my god, Rick! What did you do???"

I'm sure I'll get paid back for this one day. Actually, I'm positive.

Cell Phones and Italian Food

There was a time when I couldn't wait to get a cell phone. And once I did, it was the most wonderful thing in my life. I could connect with anyone I needed to without having to run back home or go to a public phone to make a phone call. I was in Heaven. But then the phone rang and rang and rang. And I soon learned I hated the sound of the ring. Then I discovered you could change the ring to announce the person who was calling me. How cool was this??? So now I had many ring tones but couldn't remember which one was associated with which friend. So honestly, I started to IGNORE the calls and only listened to the voice mails.

Many of the guys in the Firehouse had phones that had what you called VIBRATION on their cell phones. The phone didn't ring...... it just vibrated. I spent weeks trying to find out how to make MINE do that. My phone was old and didn't have that option. I was disappointed. Everyone told me to get a new phone. I liked my phone (it was Fire Engine RED!) Then I found out I could UPGRADE my phone (with a 2 year contract). Oh well, what the heck? I had no other plans, I wasn't going anywhere in the next 2 years. So I upgraded. And now my new phone had the ability to "vibrate" rather than ring. This was so cool!

When I went to the Firehouse the next day for work, I was so excited and happy to show off my new phone. For once I would be "up-to-date" as far as technology was concerned and with everyone else! I arrived at my Station for my shift . Everyone was at the dinner table eating. I walked in and announced, "Hey everyone! I FINALLY got a VIBRATOR!"

Someone shouted, "You GO, girl!!!"

Others gave unmentionable comments.

I guess a vibrating phone (which is what I meant!) can be perceived as a personal vibrator with a minimal amount of incorrect English at the most incorrect time.

Another case in point:

We had decided to have lunch at an Italian restaurant. Our day was slow and we were sure we'd have enough time before being called out on an emergency. At least our fingers are crossed since we don't go out to eat often and this place had been highly recommended.

We were seated and were in the process of ordering. At the time this happened, I was just learning Italian. I ordered a particular dish and asked the waiter (who had a very strong Italian accent), "Does this dish have any preservatives in it?" (I get migraines from MSG and needed to know!). His name was Giuseppe and he asked me, "Do you WANT preservatives???" I told him NO. He was quiet for some moments and then said, "We can prepare your dish without preservatives but just to let you know we don't normally add them." I was happy for this but concerned about his giggles and laughter and Italian bantering with the others in the kitchen....... who also laughed like they heard the funniest thing they ever heard before.

I found out later that "preservatives" in Italian meant CONDOMS. My goodness. I can't just learn "Italian"... I have to learn what ISN'T Italian!

It is not so bad to make a fool of yourself in public (you can laugh at yourself and make someone's day). Somewhere down the road, everything will be forgotten and forgiven. But to do it while in uniform is another thing....

I tried....

I found you unconscious... not breathing........... with no pulse. I began CPR immediately, determined to bring you back into this world..... to live a long life..... to be with people who loved you and needed you. But you had other plans. You didn't want to be in this world anymore. And I could no longer promise the people who stood around, "waiting for a miracle to happen" that there would be one today. I had to tell the truth. YOU were stronger than me this time. YOU were in control. YOU knew what you wanted and demanded it. And so it was. You won in the end. You had your way. You are gone. And I could not comfort anyone here who loved you. They blamed me. I blamed me. I SHOULD have been stronger. I should have been more in control. But life (and death) is not always about strength or control... it is about WILL and what the heart feels and has had to endure. My heart is heavy tonight.... 45 minutes of constant CPR and you left me anyway. I feel like I have failed. I feel like I have let you and others down. Perhaps I have realized that once again, I am not God.

(This is in memory of a friend who committed suicide)


HOW TO SAVE A LIFE




Step one you say we need to talk
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
You begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
How to save a life
How to save a life


Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
How to save a life
How to save a life
How to save a life

Every Station has one

Every Station has one. Every Rookie, Firefighter, Paramedic, Fire Chief, Fire Captain, Battalion Chief (and anyone else in-between) has been one. No one is spared. A Firehouse is not a Firehouse unless you can joke and tease and pull pranks. It is what we do to relieve the stress of the more serious, the more heartbreaking, the more "personal" parts of our jobs. Every Fire Station has a "Cinnamon Dragon." And if they are lucky, they can have several at a time who are not suspecting it. On the outside, most of us "look" professional. We portray that in the public eye (or we TRY to!). But when we are alone, in the comfort of our Station... we are ..... well, just like everyone else who wants to have fun once in awhile. For now, this video tells it all. To BE or NOT TO BE a Cinnamon Dragon is not within a person's control. They unsuspectingly fall into the trap. And what ensues is laughter that you can hear all through the night when everyone is trying to sleep but some remain awake thinking of...... the Cinnamon Dragon.

ON THE LOOKOUT

I was in the Dispatch room of our Firehouse one evening and a call came in:

"Attention all Stations. Be on the lookout for a suspicious vehicle in your area. Vehicle is described as a red sleigh driven by reindeer. Suspect is described as a while male, heavy build with a white beard and moustache, wearing a red suit and hat. The suspect has been seen landing on rooftops dropping presents down the chimneys of the houses. Please approach suspect with holiday cheer and.... MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!"

Yes, this was an actual call on Christmas eve.

Rambling thoughts of Firefighters/Paramedics

Many people have made comments over the years about how they could never do the jobs we do at the Fire Station. We've even been told we are a "crazy breed" of people. I suppose this is true. You HAVE to be nuts sometimes to run into a burning building that is filled with such thick black smoke that you can't see but you have to check for possible victims, and all the while you must keep your wits about you so you'll remember how to get back out safely. Many times it is like looking for a needle in a haystack but in this case you have fire nipping at your butt while you're trying to do so. Yep. I can honestly say we probably ARE that "crazy breed" of people. Still, there isn't a single one of us who would ever trade our jobs for anything else. This is our life. And these are reflections from the past years. These aren't just MY thoughts but rather thoughts and emotions from all of us.

I fight fires, I climb ladders, I have rappelled down the side of a building, I have fallen through the roof of a building. I have ignored direct orders to attack a fire in a certain part of a house when my intuitions got the best of me and I have pulled my men out just before the roof collapsed.

I have been stuck with needles and been made to wait anxiously for the HIV test to come back. I have thanked God the tests all came back negative.

I have been bitten by a dog trying to protect his owner when we were treating a patient diagnosed with a heart attack.

I have spent Christmas and most every major holiday at the Firehouse. I have gone without meals many times because we were called out of the Station. There are just as many times I never got to finish a meal for the same reasons.

I have played jokes on my fellow Firefighters and Paramedics and have been the victim of their pranks. We are still trying to outdo each other even after all these years.

I have held a small child, a burn victim, in my arms and had her skin stick to my shirt when I went to lay her down to treat her burns. I have seen a child burned twice within 3 years and watched the Father be arrested for attempted murder (he got away with it the first time for unknown reasons).

I have pretty much driven on the sidewalks in San Francisco when cars refused to pull over for us even with lights and sirens on. The men in the Firehouse swear they will sue me for hip dysplasia one day since they always think I am going to hit a car or pedestrian so they lean to the side with their right leg crossed over the other one "just in case" I do.

I have had women honk their horns at us trying to show off. They would speed up and drive along side of us only to see a female Firefighter behind the wheel. Then they would act all upset. One day I will make a sign to hold up that reads, "Disappointed?"

I have performed CPR, I have intubated people, I have stabilized compound fractures. I have delivered babies of women who did not want to go to the hospital because they couldn't afford the costs. I have seen the tragic outcomes of women who had no prenatal care for the same reasons of no money.

I have had a fellow Firefighter crack under pressure after a few years and when he was admitted for psychiatric evaluation, he was found dead. He had hung himself.

I have listened to the cries and screams of young children as they watch their parents being loaded into ambulances. I have held their hands, tried to comfort them.

I have treated the homeless and poor in San Francisco. I know many of them by name. I know which streets they tend to hang around on. We often do "checks" on them when we haven't seen them for awhile.

I have found myself in a fit of giggles (for many VALID reasons, at least in my own opinion) while trying to treat a patient who was a known hypochondriac and I couldn't believe the new "problem" she had this time. As much as I tried, I could not control myself. It has something to do with peeing in her bed and being naked and saying she couldn't complete her tax returns. Possibly if she got DRESSED and didn't pee in bed she could????

We have been caught in the cross-fire while treating a gang member for a stabbing and the rival gang decided they didn't want the boy live, let alone be treated for his wounds.

I have climbed up an aerial ladder and half way up lost my footing, only to fall to the ground after taking down the two others who were on the ladder just below me. I have cursed as to why I ended up at the bottom of the pile with the other two on top of me when I was at the TOP to begin with.

I have had to lift a 450 pound man into an ambulance. I have been punched and/or kicked by patients who were whacked out on Crystal Meth. I have done CPR and had patients vomit while breathing into their mouths. Thank god for one-way valve resuscitation masks!

I put out house fires, car fires, trash fires. I rescue people from burning houses and buildings. I rescue people in the ocean, in swimming pools and over the embankments of freeways.

I risk my life for the drunk drivers who drive over the cliff on a dark road. I have seen what damage they have done to property and human life in their inebriated state. I have wrestled with the emotions of why they should be treated for their injuries when the victims of their drinking and driving are dead on the side of the road.

I have saved patients and lost patients. I have been chewed out by doctors in the ER who thought I took too long to get a critically injured patient to the hospital. They had no idea the patient had to be extricated from underneath a tanker truck and the patient was confined to the space of a sardine can!

I care about my patients. I listen to them. I talk to them. I do all I can for them. When I have terminally ill patients who have their DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) orders in place and they tell me they want to die, I have to grant their wishes despite the fact I want to help them stay alive. I can only calm them and hold their hand. I cannot do anything else.

I take blood pressures, I read EKG's, I stop profuse bleeding, I administer life-saving drugs. I splint and patch and bandage what I need to to get our patients to the hospital.

I laugh with the men in the Station over funny things that have happened on one of our calls out. I cry when the emotions of losing a patient become too much. I pray a lot. My heart skips a beat when I call the ER to see if the critically injured patient we brought in earlier is still alive.

We wear 60+ pounds of bunker gear and equipment when we go to a fire. We work in the intense heat. We also work in the cold. We get calls in the middle of the night. We don't have the option to push the snooze button when the alarm goes off in the Firehouse. We have to be ready at all times.

I teach Paramedic and Firefighting classes. I train constantly. I am required to take classes to keep myself up-to-date in the Medical and Fire industries. I strive to do my best at all times.

I panic when I can't get through an intersection because cars either can't hear or see the sirens and lights or because they just don't know what to do. I know I have to get somewhere and somewhere fast. I sometimes get angry at these people. When I finally blow the horn to get their attention to move out of the way, they usually move. And I am constantly amazed at the ones who have the nerve to flip us off for disturbing them!

Often at the end of a difficult shift, when I finally get to go home, all I want is a hug from family or friends. I don't want to recount my shift to them. I just want a comforting hug. And when I am home, I feel guilty for not being at the Firehouse.... to watch over the other Firefighters and Paramedics when they are working. All I can do is say a prayer to keep them safe.

Like I have said before, we wouldn't give up our jobs for anything in the world. It's in our blood. It runs through our heart and soul. It truly IS the toughest job we could ever love.

OOOPS, my bad!

For some reason I had a difficult time in Paramedic school. One would think the Fire Academy was hard but it was the opposite for me. I had trouble at first in Paramedic classes.

First of all, I was shy and self-conscious. And the classrooms were so very quiet during lectures. This was not good when my stomach had the habit to make god-awful noises at the most inappropriate times. And it happened a lot. I remember from grammar school to high school, I would get into so much trouble because I would get the giggles over any noise in those quiet classrooms. Mostly is was ME but Heaven forbid when it was someone else!!!

I thought I outgrew bursting into fits of laughter.... and over "nothing" really. But I didn't. Somehow I managed to get through it all. But not without the consequences.

On this particular day, we were training in CPR and ALS (Advanced Life Support). We were learning to use the defibrillator. This machine has always intrigued me. Our patient was a manikin. He/she was "dead" already. At least I could do no harm if I messed up. Right?

Our Instructor was going over the last details before letting us practice on the manikin. I watched as each the students before me used the defibrillator on their "patient." I cringed each time I heard the zap of the machine. Then it was my turn. I positioned the paddles with precise accuracy over my patient's chest.

"Clear!" I yelled. I guess I got a bit carried away in my nervousness and didn't see the Instructor's hand on the chest of my patient. He was jolted with a defibrillation energy level of 200 J. (Thank god it only got him in one finger!)

"Oooops, my bad!" I said as he flung his hand back out of the way with a look on his face that told me he had no idea where the heck he was at the moment. Uh oh. The whole class was stunned at first and no one dared to laugh. At least not at that moment. Our Instructor was still alive. See??? That machine DID work! (I tried desperately to convince myself of this!)

Out of the classroom, I got such a ribbing from all my classmates. I was never able to live down that incident. My birthday cake later that month was in the shape of defibrillator paddles.

I suppose I passed that class just so the Instructor wouldn't have me there as his student again.

:-)

He is still alive today.

Thanks to ME??? One will never know.....

What did you say?

I am Sheena's partner in the Firehouse. We have worked together for quite a few years now. When you work so closely with someone, you get to know them quite well. For as long as I have known her, whenever she doesn't understand what someone is saying or isn't quite sure she heard them correctly, she will turn her head to the side and just stare at them. When she does this with Captain Harold, he will scowl at her. It drives him NUTS when she turns her head sideways like that.

One of the guys here in the Station came across a photo and added names to it. He then made an enlargement of it and hung it in the Firehouse.




Amazingly enough.... the expressions on the faces in the photo look EXACTLY like Sheena and Captain Harold during one of those "moments."

Revenge

Ok, I will admit I find farting really funny at times.... especially when those times are "unpredictable" or in public, and especially when they shock the very person who MAKES the fart!

One case in mind that makes me laugh every time is the woman on the Canadian Idol show. She was tooooooo funny and really comical about the whole thing.

You can watch her here:




I showed this video to the guys at the Firehouse. All day long some of the men walked past my office, stopped and said, "I totally just farted!" Some of them even brought "sound effects" with them.

After an entire day of this..... I decided to get my revenge. I planned my strategy all afternoon and knew it HAD to have something to do with SMELL.

That evening I finished dinner first. I cleared my plates and loaded them in the dishwasher and went to brush my teeth. I had taken a syringe out of my medical bag earlier and drew up some juice from a bottle of Schilling's garlic juice. Now I don't know if anyone out there has ever used this stuff but it is potent beyond belief! A little drop goes a long way in recipes. And now, also in toothpaste! :-)

I injected some of the tubes of toothpaste with this garlic juice. I only tampered with the toothpaste tubes owned by the ones who came past my office and truly made the sound effects. I then disposed of all evidence and went to the living room to watch TV. They were still eating and having coffee at this time.

The worst part about playing a joke on someone is the "waiting." Time seems to go by so slow. Sometimes it is almost unbearable.

It was about an hour later when a few of them went to brush their teeth. I could hear someone blame one of the other guys for the joke. And that guy blamed another and another and another. Gosh, I did better than I thought! No one was blaming ME! This was my good fortune! I must have timed it all correctly!

So I thought.

A call came in. Hit and run. I hate those calls. How could anyone drive away from the scene?

We arrive. It was a young woman who had been riding her bike. We assessed her condition and while the guys and I were leaning over her taking care of her injuries, that strong SMELL of garlic burned my nose. The woman kept looking at me. She actually asked everyone to "back up because she couldn't breathe". I darn near laughed my head off but had to control myself. She was released from the scene and seemed all too happy just to get some fresh air.

On the ride back to the Station, they guys kept accusing each other of the prank. That smell lasted for another 12 hours. They threw away the toothpaste, brushed with new toothpaste, used mouthwash, took antacids, drank milk, but nothing worked. Those who got off work before those 12 hours didn't dare go near their wives or girlfriends.

Ahhh.... the power of revenge!

Don't cramp my style

 A "Delta" call came in one afternoon. There are four levels of calls we get. Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta. Alpha being a non-emergency (smoke alarms going off, illegal BBQ's, etc.) and Delta (heart attacks, respiratory distress, etc.) being an all-out emergency that requires lights and sirens to get to the scene as fast as possible.

Our Delta was for a man who had been injured...... "Unknown Injury" dispatch tells us. We have no idea what we are dealing with. As we race through the streets of San Francisco, we keep in contact with dispatch for updates. There are none. We arrive at the scene and the PD isn't there yet. The police usually arrive first to secure a scene but not this time.

We see the injured man. He is sitting against a wall, bleeding from his leg. Right off the bat we can tell its a stab wound. I am wondering where the heck the SFPD is. They should have been here. Someone stabbed this man and we don't know where the assailant is. I am feeling a bit uneasy but forget this since the man needs medical attention and quickly.

My partner, Rick, asks the man, "What happened here?" to which he answers, "I think I got stabbed."

(YA THINK???)

The man is bleeding profusely. Rick starts to cut the man's pant leg open so we can treat the wound. All of a sudden, the man has a seizure. I am thinking there is a chance the man overdosed on something. I am worried about needles as I hold the man down to keep him from injuring himself further as I try to put pressure on the wound.

My Captain and two other Firefighters arrive, along with the PD... finally! The EMT's have arrived also. They prepare the gurney for our patient.

"Check his pockets," I tell Rick. One pocket contained a couple bags of white powder. The other pocket was full of more stuff. Rick pulls out more bags and money and suddenly there is a loud pop. I look at Rick knowing something has hit me like a brick wall in the stomach. The look on Rick's face is total horror.

"He had a gun in his pocket. It went off, " Rick says in a panic. He had no idea at first that I was the one to block that bullet.

"I know. And you are really cramping my style!" I tell Rick as I fall to the ground.

I don't feel pain but I do feel warm blood soak my shirt and pants and there is a hot feeling in my abdomen. My Captain calls for another ambulance. His voice in panicked. People are asking me questions. I cannot answer. I am trying to keep from fainting. I look around and I see my men gathered around. AMR has taken the man with the stab wound to the hospital. I find out later he died from an overdose.

I remember being angry that my shirt had been cut away to expose the gunshot wound. Half naked in public is not how I wanted to be seen! There is a commotion around me and a sense of urgency. Captain Harold is barking out orders. Rick and Darryl are trying to stop the bleeding from my abdomen. Despite my desperate attempt to avoid fainting, I slowly saw the world become dark.

Several hours later, after 4 hours of surgery, I wake up. Ok, now I feel pain and lots of it. My Captain is sitting in a chair with his eyes closed. I watch him for awhile and try to tell him something but can't. There is a tube down my throat. All I can do is grunt. Harold opens his eyes and leans towards me. I am pointing at the tube.

"It has to remain for awhile more, " he says. I try to shake my head no.

He calls the nurse. "I have a feeling that if you don't remove the tube, she will do it herself," he tells her. "Can you find out if it can be removed?" She leaves the room to get an order for its removal. Heck, I can do it myself! All I can do is stare at my Captain. He is telling me about the gunshot (like I had forgotten???). He also tells me about the surgery and what was involved. I come to know that half of my stomach was removed due to the extensive injury. The bullet missed all the other major organs. He tells me there is mesh wiring all throughout my abdomen to hold it all together. As he is telling me this, for some reason I am thinking to "chicken coops" and I don't know why.

The tube is removed but I still can't talk. My throat is sore. The nurse puts pain medicine in my IV and I fall asleep again.

I don't know for how long I was asleep but Harold is still there although he isn't in uniform now. I suppose he went home to shower and change. His face is worn. For a man of nearly 55, he is still a handsome man. His wife died a few years ago. Harold never dated after her death. I doubt he ever will although there are a lot of women who are attracted to him. We always tell him to "go out into the world" and live it up. He's been alone too long. But he is content with his life.

He smiles and asks how I am doing. I hate hospitals. I am a bad patient. "Can I go home now?" I ask him.

"What? You just had major surgery!" he says.

"So? Can I go home now?"

He shakes his head. "You'll be here for a week at least."

Ok, now I am upset.

"Rick wants to see you," Harold says. "He isn't taking this whole thing very well. You want to see him?"

Why wouldn't I? He is my partner. I tell Harold to let Rick in. Since I am in the Intensive Care Unit, they allow only one visitor at a time. Harold leaves and Rick walks in. He looks at me, then around the room seeing all the machines and tubes and drips. He has this look on his face that makes me so sad. He is truly upset. He tries to tell me something but chokes on his words. I am feeling really sorry for him.

"Its ok," I tell him. "It was an accident." (I was later told that the gun was loaded and cocked in that man's pocket. When Rick pulled out the bags of heroin, one of the bags pulled on the trigger and discharged the gun).

Rick pulls up the chair next to the bed and scoots in close. He puts his head down on the side of the bed and holds my hand. He breaks down in tears and sobs. His anguished tear my heart apart. He keeps repeating how sorry he is. I told him it wasn't his fault. He continues to sob until he is too tired to cry anymore. We talk for awhile. He asks what he can do for me.

"Get me out of here," I tell him.

He thinks I am kidding but I am serious. He has no plans to help me escape.

I spent two weeks in the hospital recovering. I thought Harold said it would only be a week? Rick went into counseling to "get over" his feelings of guilt. I never blamed him for what happened. It was truly just an unfortunate accident. I returned to work after I got my strength back.

Several months later, Rick and I were at the scene of a motorcycle accident. Our patient was a 37 year old biker who hit the center divide on the freeway. He had a compound fracture in his leg where the bone was protruding through the skin. The man was wearing leather pants and Rick was cutting away the man's pant leg to expose the fracture.

I'm not quite sure what happened but the next thing I know.... Rick's knife slipped and cut my neck. He missed my jugular vein by a fraction.

I'm having a bit of deja vu at this time.

Bleeding is controlled, I get to ride in the ambulance once again (as a patient) and a few stitches later, I am fine again.

I'm beginning to think Rick is either out to get me or I am very accident prone.

;-)

Cold versus Hot

Firefighters wear about 60 pounds of bunker gear and equipment when they go to a fire. With the intense heat of the fire and the "workout" we get while running up and down stairs or manning a high pressure hose, our body temperatures tend to go up a bit. We sweat a lot in those bunker clothes. They were not designed to "breathe" but rather to protect us from fire, heat and other elements.

I am so used to feeling "overheated" that when I am not wearing those clothes and equipment, I often feel cold.

I had the day off from work and decided to go to one of my favorite Asian markets in my home town. As I walked into the store I was met a blast of cold air. I wish I had brought my sweater. My goodness, that store was freezing!

I met Chung. He is the manager of the meat department. I've known him for about 15 years. I was shivering.

""Why am I always so cold?" I asked him, trying to make excuses for my chattering teeth as he stood there in a short sleeved shirt.

"You no at work," he explains. "There you in heat all the time."

I have to admit, I have never thought of myself "in heat" ... especially at work.

:-)))

Stand Behind Me

I will be the first to say that I would stand behind any of my men at any moment, under any circumstance. They are my brothers. We look out for each other. We work so closely together that we know each other's "moves" and can even predict those moves in a building when we are blinded by smoke and flames. We depend on each other for our lives. It is how it is in the Firehouse.

And yet, there is ONE time I refuse to stand behind ANY of them. You never know when those moments are. They can sneak up on you like a fast moving storm. You always have to be on your guard so you aren't caught in that trap. And they plan it so well.

It is my reason for swearing to myself that I will ALWAYS remain one step ahead of them just so not to be caught in one of those "moments." I ended up buying a shirt off Ebay that "says it all." That shirt is on the bulletin board in our main hall as a constant reminder of who they are and who I refuse to be.

;-)

No other words are needed to explain. The photo says it all.

"Gas Investigation"

The first time I heard a call come in for a "gas investigation" my heart skipped a beat. The thought of explosions from gas leaks always striked fear in me. Most calls for gas investigations are just that.

We go to the scene.
Investigate.
Yes there is a small gas leak (or not).
Scene is secured.
Gas company arrives to take care of the matter.

But over the years and having spent so much time in the Firehouse, the term "gas investigation" has taken on a whole new meaning. Our evening meals have been "modified" to prevent those night time emissions.

Still, every once in awhile, that call will come in. And all I can do is point to the culprit who kept me awake most of the night. :-)))

Grocery shopping

Today is grocery shopping day. Ok, EVERY day is a grocery shopping day and as usual, I am not looking forward to it very much. This is because 4 of us go into the store...... but it is only ME who does the shopping.

We make so many return trips to the store to get what someone "forgot" because these guys have no concept of a shopping list. Today Rick and I are taking two of our newest rookies with us. We were about to enter the store when I asked them, "SO, what do we need?"

And someone answers, "FOOD."

(Thank you for that insight!)

"What KIND of food?" I ask. (We seriously need a shopping list!)

"EDIBLE" is the answer I get back.

(Geez, is there aspirin on that absent grocery list???)

It has always been hard for me to grocery shop with a man, let alone 6 right now. We always seem to have different tastes in foods. Whereas I would prefer whole grain breads and milk, they are happier with jalapeno bread and beer. Thank God they don't drink... we'll save on the beer!

So here "we" are...... to do the grocery shopping....... for EDIBLE things...... things humans eat. Or at least what most normal humans eat.

I glance at the guys as I am picking out things we need. A few girls have swarmed around them and are trying their hand at flirting. Rookies are always flattered. But these two don't see that the girls are from the school across the street. I can only stand this so long. No, I am not "jealous." I am just desperate to get the ice cream back to the Station before it melts.

I interrupt my partner, Rick. "Can we go now?" I ask.

He looks at the girl who seems annoyed. My goodness, if looks could kill....

"Is that your girlfriend?" she asks. (Only a kid would ask such a thing!)

Rick replies, "Nooooooooooo way! She is my partner!" (That doesn't sound good)

"She's been my partner for years." (That sounds worse)

The girl looks ticked.

"She is my boss!" (Better, but I hate being referred to as someone's "boss")

The girl seems satisfied with the answer/explanation.

Next thing I know... she suddenly has admiration for me. I don't know what they have told her.

"You are SO brave and lucky to work with these guys!" she says.

I look at this clueless girl, roll my eyes........ take a deep breath....

(Brave. Yeah right. I am laughing to myself. I'm just a survivor).

I load the groceries onto the belt, they are rung up, bagged and put into the cart. I am heading for my squad. "WE" didn't go shopping; "I" did. I swear I am not unloading these groceries when we get back to the station.

I will count to 10. If they aren't on board, they can WALK back to the Station!

By the way, one of them had to go back to the store. They didn't get their jalapeno bread. I wonder why??? ;-)

April Fool's Day is 365 days a year

Believe me. When you put 16 men together in one Firehouse, you just can't help playing jokes all the time on them. Of course, you have to be prepared to have jokes played back at you. I am prepared. Always.

Our Firehouse has two sleeping quarters. They are across the hall from each other. Both sleeping quarters have doors but they are never closed in case we need to run out on a call half asleep in the middle of the night.

This gives me an idea. I examine those doors and realize both of them open INWARD. (Guess whoever put the doors on knew all too well the bumps on the head one would get whenever someone opened those doors into the hallway!) So they open inward. This is good. Mind you, the doors are always open for "practical reasons." Well, I don't feel like being practical. Evil is more like it. ;-) After all, in just a few hours it will be April 1st. I can't just let it pass me by now, CAN I ???? (Ok, ok, don't judge me just yet!)

I make plans, I readjust the plans. This goes on for a couple hours. What I have in mind has to be JUST RIGHT or the whole thing will be ruined. I finally get to the point where I am confident I can pull this joke off..... and single handedly against all those men who claim to "look out for my butt in dangerous situations." (I might be dead after this joke so please keep their sentiments for me in mind! I'll need them as backup later!)

Everyone has retired for the night, hoping to sleep the whole night through without any calls. We were quite busy during the day so we are kind of bushed. I lie awake listening..... for those "sounds" that eventually come which tell me they are sound asleep... ok, and for the snoring too. This is my key that I can get up and do what I have to do.

I leave the sleeping quarters I am in and close the door. I close the door of the other room right across the hall. I then tie a rope from one doorknob to the other; carefully leaving about 2 inches of slack in the rope. I walk to the dispatch room. Captain Harold is in the dispatch room drinking coffee and watching TV with one of the operators.

"Whatcha doing up?" he asks. (It is 3 am)

"Couldn't sleep," I tell him. He looks at me and studies my face. I pretend to watch the TV.

"What are you up to?" he asks.

"Nothing. Just couldn't sleep."

This is my Captain. He knows me better than anyone else. (I hate this fact).

"What did you do?" he insists.

"Nothing."

"I know you better than this. You have this 'Gonna-get-you-good!' look on your face. What are you planning?"

"Nothing."

"I'll bet you 25 bucks it doesn't work!" he says.

"Make it a hundred," I tell him.

I ask Chester (our dispatch guy) to hit the fire alarms in two minutes. These are like the fire alarms that go off in schools for the fire drills.

Captain Harold and I walk to our observatory positions. We wait. Then the fire alarms go off.

THUD! (I suppose this is the first person in line in the room on the left trying to go out the door that is surprisingly shut)

THUD! (Ditto for the room on the right)

And then the fun begins. I see the lights under the doors go on. People in the sleeping quarters on the left try to open the door at the same time the ones on the right try to open THEIR door. Since there is only two inches of rope slack, it turns into a tug-o'-war.

It doesn't take much to humor me. I am laughing so hard. Those guys are barely awake and can't figure out what is going on. I look at my Captain.......

He is counting out a hundred dollars.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They should all be glad I didn't repeat my joke from 2 years ago when I put "Itching powder" in all their clothes. Ok, mostly their underclothes. Watching them all standing there in public (we were on a call in the city) scratching themselves was a sight to behold! And to see it on the evening news was even better!

It wasn't even April 1st that day! You can always expect the unexpected here. And remember... I am always one step ahead of you men! :-)))

San Francisco's Melting Pot

San Francisco is definitely a melting pot of people. Every imaginable ethnic group lives here. We have straight people, gay people; big people, little people; men who dress like women, women who dress like men; people with normal hair and bright colored hair; people with tattoos and piercings and just about anything else you can think of. Needless to say, San Francisco is a wonderful place to be. There is no other place like it in the world!

There is a transvestite near Pier 39 who always draws a crowd. He dresses in an outrageous pink long glamor dress with feathers and boas (the kind of dress you would see on a Las Vegas stage). The heels alone that he wears are a sight to be seen! He lays a pink fuzzy rug out on the bench and sprawls out. Madame Pink is in all her glory now, smiling and waving. She calls all of us "honey" or "sweetie." Always polite and always nice, she is a pleasure to stop by and chat with.

A few years ago, we met this man (also near to Pier 39) who was on the streets holding up a sign advertising his need for money. We have many homeless people in San Francisco. But something about this man caught our attention...... and funny bones. First of all, he was not the typical homeless person. He was dressed "down" but his clothes were clean. His fingernails were a bit dirty but they seemed to be stained from the nicotine. He didn't smell. Although he smoked a cigarette he was careful to keep the smoke out of the way of anyone it bothered. He had real manners for a homeless guy. What caught our attention was the sign he carried and the fact he never actually ASKED anyone for money. If they gave it, he was grateful, if not, he didn't mind.

When I first read his sign, I wasn't "thinking" (as usual). I thought he was collecting money for a "good cause." When I reread his sign, I found my heart melt. Here was this man, obviously homeless who actually had a great sense of humor! We talked to him for awhile. He seemed to be educated. He was really nice. I told him I'd give him money towards his "good cause" if he let me take a photo so I could put it up in our Fire Station. He agreed. I took only one photo and it came out perfect. He has been on our bulletin board ever since.
We have tried to look for him several times in the past to no avail. We would love to see how he is doing today. One day we hope to find him again. He really did have a big impact on our lives.... through a sign that showed humor even through difficult times.

People in San Francisco are so diverse. You never know what to expect. But your heart goes out to each and every one of them. Often you only see them once and spend the next few years wondering about them and looking at all the faces you meet just to see if just by chance one of them will be that one person who burned a memory in your heart and soul. Often you never see them again. But there are those wonderful moments when you do and you try so hard to contain your relief and happiness. It is a strange feeling.... but one most Firefighters and Paramedics experience often in San Francisco. San Francisco........ our melting pot........ the place that melts our hearts all the time.

The truth has two sides.

The jokes and the teasing of new rookies is a must in every Firehouse. It is a Rite of Passage. We all go through it and then we learn to outdo the jokes that were played on us as rookies.

I have watched young rookies trying to find out what smelled so bad no matter where they went in the Firehouse. They would ask if anyone else smelled the stench. Of course, we'd all deny that we did. Little did they know they were walking around with stink bomb liquid in their shoes.

I once played a joke on one of our rookies but it backfired on me. I had placed a bar of soap in the bathroom. This was the kind of soap that turned your hands black although the soap was white. I waited impatiently for my rookie to come and wash his hands after working on one of the rigs.

I heard the bathroom door close and jumped up to wait for the fun to happen when he emerged. I was standing there trying to quell the giggles. To my horror, out of the bathroom emerges my Captain, who obviously had just washed his face! I can imagine how my face looked at that moment.

"You ok?" he asks.

Honestly, all I could say was, "No, not now."

I headed for the apparatus bay hoping desperately for a call to come in before I got "caught" and in trouble. Time seemed to edge by slowly..... too slowly.

Then I heard the laughter. I thought things were ok. I tried to calm down. And then it came...

"SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEENAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!"

I cursed the rookie who was supposed to be in the bathroom with that soap.

Nick comes to me and says, "Cap wants a word with you."

"Am I in trouble?" I ask.

"For what?" he asks innocently.

Maybe it wasn't that bad after all.

Wrong.

I walked into the kitchen where my Captain was getting some coffee. He turned around and the black on his face had darkened considerably from the time I first saw him emerging from the bathroom.

Captain Harold started to scold me but the alarms rang. He hesitated at first. I mean, did he REALLY want to go out in public looking like that? Oh well, maybe they will think he came from another fire or something.

The call was uneventful and although some of the other Firefighters and Paramedics snickered at the sight of Harold, my Captain never did scold or reprimand me. I wish he had though because silence is worse than anything else. You never know when the tables will be turned on you. I am still waiting.

The guys decided to play a joke on our new rookie, Cody. While Cody was in the shower, the guys took his clothes from the shower room.

"Now THAT is a unique joke!" I commented to myself. Taking the clothes of someone showering is an old and classic joke. One just hopes they left the towel so they'd have something to cover up in while searching out the culprit of this "It's -not-funny" kind of joke.

Cody's clothes were returned. (I am in my office watching the men trek back and forth to the shower room).

"Chickens!" I am thinking.

About 10 minutes later I hear Cody curse and growl. Funny how one who never cursed before in his life learns to do so in the Firehouse!

Cody stomps into my office. "Did YOU do that?" he demands, face flushed. I am wondering what he means by "that".

"Do what?" I ask.

"Put the glue in my briefs?"

("No way! They didn't!" I am thinking. Ok, so I am probably the Master of playing jokes and pulling pranks here in the Firehouse but I HAVE to be. I am up against 16 men each and every day. I have to hold my OWN, don't I? But I would NEVER put glue in someone's briefs! Or WOULD I???)

I told Cody I didn't do anything to his briefs. God, I must be the only woman on earth who would have said this to him! Mind you, he is 28, gorgeous, tanned and really built nicely. But he IS my rookie after all and I don't allow myself to think "that way".

I am wondering what kind of glue the guys used. It might come in handy next time I play a joke ;)

Cody stomps off to find the others. Actually, he was walking kind of funny. He walks into the recreation room. The laughter is like a bunch of kindergarten kids on the playground. Cody swears to get them back. They try to blame it on me but since I wasn't laughing (yet), I was presumed innocent. (This "keeping a straight face" has saved my butt on many occasions).

Seems Cody's briefs were lined with double-sided tape in the most inappropriate place and since Cody thought it was glue...... or better yet, superglue, he was afraid to take them off for fear of removing more than just the underwear. He was assured he would remain intact and Cody left to disengage himself from his briefs.

I can tell you now... those men are in big trouble. Sometimes new rookies can get back at you in ways you never imagined!

There are always two sides to the truth. Always.

"You can let me go now."

It was a beautiful Spring afternoon. Our day had been uneventful and I was happy for this for two reasons. One... no one was needing us for an emergency or fire and, two... I had so much work to get done.

But then the call came in. From the alarms I could tell it was pretty serious. A car accident. We gathered our equipment and raced to the scene with lights and sirens. I can still remember the first thing I thought when I saw the scene. "Unbelievable!" Even before I could get out of my squad, two police officers were escorting us quite quickly to the car. I couldn't believe what I saw, even at that close proximity. There in front of me was a convertible car... a beautiful red one... and in front of it some yards away there was a big rig. Between the truck and the convertible lay a dozen or so steel pipes. Several of those pipes were inside the convertible.

Quickly assessing the situation, we realized we had two patients. A man and woman. The woman was unconscious with obvious head and chest injuries. The man was conscious and alert but becoming hysterical. He had one of those steel pipes impaled in his chest.

I came to learn that they were husband and wife. They had just been married and they were on their way to the reception. But as fate would have it, the steel pipes from the big rig in front of them on the freeway came loose and crashed onto and into their car, injuring the woman badly and impaling the man through the chest.

I had never been in this situation before. Choosing one life over another. It was breaking my heart. The woman was in critical condition. We explained this to the husband. He begged us to take his wife quickly to the hospital. The man's condition was even more critical even though he was conscious. We couldn't remove the steel pipe from his chest without a tampanade ocurring. Right now he was being kept alive BECAUSE of that pipe. It was preventing him from bleeding out. But once the pipe was removed, he would bleed out in a matter of seconds and die immediately. How do you tell someone this? How do you explain to him that he will never see his wife again and that he would die? There was no doubt about it. There was nothing we could do.

Thank goodness he wasn't in pain. He just felt "pressure." We told him what was happening and what would happen. We encouraged him to say goodbye to his wife before the ambulance took her to the hospital. He was calm. He held her hand and talked so sweetly to her even though she was unconscious. He kissed her gently and told us to hurry and take her to the hospital and asked the Paramedics to please tell the doctors to save her life.

And then she was gone and he was alone. I crawled further into the car to sit with the man. I asked him if he wanted his family to be alerted and he said no. He didn't want them to come there and be traumatized by the scene. I understood. He was Catholic and allowed a Priest to come and give him the Last Rites.

The man talked about the first time he met his wife, how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her. His voice was weakening. I had been sitting there in the car with him for an hour or so. He would close his eyes for a few moments every so often. He seemed calm despite the situation he was in. My heart was breaking for the loss of this young man. And for his wife when she would wake up and realize he was gone and she was all alone.

I couldn't cry at that moment. It wouldn't be professional. I looked at him and he said, "You can let me go now." But I didn't want to "let go." I wasn't ready. I didn't think I'd EVER be ready. I encouraged him to call his family and talk to them. I gave him my phone. At first he didn't want to. He said he didn't know what to tell them. I told him to just tell them he loved them. "Let them know you were thinking of them," I said.

So he made a few phone calls. I tried to block out his conversations. I tried to not cry. I took his vitals. He was getting weaker. I tried to think of "other" things while he talked so I wouldn't hurt inside so much. But I realized that this man must be hurting emotionally so deeply inside. I mean, he was just married and now he would never live that life. He would never have children or see his wife or family or friends ever again. And here in front of me was this calm man who wasn't afraid. I was truly humbled. I have always been afraid of death. But this man gave me the courage to face it head on in the future and accept what is beyond our own control.

He handed the phone back to me. "You can let me go now," he said again. I called my Captain to come nearby. I told him the man was ready to be freed of this metal pipe. He knew that the moment the pipe was removed, he would die. He just wanted it removed. My Captain motioned to other Firefighters and Police that were standing around. Everyone gathered around the car to pray for this man.

I was so scared. The man wasn't. I wanted to cry. The man didn't shed a tear.

I was holding the hand of this man as the pipe was removed. My free hand placed gauze pads over the wound as it spewed blood.

"Thank you for staying with me," were his last words.

I felt like crap.

His wife did survive. The funeral for her husband was postponed a bit so she could attend. After the ceremony she came up to me and gave me a hug. She had asked who tried to save her husband so she knew who I was. She thanked me and hugged me for the longest time. I felt like she was trying to "feel close" to her husband by holding close the last thing that was near to him at the time of his death.

I don't think I ever cried so much as that day. I can't think of that day without becoming emotional. I don't think I will ever be the same again.

I'm not afraid of death anymore.

REAL MEN DON'T EAT QUICHE

It is MY day to cook dinner in the Station. Finally! I really love to cook and since we take turns cooking, I always have to wait my turn.

We had just finished up on a non-emergency call in the city. I called in to Dispatch to let them know we would not be available for about an hour. Another Station would cover us in the meantime. We drove to Fishermen's Wharf. I wanted to make Cioppino (Italian fish soup) for dinner and I needed some fish and shellfish.

"Ciao Giuseppe!" I greet the owner of the fish market.

I tell him the 2 kinds of fish I need and how much. I proceed to order the shellfish... mussels, scallops, crab, squid....... no, never mind the squid..... that is gross....... ok, octopus........ nope, sorry........ can't eat anything with more legs than me.......... ok, how about OYSTERS? I love smoked oysters.

"What KIND of oysters?" Giuseppe asks.

I didn't know there were different KINDS of oysters. And they don't have SMOKED oysters. But an oyster is an oyster, NO???

"What KIND?" he asks again.

"Ok, well, the biggest ones you got," I say.

"Ok, but what KIND?" again he asks.

I look at my partner, Rick. "What the heck does he mean?" I whisper. Rick shrugs his shoulders. He has this strange look on his face.

"Just order MOUNTAIN oysters," he suggests.

Ok. Sounds good. Although for a split second I am wondering how it is possible there are oysters in the mountain....... but I am kind of dumb so I don't question this.

"Giuseppe? Give me three pounds of MOUNTAIN oysters," I say.

(SILENCE)

"Are you SURE?" he asks.

"Yes, I am sure" I tell him.

(LAUGHTER)

"My dear! Are you SURE you want MOUNTAIN oysters???"

(There is even more laughter amongst the crowd at the market).

I am getting agitated now. We have to get back to the Station and I don't know why Giuseppe wants to play games with me right now. He knows we are in a hurry.

(And why the heck is Rick acting really strange right now????)

Giuseppe tells me they don't HAVE Mountain oysters there at the fish market.

Ok, why didn't he tell me this to begin with???

Giuseppe grills me now. What do I think Mountain Oysters are?

Uh........ oysters from the moutains?

It is then that I am told "MOUNTAIN OYSTERS" are the testicles of a bull.

Darn!

I could really strangle Rick! He set me up in this most embarrassing situation with all those people around dying of laughter.


We ended up having something else for dinner that night...

in honor of the book.......

"REAL MEN DON'T EAT QUICHE."


(P.S. We had the quiche because honestly, I was afraid to open the package from the fish market. I wasn't sure what I'd be getting!)

The Handshake

I was in the bathroom...... kind of hiding.... if you want me to be truthful. I did NOT want to meet a certain government official that had come to our Firehouse. I know how my Captain is. He will start bragging about me and make me feel embarrassed. I know he doesn't mean to. I know he is proud of me. I am proud of me too. But I am also proud of all my men. So I am wondering why he can't introduce my men to this government official. Oh, okay....... he already has. I am the last one left. And there I am in the bathroom, not wanting to come out.

"Come on, Sheena! Get out of the bathroom! I have someone for you to meet!" he says through the door.

"I'm busy!" I tell him.

"Well, stop being busy and get out here! You are embarrassing me!"

I care a lot for Captain Harold. I didn't want to embarrass him. He sure has a way of making me feel guilty. Darn!

5 minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom. My god..... they are all standing outside that bathroom door! What's up with THAT???

"Sheena, I'd like you to meet our Mayor."

I shook hands with the Mayor. He is suddenly shocked. He looks at his hand. It is dripping wet. Oh my god....... I forgot to dry my hands afterwards in all my nervousness.

"I'm sorry," I tell the Mayor. "I suppose I should have washed my hands first." (I meant DRY... but by that time, the Mayor had the most disgusted look on his face). I look at my men. They are trying so hard to keep straight faces.

My Captain does his signature gesture of "I can't believe she did/said that!" by slapping his forehead. At least I won't have to endure this meeting again!

;)))

SUPERGLUE

One morning I was getting dressed into my uniform in the Firehouse. It figures..... the alarms would call us to duty.... and the button on my pants would pop off. I grabbed the Superglue from the counter and glued my button back on. It would hold until we got back from this call and I could sew it back on properly.

I forgot about the button over the next three hours that we were out in the field for various, non-emergency calls.

Upon returning to the Station, I had to pee really bad (I didn't get to go BEFORE we went on our calls). It was then that I realized Superglue is great stuff until it GOES WRONG. In the bathroom, I couldn't unbutton my pants. I tried in desperation but was unsuccessful. Seems the Superglue went through all the layers of fabric..... EVEN to my underwear. I was in a terrible predicament.

I called my partner, Rick, to help me. Not only was the button securely attached to my pants.... my pants were securely attached to my underwear.... and my underwear was securely attached to the skin on my belly. Rick tried to pull the fabric away but even HE was unsuccessful.

(I honestly believe you cannot be efficient when you are laughing your head off at something!)

I really had to pee.

I was desperate. I ended up cutting my pants off at the waistband. I swear.... I "wore" that darn button on my stomach for the next few days until I was able to pry it off.

No one will allow me to use Superglue anymore.

:-(((

The Bratwurst Incident

Most of us are good cooks in the Firehouse. The ones who aren't only get to eat. I love to cook. I have learned a lot over the years from watching others and experimenting. We often improvise our meals when the alarms are ringing and calls are coming in. We cook (and eat) around those calls.

It was a warm summer evening and we had a BBQ going. We were cooking bratwurst on the grill for dinner. Bratwurst for 16 men. Not me. I don't like hot dogs or sausages or anything else with that "shape". I microwaved a Veggie Burger for myself that night. All the side dishes were cooked, the salad was made, the bread was on the table. In walks 4 "City Officials" to our Firehouse. At dinnertime, too! Since we were ready to sit down and eat, we couldn't be rude so we invited them to have dinner with us. We would arrange something. We didn't have time to BBQ more bratwursts but I told my Captain we'd manage and I would take care of everything.

I can cook ANYTHING in a microwave. I am good at it. Better than at a BBQ, for sure! (So I thought). Well, everyone is sitting at the table, I open the microwave to bring out the 4 newly cooked bratwursts and to my horror, they didn't quite look like the ones that came from the BBQ. But what could I do? Everyone was waiting to eat.

(Mind you, I am the only woman in our Department of 16 men).

I put a cover on the bratwursts and prayed like heck we had four vegetarians at the table. No such luck. When the pan was uncovered, I jumped up from the table to serve those bratwursts and trying oh so hard not to show any emotion (seriously, I thought I'd die right there!), I placed one of those brat-wanna-be's on 3 of my men's plates and the fourth one on one of the City Official's plate. We said grace and it was time to eat. Everyone was staring at each other. No one said a word. It was dead silent.

(By the way, my Veggie Burger was quite good!)

Everyone picked up their silverware to start eating but no one could take the first bite. Seemed like everyone was waiting for everyone else to start. In my mind I was wondering what was going through their heads and if I were them, what I be thinking? The nuked bratwursts were the center of attention at first.... but the people who was supposed to EAT those brats became even more the center of attention. It was just a nuked bratwurst versus a BBQ'd brat for goodness sake!

Now that I think about it.... I suppose eating those nuked bratwursts were one of the most uncomfortable situations those four men ever had to endure. And with others STARING at them? I mean, it must have become a life-changing moment for them.

I don't think I would have wanted to be a man that night. Not even for a second!




Sometimes "improvising" doesn't work. Neither do guests who show up unexpectedly at dinnertime! ;)

By the way, what IS the proper way to eat a nuked bratwurst?????

Mistaken Identity

San Francisco is a melting pot of people. We have every nationality in our city, ever gender, every non-gender, every anything-you-can-imagine. But what it all boils down to is that they are all human beings that deserve respect and concern.

Two very specific incidents come to my mind. Two I will never forget:

On a very warm summer night, we got a call for a possible heart attack or stroke. The Dispatcher wasn't sure due to the language barrier of the Asian man on the phone. But he was hysterical and we responded to the call with lights and sirens.

Arriving at the apartment building, we realized we had to climb 5 stories. The building was old and there was no elevator. 60 pounds of Bunker clothes, all our equipment (if this was indeed a heart attack, we couldn't waste time running back down to our Squad to retrieve it).... not to mention the heat. All this was not in our favor tonight. By the time we arrived at the fifth floor landing, we we pretty much out of breath. Carrying all that weight is not so easy, believe me!

The man answers the door when we knock. He is truly in a state of distress. Through broken English, he is trying to tell us that "she" (his wife? his daughter? his mother?) is in bad shape. The woman must be in cardiac arrest or in this stifling heat, perhaps suffering a heat stroke.

We are ready to revive this woman. We have all our medical equipment; we are highly trained for this kind of emergency. The man leads us into a bedroom to the patient. We all rush in prepared to do our jobs. We stop in our tracks in the doorway though.

Lying on the bed is a limp and obviously recently dead chicken. We look at each other in disbelief. So this is what I was "trained" to do? Revive a chicken? I don't know if I want to break out in a fit of giggles or be angry at the false 911 call. I refrain from the giggles but can't muster the strength to be angry since I am desperately holding back all my laughter. My Captain tries to tell the man that the bird is dead and we can't do anything to help it. The man is so distraught. He NEEDS his chicken alive. I have to leave the room before I die of laughter. Later I find out the man was planning to serve the bird at a dinner party for his brother's anniversary but the bird was not big enough yet an needed to live longer to get fattened up.

I became a vegetarian that night.


As I was saying... We have many different kinds of people in our city. I thought I knew them all. Perhaps I was wrong on this one particular night. A call from Dispatch for a woman in labor on the street send us scurrying to the scene. One thing we can't tolerate is losing a patient... let alone a baby.

Upon arrival, we find a very pregnant woman lying on the sidewalk writhing in pain. She looks to be a full 9 months pregnant. She is crying and complaining of "the pain." The police move back the crowd that has gathered around us. We drape covers over her. Since she is wearing a dress, it makes it easy for me to exam her. I proceed to examine her. Even I can't believe the words that come out of my mouth.

"We have BALLS here!"

My Captain looks at me in a panic and asks, "She is giving birth to a baby boy???? ALREADY?"

"No," I say. "We have BALLS."

Everyone looks at me strangely.

I know that no matter WHAT I say now..... it won't make sense. But I try. "She is NOT a woman. She is a MAN!"

"WHAT?" my Captain asks loudly. I think he can't hear me so I repeat it even louder (perhaps a bit TOO loud!)..... "This is a MAN!"

My patient was an overweight drag queen. Looked pregnant. Complained of abdominal pain (which we so innocently took as labor pains considering the whole scenario!)

What we had in the end was a man......... (whatever!)........ who had a painful kidney stone and bladder infection.

I stand corrected on this one.... and still trying to stifle the giggles.

:-)))

Thinking outside the Bunker Coat

It isn't that I am dumb... or at least that is what I think. And it isn't that I can't handle myself in stressful situations. What I DON'T like is having "all attention on me" when I am in the public view. I have often turned over the "glory" to one of my men in the Firehouse because I could not deal with the attention the media tried to give me. My partner, Rick, has been a "HERO" more times than I can count (combining his and my own "accomplishments.") I don't feel like I am a hero when I save a life. I just feel happy and grateful that that person will be here tomorrow to enjoy the sunrise. This is my reward.... nothing else.

So it is an ordinary day..... with ordinary things happening. I was trying to forget the previous day that I got an illegal parking ticket for parking on the sidewalk on one of San Francisco's streets. I mean.... the parking situation is BAD there...... most every parking spot is a PREPAID parking place. What was I to do when a 911 call sent me out to the city???? I parked on the sidewalk to avoid blocking traffic. The call was a stroke victim. As we were rushing our patient to the squad..... there it was....... ON THE WINDSHIELD UNDER THE WIPER. A ticket. A ticket for illegal parking on the street. Now..... tell me please! What kind of police officer would TICKET a city Fire Department Rescue Squad??? Well, as far as I was concerned......... a drunk one.... or tired one........ or one who was a stone's throw away from a brain.

That was yesterday. Today I am still trying to ignore it. We get a call for a "domestic violence" incident. The scene is not secure yet so we wait by our Squad waiting to run in and save the day. I live for this.... I long for these moments... my adrenaline is going....... I am waiting.

I get out of my Squad and close the door. I take a step away to start gathering our gear.... "just in case".... and something is holding me back. It seems that the back of my Bunker Coat got caught in the door when I slammed it closed and I was pinned to the Squad. Damn! To top it off, I had locked the keys in the squad.... a bad habit of mine even in my own personal vehicle (but at least I have a "spare" hidden under the bumper!

So there I am...... "attached" to my Squad with no escape. I call out to my partner. He is laughing hysterically. I tell him to shut up and have some respect and all he can say is, "Whatcha gonna do? Come AFTER me???" I hate my partner right now. Really I do. He tells me he will call our Captain. He does, and Captain Harold says he will be there in 20 minutes. I am ready to die of embarrassment. So many people are gathering around the Squad. The lights are still flashing. I can't even get into it to turn them off. I have noticed the "public" loves sirens and red flashing lights. I can relate to them. I get the same "high" even after all these years when I see those lights or hear that wail of the siren. I know.... I am strange. But to me....... so are those people standing around..... and multiplying...... around us.

THIRTY minutes later......... Captain Harold arrives. He looks at me...... assesses the situation....... looks around........ does some strange inspection. I am ready to scream at him to OPEN THE DOOR but I don't want to push my luck. This is not the first time (or last, I suppose) that he will save my butt.

He walks up to me and tells me I don't need him.

"WHAT???" I ask.

"You don't need me."

"Yes I do," I tell him. "I need you to UNLOCK the door!"

He looks at me again and claims I don't need him. I am ready to strangle him.

"YES I DO! UNLOCK THE DOOR!" I (quietly) scream.

"Have you not considered this?" he asks. "You could have UNBUTTONED your Bunker Coat and just walked away from all this!"

Well......... DUH!!!!!!!!!

Animals in the Firehouse

I woke up this morning to find the cat sitting in the corner of the recreation room, facing the wall. He just sat there looking at the wall as though he had been punished.

"Ok, WHO put the cat on TIME-OUT?" I shout.

I ask this because we have a Firefighter here who actually put two fish that were in the tank on time-out. Seems they were those Indian Kissing Fish and they kept kissing and chasing each other all through the tank. HE thought they were fighting. So he threw one of them into a glass bowl to cool off. Go figure.

We are not a normal Firehouse. We don't have a Dalmatian.... the mascot of any normal Fire Station. No, no, no. We have a duck. Yes, a duck. We acquired him against our wishes. Some time ago, we were finishing up at the scene of a fire and lo and behold... sitting there on the back of the rig was a duck. Since there was a nearby park, we figured he got confused in all the confusion and smoke and ended up on our rig. My partner picked up the duck and walked him across the street to the park and left him there.

As we were driving away, that duck flew next to our rig and landed on the top. We pulled over and removed the bird and continued on. That duck caught up with us two more times and both times he was removed. Feeling he got the message, we headed to our Station. Unfortunately, so did that darn duck. He wouldn't leave. He made himself at home in our Station and has been with us ever since. He was named Seguace (meaning "follower").

That duck is not normal. Obviously! He lives in a not-normal Firehouse. He drinks from my coffee cup (I know this because there is always duck slobber in my cup). He is "potty trained" (he quacks to go outside to do his thing). He eats spaghetti. He has a fit if he sees us eat chicken. Like I said, he is not normal. What can I say? Perhaps one day we will have duck for dinner. At least it would be much quieter around here. ;-)

So the cat is not normal and the duck is not normal. Neither are the 16 men who work here.... ok, minus Captain Harold. He is in charge. Wait, he can't be normal if he is still here in charge of all of us. I am second in line. Most would think I am not normal either. Well, this might be true.... but at least I have an excuse: I am blonde. (Good enough excuse as any!)

Thinking outside the box

Seriously, there were days in my life when things were normal. That all changed when I joined the Fire Academy. Things got strange then. I said things I didn't remember.... I couldn't remember what I knew. I literally became an idiot in hours. I thought I knew everything. In reality I knew nothing and yet, years later, the "teachers" of that Academy tell me I taught them a whole lot. They never said what I taught them as a student...... perhaps it was that there was no limit to what God could produce in this world to make others stand in one place with their mouths open in disbelief.


I remember in the Academy, there were 9 of us "wanna-be-Firefighters" who were standing in a 12 foot by 12 foot square box that was marked in white paint on the concrete. We were learning about fire extinguishers and which ones work on various types of fires. I have always been nervous in public. I hate being the center of attention. So there I am, being questioned about the use of fire extinguishers and WHICH one did I think would put out the fire in front of me.... (it was an electrical fire). Unable to think, I panicked and therefore did nothing. (You wouldn't have wanted ME to come to your house to put out a fire during these days........ believe me!)

The more the Instructor shouted for answers, the more nervous I got.

"THINK QUICK! Which extinguisher would you use to put out this fire?"

(No answer from me. I am thinking)

"The house is on fire. What will you do???"

(No answer. I am still thinking. I don't see a house....)

"The house is TOTALLY engulfed in flames! Think OUTSIDE THE BOX! What would you do???"

In my nervousness, I ran "outside the box"....... outside the perimeter of that 12 x 12 foot painted area.... to THINK.... like I was told.

"What the hell are you doing???" the Instructor shouts.

"I am THINKING OUTSIDE THE BOX, sir!!!" I shout back.

If this was my job at that time, I am sure I would have been immediately fired. The laughter from my other classmates didn't help me at this time. Nothing could.