Thanksgiving

Looking Up

I'm not going to lie, things had been looking pretty grim for a while. After I quit my job dispatching full time to return to school, I was afraid I wasn't going to make it in terms of my finances. I took up a job at the campus police department where I had previously worked. It was sort of my springboard into the dispatching field, and it was nice to be back. My hours were limited, 12 hours a week instead of 40, and the pay was a big cut, $10/hr. to $7.25/hr. I haven't dispatched since I left, as I've been working the front desk, issuing student ID's and parking stickers. I still miss dispatching every day.

Since I'm not working in dispatching anymore, I don't see any harm in telling you all a bit more about myself. My name is Daniel Hernandez. I'm 21 and in college. An old soul in a young body, born into the wrong generation I've been told all too often. I'm managing. I live in Marfa, TX and attend Sul Ross State University in Alpine, TX. Nice to meet you. Now that that's out of the way...

Very shortly after I left my job at the sheriff's office, the day after really, I submitted my resume to a job posting I had seen in the newspaper. The position was for a part time staff person for my State Senator, Jose Rodriguez, out of El Paso. I waited for a call, an email, yet nothing came. I came back to my position at campus police and also inquired about an internship with my US Congressional Representative, Pete P. Gallego. I was awarded an internship on the spot, and have been working at that office for the last month.

Just days after I started the internship, an officer in our congressional jurisdiction was shot and killed in the line of duty. I worked on getting details for my supervisor and Congressman Gallego in Washington. How could this have happened? It was such a small community, and it was never, ever expected. I suppose nobody is exempt.. We worked the kinks out and the Congressman was able to make it to the funeral and pay his respects to the fallen hero. It was a somber occasion. I stood with my supervisor on one side of the room, looking more like security detail than an intern in my black suit, silver shirt, black tie, black slacks and my cowboy boots. My supervisor and I joked about that later. One thing I could not help but notice was how terribly sad the dispatchers were. I set them apart from everybody else, wearing their black uniform polo's with black tape over the embroidered badges. I would have given anything to go sit between them, and tell them it was going to be okay, that Bubba was in a better place, and that his service would never be forgotten. I wondered which one of them was the one working the night of the LODD. I regret not asking. The funeral service was over shortly thereafter and we were on our way to the nearest airport to get the Congressman back to D.C. for the next day's session. I was glad I was able to attend the funeral of the fallen hero, I just wish there was more I could have done.

I sit here now a blessed man, haven been given opportunities others might only dream of. I was recently awarded the position to staff the State Senator's District office in my hometown. It's a part time position, just 20 hours a week, but the pay is great and I am still able to attend school and finish out what I have left to get my degree. I turned in my resignation at campus police and they weren't thrilled to see me go. However, my supervisors wished me luck, and said they would work me to the bone until my last day on Friday! I hope they were kidding.

Although I feel like I'm getting further from dispatching, I don't think it's all a bad thing. I feel like dispatching is almost in my blood, it's become a part of me, and it's something I get excited even thinking about. I think jobs like these, outside of dispatching, and getting my degree may contribute to more success in the long run. My dream for a long time was to get into emergency dispatching. Now that I've had that experience, my goal is to become a supervisor at a mid-size to large comm center. I would love nothing more than to feel that I am making an impact on lives every single day I wake up. You know when people say that if you find a job you love, you'll never work a day in your life? That's what a position like that would be to me. And I want nothing more than to get to that point in my life. I'm going to make it, someday. By the Grace of God, the love of my family, and hard work and dedication. Oh and don't forget the "soundtrack to my life as a movie" music.

School

Coming back to school, I've had a bit of a difficult time readjusting. It's not been easy taking things slower, concentrating on homework and research instead of work all the time. Nonetheless, it's been a good change. My graduation date has been nailed down, December 2014, a little over a year away. I'm close, and it's exciting! I'm considering going to grad school at the University of Texas at El Paso, not too far from home and somewhere I'm familiar with. Coming back to school and reuniting with friends and professors has brought back a memory of a 911 call I took sometime during the month of May. It was horrific, something I hope no operator or dispatcher ever has to go through.

"911, your emergency?"
"Sir, send help please! We need an ambulance!"

It was from the town down in south county, but coming from a cell phone so I couldn't get an address right away. It was a younger person, couldn't have been any older than 16. It sounded bad from the start. The teen was yelling, urgently and demandingly.

"Okay, stay with me. We're gonna send help, okay? Tell me the location of your emergency."
"I'm at the school, in the metal shop! Our teacher, hurry! I think he had a heart attack, hurry please sir.."

This was a nightmare. It had to be.

"Okay, please stay on the line with me, do not hang up. Has somebody started CPR yet?"
"Yes, they're doing CPR now. Please hurry!"
"About how old is your teacher?"
"I don't know, forty something.."
"And how long has he been unconscious?"
"Like 2 or 3 minutes, please hurry..."
"Okay, please don't hang up."

"Central 565, Central 565, respond to a male subject, approximately 40 years of age, unresponsive at the metal shop at the high school. Subject has been unconscious for approximately 3 minutes. Subject has no pulse and is not breathing, CPR in progress. Break, available 900 units in the area, advise with 565. 1422 Central Clear."
"565, Copy."
"907 Central, 10-4 Code 3 en route!"
"565, 907 10-4 1422."

565 is the ambulance for the town down south. The 900 units were ISD Police Officers.

"Okay, I've got EMS and campus police going over there right now, okay? You did really good.."
"Thank you so much.. Please tell them to hurry.."
"They are going over there right now. I want you to stay on the phone with me until they get there okay?"
"Okay, I will."
"What's your name?"
"My name is David.."
"Okay, David. Listen, you did good. I want you to try and get everybody outside unless they are helping with CPR, okay? Just help..."
"The police are here!"
"Okay, good. Follow his instructions, okay? You did good.."

"907 Central, On Scene!"
"907 10-4 1424."

"Okay David, you did a very good job.. I'm going to let you hang up the phone alright?"
"Okay, thank you so much.."
"You're welcome. We're going to do everything we can..."
"Thank you...."
*click*

I grab my water bottle and take a sip, pull out the banana from my lunch box and eat it in small pieces. I feel like shit, really. EMS checks out shortly after PD, and then I wait for the verdict. I know that very few people come back from having a heart attack, but I'm hopeful, as I always am. I have a pounding headache now, and I wish we had a quiet room.

The despair, the terror, the sheer and utter pain from that child's voice. It resonates with me, deep in my psyche. I take a few deep breaths, and sit back down. I didn't even realize I was standing, and I don't know at what point I stood up.

5 minutes pass, 10 minutes, 15.. I'm starting to get impatient. The phone rings, and startles me.

"Sheriff's Office."
"Hey Daniel, this is Medic 311. Can you send the JP over and start the funeral home?"
"Yeah, sure thing.."
"Alright, thanks. We'll standby until she gets here."
"Alright.. Thanks.."

The rest of the shift was fairly quiet. One by one, units started checking back into service. I felt band for the students, the EMT's, the officers, everybody involved. It was a tragic, tragic event. However, what can one do? Say a prayer, perform to the best of one's abilities, and just know that that's how it had to be. For whatever reason, that's how he died, and it's just how it is.

Even today, I look back at that one particular call. I had enough calls before that where people didn't make it, so it wasn't bad in that respect. I just hope that the students and all involved got the help and counseling they needed. It's not an easy thing to literally witness somebody die. Sometimes, though, I think it's even harder going through it completely blinded.

Disconnection

So, I've been away from dispatching for around 3 weeks. So far, it's been.. difficult. I hear sirens, see a patrol unit running code, drive by one of my old coworkers, and all I can do is hope, wonder, and feel a little more disconnected I miss running 27's, 29's, 28's, 43's. I miss saying "911, what is your emergency?," not knowing what could await me on the other end. I miss dispatching ambulances and deputies, being in on the action and having that feeling of accomplishment. I miss it all.

A few days ago, I went to lunch with a coworker from Campus PD. His name is Aaron. He's a freshman, and has been a great person to get to know. We walked into Pizza Hut and, low and behold, there are two of my ex-deputies sitting there. "Daniel!" they both exclaimed, happy to see me. I went over, shook hands, and caught up with them a little bit. We asked one another how things were going, mulling through the usual stuff. Then I said "How are things in dispatch?" One of them plainly said "It's different. It's not the same without you." Enter guilty jerkwad feeling.. Just what I needed, another reason for me to miss my job.

I'm not trying to gloat, nor am I saying I am the best dispatcher in the world, by far!, but I was good at what I did in that comm center. And nothing pains me more than to hear that things are simply "different." I'm slowly moving on, still reading license plates in my head on my commute, and longing for my spot back under the headset.

Dispatchers, I've come to find that the profession I was in was the worst job I would ever love. It was what I had always wanted. Sometimes, I feel like I sold myself short by quitting my job and going back to school. Yet, on the other hand, I feel like I screwed myself by getting into the business too soon. I probably never should have taken the job in the first place. I'm tempted, but cautious, to say that this job is quite like a drug.. It's addictive, will cause withdraws, yet is oh so satisfying once you get the fix..

Oatmeal

I wrote this post on Wednesday and haven't had the heart or guts to post it until today.

This morning, I got to work and made my instant oatmeal. It was sort of weird today, because instead of the single serve cups I normally have, I had to make it myself, measuring out the oatmeal and water, and heating it up for as long as it took to take the crunch out. 45 seconds.. 20 seconds.. 20 more seconds.. Shit, it's overflowing. I turned off the microwave, started cleaning my mess, and thought to myself, "Now this is something.."

This has probably been a long time coming, and I think I was in denial that it would ever happen. It crossed my mind, but I never imagined it would come down to this. Sure, there's always the other option, just to take things as they come. But sometimes, by thinking we are leaving things up to fate, we are missing the opportunity that fate has already given us. It's normally staring right at us looking us in the face. And many times, we completely miss it. We miss the opportunity to better ourselves, the opportunity to do something new, or finish something we had already started. My friends, I have found myself at this point in my career. Just a year into dispatching, I'm at a fork in the road. And what do you do if you come to a fork in the road? Well, you pick it up and take it home of course! Joking.. For me, it's been a whole lot of thinking, a lot of restless nights trying to decide what it is I'm really going to do.

Last night was especially strange. I tossed and turned, waking up almost every hour. I'd look at the clock, try and get comfortable, fall asleep, over and over.. I remember dreaming something quite strange, but I can't fully recall what it was. All I know is that there was a gentleman, Justin, who had something to do with a suicide, either his own or that of someone else. Whoever Justin is, I hope he finds his peace.

This post has been sort of like today was, up until about an hour ago; Long, awkward, beating around the bush. Today, I had to resign from my position as a dispatcher at the Sheriff's Office. My last day will be Thursday, September 5th. I know many of you may be looking at your computer screens, some with mouths agape, others just confused about what happened. I want to cry, but I'll go into some details and save whatever manhood I have left.

Back when I started on August 3rd, 2012, I had anticipated being on the night for, well, ever. I took some online classes, maintained them, and was enjoying life. Second semester of school came around, and I ran into an issue: I needed to take a science class, with a lab. The solution was scheduling the earliest science class I could get, 9am, driving there after work, then coming home to sleep. Sometimes, I'd get lucky and catch 8 hours of sleep. Other times, not so much. However, it worked out pretty well! That is, until March came around. In March, we ended up losing 2 people, back to back. This meant I had to be bumped up to the day shift, pronto. This sort of ruined my original plan of sticking it out through the end of the semester, and I ended up flunking my science class.

Enter Financial Aid. For anybody who has attended college before, you may know that Financial Aid is not the easiest department to deal with. I got a letter that basically told me if I had another bad semester, they were going to take away my free money for school. Really?! I decided I was going to attempt a full semester's course load online. Enter Life. Work was busy, I had run into some medical problems, and school seemed to get put on the back burner. The semester ended dismally, I didn't pass any of the classes I was in. Was it my commitment to the coursework? Maybe my time availability? Probably a mixture of both, along with other things. Nonetheless, I was sinking fast.

I received a notification that I was placed on Financial Aid Suspension this past week, and it stated that unless they saw improvement after I had paid for classes out of my own pocket, I was not able to get any sort of Financial Aid. Talk about the light at the end of the tunnel being blown out. However, there was still one glimmer of hope: the Appeal Process. To this point, I've submitted all my paperwork for the appeal process and am waiting to see what the committee decides after their meeting tomorrow morning. I'm hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst, which would be having to spend my last paycheck on a tuition payment. We'll see..

During these last two weeks at the sheriff's office and during the back to school transition, I'd appreciate lots of prayers and support. It wasn't an easy decision to make, and I'd be lying if I said I was happy to quit my job. But for now, it just isn't in the stars. Do I hope I can come back someday to the profession? Absolutely. In fact, I'm going to be working back at Campus Police, dispatching and being the campus operator. It's not near as exciting as working at a PSAP dispatching EMS, Fire, Police and Deputies, but it's something to keep me in the field.

Over these next few weeks, I'm going to try and post much more often. I want to talk about how I'm feeling, what's going on with the college stuff, and all that jazz. It's going to be an interesting two weeks, that's for sure. Nonetheless, I'm not going anywhere, just changing scenes for a bit. Thanks to everybody so far who has encouraged me to do what's best for me. In the end, one should not hate a man for wanting to better himself. That's what I'm trying to do, and I appreciate the support.

Anniversary

Today, I woke up at 6:00am, got dressed, got my things together, and drove to work. I walked into the comm center, took my pass down report, logged in to CAD, took my seat, and smiled. Today, August 3rd, 2013, I have officially been on the job for 1 full year. It got here so quick, and I couldn't be more excited! Unless these allergies disappeared then it'd be a real party...

It's exciting!! Never did I think I would end up where I have, but I find myself growing more and more appreciative of the opportunity to do what I've always wanted to do; I'm in a position where I can make a difference in my community, helping friends, neighbors, and complete strangers. This position is one where, few, if any, get to see from the outside. But I've managed to make the best of it. I've managed to learn a lot, make a lot of mistakes, and learn a lot of lessons the hard way. I've learned about deductive reasoning, filtering through the bullshit, and keeping my emotions out of making important decisions. This job has taught me more in one year than college did in three years. It's taught me skills that can all be taught in separate fields, but are rarely found altogether. I've learned to handle situations few are ever in. If there was one word I could use to describe this, it'd be AWESOME.

Are there things I still need to learn? Of course, there's always something new to learn. No two situations are ever the same, nor do they ever have the same outcome. Sure, there are the common, sometimes BS, calls we receive. A lost dog, car lockout, even the occasional MVA in the grocery store parking lot. Most of these calls seem pretty routine. Take info, send a unit, wait for them to clear, it's a simple process, really. Yet, I've learned that there are also difficult moments in this job. Moments where, I wish I wasn't on this end of the headset. I don't know how many times I asked myself, "Why did I have to take this call? I don't get it." It's difficult to understand sometimes, but that's just how it goes.

I will say, I'm quite glad I'm not on the other day shift, as that seems to be the shit-hits-the-fan-hardest shift. However, I'm also a strong believer in fate and divine intervention. I do believe that I get calls that should only happen on my shift. Like the woman from church who was my grandmother's best friend in high school. She heard my voice and immediately recognized it, calling me by my first name, and telling me what she needed. A few weeks later, I ran into her, and she told me something I will never forget: "I'm glad you were the one working, because when I heard your voice, it helped me calm down and I knew that everything was going to be alright." Never could I have asked for better validation than that; I believe that for now, I am in the right place.

I've had a lot of "Oh shit," moments as well. Moments where I have to wonder if there's anything else that could go wrong. I can tell you about things I love in this job, and I can probably tell you about even more things I hate about this job. I won't, because we'd be here all day. But there is definitely a fine line between "THIS IS AWESOME!!" and "I hate my life..." For instance, you get a wanted person. Hooray!! Then, the wanted person decides they are going to do the smartest thing ever and try to outrun the cops. NOT HOORAY. Your 10-99 has just turned into a 10-33, 10-80 on the countywide repeater system. And suddenly, you find yourself at the front line of the battlefield, with every bit of information all the other officers need. Can you say echo transmissions?!

All in all though, it's been a great ride this first year in emergency communications. Do I have doubts that I can do this much longer, even for the rest of my career? Of course. At some point or another, every dispatcher feels like they don't belong, like they are making a mistake, like it's only a matter of time before somebody dies on their watch. Yet, sticking it out is what separates the those who can and those who cannot. Those who cannot will take their fears and run with them. Those who can will know that anything can happen, and are 100% willing to take on that challenge. That's the kind of dispatcher I want to be. The kind that is ready for anything and everything you may encounter, no matter what. Am I there yet? No. Will I be someday? Probably not. But fret not, this doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing, it only means that I will never become so complacent that I decide I know everything about my job. Few people, if any, really know everything about their job..

On a closing note, I want to say to all of you, thank you. Thanks for being dispatchers, thanks for doing what you do, and thanks for putting up with all my shenanigans (is that a colloquialism?). To all dispatchers, I'm proud to be amongst a group of the best first responders a nation could ask for. Dispatch on, brothers and sisters!!!

Mexico and Insanity

So maybe this is giving too much away. Or maybe it's telling you just enough to leave up to imagination. There's a growing gripe I have about my job. It's been a problem since day one, but since then I've just tried to grin and bear it. It's a constant nuisance, but there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'm not talking about any person here, but somewhere many miles away from where I am. I'm talking about somebody in Mexico. Well, somebodies, is probably a more accurate word to describe this great dislike, near hate, I have. Following? Allow me to explain.

I work in one of the counties where the United States and Mexico are separated by nothing more than some knee-deep flowing water, El Rio Grande. Yet, in this comm center, there seems to be an overflow of something few, if any, people know about. I'm talking about an overflow, literal overflow of 911 calls from deactivated cell phones in Mexico bouncing off of US towers and getting routed to our PSAP. It's quite an annoying, actually causes trouble sometimes when we're working real incidents, yet, we have no control over it. No 911 call can be denied, therefore we receive calls from every activated and deactivated cell phone that will pick up signal. It's a nuisance.

Most of the time, the person on the other end is a kid, yelling profanities at me in Spanish. I happen to be bilingual, which helps in a county where the population is that of around 80% Hispanics. Here's a taste of what I get most of the time but, please, pardon my Frenc.. er, Spanish.

*PSAP ringing, 911 area code. No location, just the tower.*
(Insert desired mental profanities here)
"911, your emergency?"
"Bueno?"
"Si, linea de emergencia, que es tu emergencia?"
"Chinga tu madre wey, pinchi mamon."
"Perdon, tienes emergencia?"
"No, no tengo emergencia pinchi wey jodido. Vales verga."
"Esta es la linea de emergencia de los estados unidos. Solamente debes de llamar esta linea si tienes emergencia en los Estados Unidos."
*Line Disconnects*
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*
(More mental profanities)

This happens anywhere between 5 and 30, sometimes 50+, times a day. Sometimes the line is already abandoned, so there's just the matter of logging the call. But after about 10 times in a row, it starts to grow really old, really fast. Once, one of my coworkers received 58 "Mexico" calls. In a row. Within an hour. She was mentally drained after that. After all, we're still on paper logs so we have to write each one down including time and phone number.

Is there a real point to this blog? Maybe. Maybe it's educate the public about some of the problems and dilemmas we face in the comm center. Maybe it's to let other dispatchers know about this ever growing problem. Or maybe it's just an attempt to gain some sort of validation; validation that I'm doing the right thing by sticking out these issues. Or maybe I'm trying to make a point that the kids with cell phones on the other side of the Rio Grande are just insane. After all, insanity has been defined as performing the same action repeatedly, expecting a different outcome.

Hiatus...

I haven't posted here in a while, since May 18th actually. I know I haven't posted, because I keep reminding myself to post something tomorrow, which never seems to get here. Why do something today that you can put off until tomorrow, right? However, what is today, but yesterday's tomorrow? (One of my favorite lines from Spongebob, and now I'm showing my age...) Anywho...

I've been putting off posting for one main reason: I feel like I'm at the point in my career where I'm starting to feel burnt out. I'm almost a year into the profession and, don't get me wrong, I love it. But  I come to work, and while I love the job, I hate everything it has to offer. I hate the people, I hate the stress, the calls, the 911, the radio, everything seems to tick me off in one way or another. "Maybe it's the department," I say to myself multiple times a day. After all, turnaround is pretty bad in Middle-of-Nowhere, Texas, and I could just call myself a victim of the system. But, for some reason, I just can't bring myself to leave..

I'm going to tell you a story. It ends sort of like Romeo and Juliet; Tragically. However, I know this story will be appreciated by those in this field of work. It's pretty long, so I apologize in advance, but I think it's interesting, and I hope you find it to be as well.

It was 2:00 am (what a way to start). I had just switched to day shift a few weeks before, so I was sound asleep. I was woken up by sirens, only to find it to be my ringtone. (I knew sirens would get me out of bed faster than homemade tortillas with butter..)

"Hello?"
"Daniel!"

Ugh, my trainee.. I told her to call me if she needed anything, and she has delightfully taken me up on this offer at some God awful hour of the night.

"Uh, yes?"
"Hey, I need your help with something. It's kind of hard to explain. See, this lady called from Canada, she said her name was Jane. Jane said she got an email from her friend, Monica, who came to our county a few months ago to live in an RV. Jane said Monica has been pretty sick, she dislocated a shoulder after being kicked by a horse, but she didn't go to the hospital. She also has some kind of infection, but she refuses to go to the doctor."

Now at this point, I'm quite perplexed.. This story is starting to sound less like a situation, and more like a bad dream. But it continues.

"Jane said that she got an email from her friend saying that she was felt like her organs were shutting down. What do I do?"

Now at this point, not only has my interest piqued, but I'm wide awake. I also don't feel like helping my trainee coordinate a search and rescue effort from home. Things like this don't happen everyday, nor every week, not even once a year. This is truly a once in a small-town-dispatcher-career type of call.

"I'll be right there."

So I drive to dispatch, only being able to wonder what I might find waiting for me. I arrive, and my coworker gives me all the information she's been able to get until she didn't know where to go with it. She did pretty good. Point of contact, description of the PT, she's got me impressed. So, we get to work. I call the POC in CANADA, of all places.. She tells me everything she told my coworker, and I assure her we will do everything we can to try and help. She gives us the name of the property owner where Monica was taking her RV. Perfect!

We scour the interwebs and phone books and come across one possible match. My coworker calls. It rings, and rings, and rings...

"Nobody answered.." she said.
"What address is listed?"
"It's just a PO Box.."

And we're back to square one. Things are starting to look pretty grim right about now. By this time, it's around 3:00 am. I'm tired, and my coworker is becoming discouraged. But we keep trying. We call her friend back.

"Hi, Jane? This is Daniel from the sheriff's office, I spoke with you earlier."
"Hi Daniel, yes. I've been going through my emails. I have one of her very first emails where she describes how to get to where she is staying at. Here's how it reads:
'It was a long drive down Interstate 56, until I finally made it into Texas. I took the exit and got on US Highway 140, to find myself on a two lane road. I drove this road for 60 miles until I reached my next turn, in the middle of a small town. I made a quick stop for gas, then I cut onto US Highway 187. Another 45 minutes, and I was at the home stretch. Down State Highway 99, I drove towards my location. I actually went too far, ending up at the Ghost Town at the end of the pavement. I turned around and found my location two miles back down the road.'
Does this help you any?"

It was as if the Heavens above had opened up, and we were, literally, given a gift from God.

"Yes ma'am, it helps tremendously. I know almost exactly where she is. We are going to do our best to get her some help.. Yes ma'am... I will call and let you know... You're welcome.. *click*..."

I turn to my coworker and say, "We're going to find her!"
She smiles, with pride and courage, and says, "Lets do it!"

We call the deputy on call, now around 3:15 am, and give him the information. He takes the info, and says he will wait for EMS at the station to escort them. We get a hold of EMS and give them the information. They seem to be kind of confused about it, but we tell them to trust us, we are sure she will be there. They get set and they take off, their red and blues piercing the night skies in Middle-of-Nowhere, Texas. Now we wait..

My coworker and I are anxious, we are hoping, praying, that they find this woman who is obviously in some sort of medical distress. Time goes by, and we start to lose faith. Then, the radio clicks.

"Ambulance 56, Dispatch, we have located the property, show us on scene."

My coworker and I shoot a smile at each other, and she gets on the radio.

'Dispatch, Ambulance 56, copy on scene, 0355."

We are so happy that we were able to guide EMS and get them to the right place. We wait a few minutes, and the radio clicks again.

"Ambulance 56, Dispatch, call the air service, have them out to the municipal airport priority 1, we have a middle-aged female patient in pulmonary distress and septic shock."

"Ambulance 56, good copy, 0412."

Things sound pretty grim, but we are determined to get this woman some help. We call the air service, and they say they will be there shortly. We notify the ambulance that their air unit is enroute, and all seems to have found a happy medium for now. I thank my coworker for all her hard work, and tell her she did an excellent job with the call. I tell her I'm glad she called me, and that we did all we could, that the rest would be left up to fate. I jokingly tell her, "No more weird calls for the last two hours of shift, alright?" I go home, snuggle back into bed, and say a prayer for Monica, hoping she will be alright.

Fast forward to the next evening, I'm out of town having dinner with friends. I get a phone call from dispatch, (the sirens go off and everybody in the restaurant looks at me sort of strangely), and I step outside to take it. It's my coworker from the night before.

"Daniel!"
"What's up?"
"She died.."
"What?? Who died?"
"Monica, the lady from last night.. They got her into the helicopter, but she lost stability after that. They delayed their departure to try and stabilize her, but it was too late... She didn't make it.."
"Well, we did all we could.. right? It happens. I hope you're not too upset about it, I know you were hoping everything would be ok, we both were..."
"No, I'm fine. I know it happens. I mean, we did what we could. At least they found her, and she didn't die all by herself. She had people there that, even though they didn't know her, they cared for her."
"That's exactly right... Well, thanks for calling me. I'm having dinner, so I'll be out for a while. Call if you need anything.. Alright.. Bye.."

And so ended the call. We really did all we could, using our resources and man power, and bringing a new definition to "Emergency Services". I think that this call truly showed everybody involved going above and beyond the call of duty to fulfill their missions in public service. I find this story sad, but rewarding. I know we did all we could, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

After all that, I'm going to sit here in the comm center and wait for trouble to happen. I'll take things a day at a time, a call at a time, and go from there.. Happy Dispatching :-)

Kill The Umpire!

They say you learn something new everyday. Last week, I learned something very important: Umpiring little league baseball is not my thing.. However, the experience gave me a new insight into my job. How? Allow me to explain..

It was a nice Tuesday evening, nothing out of the ordinary. I was getting ready to head to the little league field to announce the game for the evening. Unfortunately, a storm rolled into town and that was that, so I thought.

 *phone rings*
"Daniel?"
"Uh, yeah?"
"Hey, I need a favor.."
"Um, sure. Whats up?"
"Can you umpire the little league game? The guy who was gonna do it before can't anymore."

At this moment, I should have flat out said no. However, being the "fearless" person I am, I felt compelled to say...

"SURE!"

While I wasn't good at umpiring, per se, I found it was a lot like dispatching. Here are five common ground areas I found between the two.

1) Everybody thinks they can do it better, but it's much harder than it looks.
2) You have to make split second decisions, and stand by them no matter what.
3) You have to be coordinated and know what you're doing.
4) Dealing with angry people is a given and you have to keep your cool, no matter what happens.
5) Things are getting thrown your way at high speeds and you aren't allowed to dodge them.

I hope you've taken away something from this short, quirky post. I hope to write more, but work has been busy! Keep being awesome, my fellow dispatchers!

Vocation

10 years ago, 5 years, even 3 years ago, I never could have imagined being where I am today. I'm 21 years old, a college student, and a 911 dispatcher. I never could have imagined being able to make a difference in my community, and being in a profession I could see myself in for a lifetime. I literally mean that with all my being. I'm not sure how many, or even if any other dispatchers go through this moment in their career. It's part reward, part pride, part confusion. How? Here's my dilemma..

If I would have known I would be taking 911 calls, sending out cars to domestics and accidents, and rolling out rescue units to structure fires, I don't think I ever would have gone to college. For me, this job doesn't require some kind of advanced degree with knowledge like knowing the year the civil war ended or the process of photosynthesis. However, that doesn't mean that this job doesn't require a lot of knowledge and skill. It takes a special kind of skill, one that few have and fewer can properly use.

Many years ago, I found out I was good at working with computers. Troubleshooting, installing hardware, the stuff that makes people want to throw their monitor clear across the room. So I wanted to go to school to learn to become a computer engineer. Three words: TOO MUCH MATH. I hate numbers, hate algebra, hate working out equations with a passion. Not for me.. Then, I found out I liked hearing people's problems, and trying to help them sort our their (at the time) teenage dramas. Psychology it was! But not really.. I didn't want to learn about chemical structures and hormones that cause this or that reaction that cause us to feel a certain way. How about communication?! I was great at public speaking, had a knack for being good with words, and had even worked at a local radio station as an intern. I decided I wanted to go into the field most dispatchers don't like: MEDIA. Yes, I wanted, and still sort of want, to be in the TV business, either working as a reporter or a producer.

That brings me to the present; I'm working on my bachelors degree in communication with a minor in... criminal justice. Ironic? Nah.. But as I mentioned above, I don't think my degree helps me a whole lot with what I'm doing now. I don't necessarily need to know about how people communicate, but instead be able to communicate things and do it well.  Instead of reporting the outcome of an accident to a camera, I have to report it to my supervisor with more detail, knowing exactly who went, when, where, times, units, etc.. It's overwhelming. I'm confused as to what I want to do, and I think part of it is because I really love my job, and I'm only 21. However, I'm in a profession I could see myself in for a long time. Not because of the money, and definitely not because of the fame and publicity (heavy emphasis intended on that last part). Instead, I'm in the job because I feel at peace knowing that I am making a difference doing what I do. I take calls, I dispatch, I save lives. There are few greater feelings in the world.

Dispatchers are called upon daily to go above and beyond the call of duty, saving lives, restoring order, and trying to sort through many facts and rumors about situations as they are made known and reported. They learn as they go, and there is always something to improve on. We have rules, regulations, policies, procedures, all these things that govern how we have to do our jobs. We don't sit in a lab trying to develop a vaccination for the next strain of the flu, nor do we sit in our corporate offices atop a large sky scraper counting $100 bills all day. Few, if any, of us are here against our will. We choose to be the ones to answer the call, dispatch the unit, and hope, pray, and know we made a difference in somebody's life. It's a calling to answer the call of becoming a dispatcher. A calling that carries a heavy burden, but at the same time is so awesomely rewarding.

Are you okay?

Three simple words. They can have such a great impact on you. Maybe hearing these words makes you feel better about the priority 1 medical you just took. Or, maybe these words will bring you to your knees, weeping and sobbing over the infant that unexpectedly passed away. When is the last time somebody outside of this field of work asked you this and truly meant it? When can you say somebody truthfully wanted to know if all the calls and situations you deal with daily have taken any sort of toll on you mentally or emotionally? For me, nobody really has, not in a long while anyway. But again, that's what we get paid for, right?

But not exactly.. Yes, we're paid to hold it together when the going gets tough. But we are human too. We want to be there for that person, to have sympathy and compassion, to let them know that we aren't just a programmed robot taking their call, but a real human being. You want to comfort them, be there for them, make them feel like somebody actually cares about them in their time of distress. Sure, you have to get the help out there and make sure something gets done. But sometimes when you know things have already taken a turn for the worst, all you want to do is reach through your headset and give the sobbing mother on the other end a hug and tell her everything is going to be ok, even if you know it's not the best day ever. Am I on the right track?

So many people forget that there is a human side to this business. It isn't all about disconnecting from your emotions and forgetting it all, as most think happens. We hear things, experience things that nobody should ever have to experience. Yet, the status quo says "that's why they're." What most people don't realize is that sometimes, all we want to do is run to the bathroom and have us a good long cry. It could be anything, a freak accident, a sudden death, a suicidal subject. Nobody knows what we hear through that headset, the secrets we are told and then forced to have engrained in our minds. This end of the headset is rarely a nice place to be. We live through it daily. And many of us have to find our own peace, wherever that may be.

Again, it's not to say that every call we get involves somebody who is dying or suicidal. But occasionally, you get that call that rattles you a little too much, resonates deep within your psyche. You take that call that turns your stomach, the call that makes you want a cigarette or a beer, and you don't even drink or smoke. You think about it, dwelling on minor details that you think could have made a difference. You feel for those who had to go through that experience, the EMT who performed CPR for 30 minutes straight to no avail. You think about the students that witnessed their teacher collapse to the floor. You feel their sense of helplessness, their cries of distress. And you did what you could do, but it was already too late..

I think that's one thing that is hard to accept; sometimes, it's just how it has to be. Call it divine intervention or a fact of life, people die, some sooner than others. People suffer life changing injuries that you can't fix, no matter how much you want them to be fully restored. People's lives are changed in an instant, whether it be from poor health, or the poor choices of others. It's not to say we don't get good moments in this job, but not many people call 911 because something happens to be going well at that particular moment in their life. Yet, we keep moving forward, protecting and serving the public with our voices speaking through headsets, resonating over 911 lines and radios throughout all the land. It's what we do and what we love. We are here not for one particular group of people, but for the commonwealth of our communities. We have the best job in the world anybody could ever hate. And we love every moment of it... right?

Terror

To any Boston First Responder:

My heart goes out to you. Nobody should ever have to go through what happened today. Seeing people hurting, crying, missing body parts. That is such a horrific scene to have to take in. And my dispatchers, I applaud you for doing such a good job today. I heard the audio recording today of the event, and it was bone chilling. To see these images on the news is one thing. But to have to go through this entire situation blindly, without any eyes to see the magnitude of what you had to handle... I would be drained, emotionally and physically. You did so well. You rose above and beyond the call of duty, making sure that you did what you had to do in order to save lives and try and restore the peace of one of the greatest cities in America. God bless you.

When something like this happened in the past, all I could think was "poor officer, firefighter, EMT." The faces on TV, the ones physically responding to the incident, those were the people I thanked in my mind. Now, the story has changed. The thanks these groups of brave men and women are no less, but instead are shared with those in the ranks of emergency dispatching. When something like this happens, it's not just sending an ambulance for an MVA or rescue for a house fire. When a mass casualty incident occurs, especially in a place like this, there seem to be different feelings that get thrown into the mix. Patriotism. Vengeance. Sadness. Fear. Working an incident like this just makes it harder to fathom what the outcome might be, and who would have the nerve, and mental capacity, to make something like this happen. It's a shame that everyday could be your last, not always because of something you do, but because of the acts of others that cause injury and harm to completely innocent people.

With this, I yield back, for now. I'm sure as the days and weeks progress, more details will emerge that will either help the situation, or make me more sick to my stomach. And seeing that it's NTW, I can only say THANK YOU Dispatchers, in Boston and everywhere around the world. For without you, those who help would have nowhere to go, and nobody would get the help they needed.

-DH

Bosses and Light Switches

This is going to be a combined post because I have a bit to talk about on two different subjects, but didn't want to waste anybody's time posting two smaller entries. Plus, the two seem to tie in together in a weird sort of fashion.

My first topic has to do a lot with the workplace, specifically, interaction with our favorite, or maybe not so favorite person, our supervisor. Working for a small agency, my immediate supervisor is the sheriff's secretary. The head honcho of our whole department is, well, the sheriff. He has the final say on just about everything we do in the comm center regarding policy, changes, etc. He's a great guy and I really like him. I know I have heard people before complain about their supervisors in the comm center. I've heard everything from complaints about their attitude and poor work ethic to blatantly degrading the people below them on the not-so-corporate food chain. We're all in this together, aren't we?

This is where that second topic starts working its way into the equation... Very rarely does the aforementioned head honcho get to see what goes on in dispatch on a regular basis, and that's only because he is busy trying to tend to all the other requests people seem to need him for. He's a busy guy and it's totally understandable! On the other hand, that means that when he is in the comm center, especially when you're on your own, you try to do everything according to protocol. A few mornings ago was one of those "perfect" scenarios that seemed to play out like clockwork. I was visiting with the sheriff when the 911 line went off. It happened to be a party who was involved in a domestic in progress. Best believe that for those few minutes, that switch in my brain went from chatty and laid back to totally serious and ready to go. I got units rolling, got description from the party involved, took all the info I could, relayed it here and there, etc. I even answered and transferred a few non-emergency calls and took info for a traffic stop.

While all this was going on, boss man was staring at me, partly in amazement, and partly (what looked like) in fear. What if I missed something, or somebody didn't get the info they needed? Not the case. After taking the right info, getting it out, and clearing both the traffic and domestic, everything was 10-4 and it was back to sitting waiting for trouble to happen. I think I even struck up conversation right where it left off, no questions asked about anything. It was quite riveting.

There are two things that I want to make clear in this post. First, my boss is awesome and I am grateful that my supervisors are great people. I truly am sorry for those who have to deal with poor upper-level management. Secondly, I have to say, dispatchers are just wired differently. There are times where I am carrying on 3 or 4 different conversations simultaneously, and I have to know what's going on with each one. We have to know, at a moment's notice, what to do, who to call, and where to send the help. And sometimes, we are the only help that person has until somebody can physically get there. We man the radio, the PSAP, the phone, the intercom system, everything under the sun that could possibly be in a comm center is normally under our control. We get to know how to work all of it, know when to use it all, blah, blah, blah... Our job is not your run of the mill "sit at a desk and take phone calls for the boss" kind of job.  It's the kind of job where you have to know what you are doing, when, and why.

Don't let us fool you. 911 dispatchers have to be smart, witty, and slightly cynical to work in this business. Officers take a call here and there, clearing one and waiting for another. We get a call, then another call, then another, clear the first, and answer yet another. We get all the calls. Honestly, you have to be a special person to work in the hot seat, behind the mic of a console. I think I've got what it takes, and I know others do too. We are the calming voice in the darkness of the night, relaying information and keeping the peace. We are Dispatchers.

The Waiting Game

Some might disagree, but I have to say that dispatching in a small town is harder on your emotions than doing it in a larger city. In a large city, bad things happen everyday, all the time. But in a small town, when you look up at the screen on the 911 system and you see the address of your neighbor, your preacher, your best friend's grandmother, it seems to make the call 1,000% harder to handle. Not necessarily because you know who might be on the other end, but more so because you know many people that would be affected if, Lord forbid, things decide to go south on the call.  Small communities are great places to live. Low crime rates, a friendly atmosphere, it's a very inviting domain. But something that comes with dispatching in a small community, especially if you originate from the area, is the risk you are taking knowing that the next person who calls 911 could somebody you know, or somebody who knows somebody you know. Do you follow?

Small communities, like the one where I live, tend to be very tight-knit. It's the kind of town where you drive down the main drag and wave at every single car that passes you by, either because you know the driver, or because they graduated from high school with your parents. Something that I've had a hard time coming to grips with is that yes, someday, I may be on 911 with my friend/neighbor/relative, and I can't really break from being what I am, a 911 operator. I don't want to get on the 911 and say "by the way, this is me." It seems unprofessional for one, and secondly, what if somebody on the other end is called to the other side by the Lord and it's because of something I could have done better. I don't think I could live with that kind of guilt. I'd go crazy.

It was said in the book "Answering 911: Life In The Hot Seat" by Caroline Burau that on her drive home, she would drive past houses and know the kinds of secrets those houses held. The things that happened at that residence that would probably be better kept under wraps. Do we want to know these things? Do we choose to know that the house on the corner of 5th and Main is where the troubled teen tried to overdose on medication and take their own life? Not even. But it's what we are called to do.

As I've said before, I make a living doing something many people would never consider even trying to attempt. It's a very scary feeling knowing that when you are on a 911 with somebody, you are their lifeline, and sometimes the only means they have of communicating with anybody at all. It's almost like you become a part of the person. You have to be their voice, changed from distress and despair to calm and understanding on the radio. You have to be the hands that perform CPR on the unknown subject who collapsed on the sidewalk in the middle of town. For the time being, you have ultimate knowledge of the situation and what is going on at every endpoint, from patient to help. And that feeling is quite scary.

So as I sit here waiting for EMS to give me a disposition from the priority 1 call they went on a while ago, I can only appreciate my position here, and pray to God that I truly am making a difference.

Sirens

That moment when you can hear the sirens through your headset. It brings you a sense of comfort, for more reasons than one.. You know help has finally arrived, for whoever happens to be dying in your ear. If you’re optimistic, you know that somebody is going to be saved, cared for, or at least taken somewhere they can get help.

I have a soft spot for the elderly. I lost my great-grandmother the summer after I graduated from high school. For around 6 years of my early life, she was my caretaker. Not just a babysitter, no, because those normally just give you a juice box and let you run around in the yard until you are tired enough to take a nap. But she was more. She showed me things, like how to pray and how to speak Spanish. I had a deep connection with her, and I believe she felt the same connection with me. Her passing was hard, and I’m not sure if I’ve totally gained closure. But I try. 

I received a 911 call from a daughter, needing the ambulance for her elderly father. He was drinking water, just like every other time. Nothing different. Except some went down his windpipe. And he couldn’t bring it back up. I found out through talking with the panicked daughter that the man also had various other medical conditions. CHF, HBP, etc. The fear, the sheer terror in her voice, asking him in Spanish to breathe was quite scary.

“Respira dad, please. Tienes que tozer para que sale la agua.” 

“Ma’am, you need to try and pat his back, to get him to cough the water up.” 

“I can’t, he’s on his recliner and he’s too heavy for me to pick up.”

First Aid training instinct kicked in.

“Ma’am, you need to try and get behind the chair and wrap your arms around him. Make a fist under his sternum and push. He really needs to get that water out.” 

“Ok, let me try. Please dad, breathe.. I’m going to try and help you dad, just cough.” 

The phone goes partially silent, and all I can hear is faint dialogue from her to her father. Finally, a loud cough.

“Are you better dad? Can you breathe? I think he’s breathing again. Oh thank God. Thank you so much sir.”

Just then, I hear the sirens on the earpiece. They are faint, but I can hear them. 

“I hear them coming!” 

“Ok, great ma’am. Please don’t hang up. Is he able to talk or breathe?” 

“Dad, ABC, 123.” 

“ABC, 123,” a hoarse, but steady voice says.

"Oh my God, thank you, he's breathing again sir! Gracias a Dios!"

No major obstruction. Good. 

“They’re outside sir. Thank you so much, I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Ma’am, you’re very welcome. Meet the EMT’s at the door and they will take the call from here now.”

“Ok, thank you so much!” 

*click*

And she was gone. A bit of accomplishment. But I hadn’t been so happy to hear sirens. Ever.

Sorry, Not Sorry.

"Well, I received a 911 call from somewhere in the courthouse, but it sounded like some kids. Do you know if there's anything going on?"
"Not that I know of. What did they say?"
"Well all I heard was somebody messing with the handset, then somebody whispered 'I killed the doctor, the doctor's dead.' and the line cut. The callback takes me to a fax machine."
"Oh how cute, silly kids.. Well, good luck finding them!"

 With an attitude like that, it's no wonder we receive thousands upon thousands of 911 calls every year that are not emergencies. What gets done about it? Nothing, at least not that I can tell. I can't remember the last time a local agency put on a "9-1-1" program at the school where they talk all about how and when to call the emergency line. It's been even longer since I've seen a PSA about it on TV or even in print material. With National Telecommunications Week fast approaching, I can't shake the thought of trying to put on some kind of program at all the area school districts about emergency services and how they really work, show them what happens from the start to the end of the call step by step. One can dream, right?

I think there are plenty of reasons that we get so many calls where the first words out of the person's mouth are "Well, this isn't really an emergency but I didn't know who else to call." First, I blame cartoons. Yes, those TV shows that we loved watching on Saturday mornings where the cat is "stuck in a tree" and somebody decides to call the fire department to save it. Really, when is the last time you saw a cat skeleton in a tree? Secondly, I blame laziness. Much of the time, instead of picking up the local phone book and looking for the number for animal control or code enforcement, they call 911 and state their request valiantly, like they're about to go on a secret mission to get the Johnsons' to cut down their weeds. Give me a break...

I remember taking one 911 call that I won't soon forget, just because of the sheer and utter ignorance that I received through the handset that day.
"911, your emergency?"
"Yes, I needed to see if my husband has been arrested for DWI."
"I'm sorry?"
"I said, I need to see if my husband has been arrested and is at the county jail for DWI. I haven't been able to find him for the last few hours and he was probably out with his buddies drinking, that son of a bitch."
"Ma'am, unless you are calling to report a missing person, this is not an emergency and I do not have that information, you need to call the sheriff's office non-emergency line for assistance."
"I don't know the number!! Can't you just tell me?"
"No ma'am, I can't. The number is 555-869-4830."
"Ugh, fine!"
*click*

Working in a small department, I swiveled around on my chair and waited for the phone to do what it does.
*ring, ring*
*Sheriff's Office, how can I help you?"
"Were you the guy that was just on 911 with me?"
"Yes ma'am, I was."
"Why couldn't you just tell me there?!?!"
"Because ma'am, that line is reserved for emergencies only. Trying to find your husband at the jail is not an emergency. Further, I don't know who is in jail, let me transfer you that way and they will be GLAD to help you."

As I've said before, we're supposed to have all the answers, right? We're supposed to know the noise ordinances, the parking regulations, and everything else the county has in place to keep the peace in Middle of Nowhere, Texas, right? No. We are here to get the guys who get paid to know these things to help you out. We get paid to know all of the officers on the squad, their radio numbers, all the fire and rescue units and their chain of command, as well as all of their phone numbers, the number to Border Patrol, the State Park, CJIS Control Room, EMD procedures, Texas DPS, cross streets, mile markers, and so many other things that I can't even remember at the moment myself. Probably because I'm not in the middle of a major traffic accident..

It really sucks when you have something major going on and somebody calls 911 to get directions to the town they were supposed to be in by now. For one, they have no idea who they are calling and how bad a time this is to try and ask for directions on the emergency only line. And secondly, it makes us look bad because sometimes, all we can say is "I'm sorry, this is not an emergency, you need to find the non-emergency line and call back there." It's not that we want to be jerks or are trying to make your life miserable, but when lives are on the line, somebody thinking they're lost is low priority compared to the mother of 3 who is bleeding out at the scene of an MVA.

Messrs

Dear Editor,

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the fine gentlemen who came to my aid last week when I had my accident at home. Messrs Deputy Sheriff Jackson, and EMT's Garcia and Laird.

Sincerely,
James Wilson

"But... But... But... What about me?! Without me getting the 911 call from your wife who gave me the info to get somebody out there, you might be six feet under, pushing up daisies!"

There's no denying it, we all have our pity parties every once in a while. We listen to the 911 and dispatch the call where the officer that saved the girl's life later gets presented the key to the city and is revered as a hero for eternity and then some.  But what are we? Just a voice? Sometimes that really irks me. All we are to some people is a voice. The voice on the other end of the phone who is supposed to go through this horrific situation completely blind, guiding first responders and the caller, giving everybody the right information at the right time. The "annoying" voice checking on the 15 year veteran officer out in the field who hasn't gone clear from his last traffic stop yet. "Do you really have to check on us so often?" YES. Because, God forbid, if something happens to you out there, I will have to live with that sort of guilt for the rest of my life.

We hear the pleas of the mother holding her infant son who isn't breathing anymore. The cries for help of the gunshot victim who only knows they are in a dark alley somewhere in the city. The yelling and screaming of parents who are fighting over the last line of cocaine while their child hides in the closet scared for their life. These are real life events, and we have to live through them everyday. Do we get calls like this all the time? No, not necessarily. But when we do get them, they don't just disappear from your mind, never to be thought of again. They linger there, slowly eating away at your sanity, disconnecting you from the side of yourself that once held the emotions of your life.

When you pick up the 911 line, you never know what you're going to get. But what we always have to be prepared for is a person on the other end who is at the end of their rope. You are the light at the end of their tunnel and by God, you better be ready to help. 911 is supposed to have all the answers, aren't they? We're supposed to be the ones who get the "real heroes" out there. But imagine trying to live your life normally when a majority of the time you spend at work is spent hearing every possible horrific event you could imagine.

I feel like 911 dispatchers are seen in a negative light nowadays. There are too many news stories about how this or that botched 911 call ended up in a casualty or somebody being seriously injured. What about the good stories? The stories that should be told every single day. The stories where a call-taker saves somebody's life by telling the bystander how to perform CPR. Or how the dispatcher guided the frightened 12 year old to somewhere safe in their home until police got there and arrested the burglars. These types of calls happen everyday, all the time. But it's the expectation of "Well, that's what they're there for, isn't it?" that ruins this job. But stories about the everyday heroes don't always make for good TV, now do they?

The Hash Slinging Slasher

One of my more disturbing calls came in a few months ago. I was on the night shift, as would be anticipated with a call like this. Here's an edited journal entry I wrote after a few days after the event.

Sometimes, I wonder why I still subject myself to this kind of “torture”. Why am I still working this job? What is keeping me here? Maybe the pay. Not many places in town pay more than $8/hr., let alone finding a job that pays over $10/hr. But I don’t think that’s it, it’s gotta be more. Sitting in this dingy control room, with half of the florescent lights off because the other half of them would make it look like an operating room. With the hum of a million and one fans droning on at different speeds and pitches. The occasional stray radio click that doesn’t really mean anything except that maybe an officer has fallen asleep and is leaning his handheld against the inside of the patrol car door. Tonight was exciting, but not in a good way exciting. It was one of the first times I’ve actually had somebody on the other end of a 911 call actually just screaming for help. It's 3am, and that’s all I heard at first.

“Help! Help, Oh My God, Help, send help!”

Then, the line clicks and silence. I can’t put it in the notes fast enough before the same number calls back. This time the man is a bit more coherent, though still obviously shaken up and panicked. I can hear his wife in the background saying how she doesn’t want to hear “this”.

This? What is this? Him talking to me on 911? She wants to know if he is gone. He? Who he? "He” ended up being the next of kin to a couple living in a house many miles out of town. Their son, middle-aged, has some sort of mental illness.

The 911 line was acting squirrely. I could hear “them” perfectly fine, but my talking seemed garbled, almost “alien-like” in nature. I know how this sounds from hearing numerous call replays and hearing how bad the call quality is sometimes. I tried to get anything I could out of the man while he was still with me on the line; He breathing heavily, probably trying to decide whether to listen to his wife or myself, trying to decipher whether this was real life, or just a very bad dream. I wished it were the latter.

According to the information I gathered from the gentleman, his stepson tried to attack he and his wife. While they were sleeping. With an axe. And a sledge hammer. Yes, an axe and a sledge hammer. While trying not to have to go home and throw away a good pair of jeans, I got the sheriff on the line. I was frantic enough as it was, without remembering that their home was at least 20 miles out of town. I talked on the 911 call for around 9 minutes before I finally got frustrated hearing "What? I can’t understand you." After I made sure they were at least safe and their home was secure with no perp in sight, I called back on the non-emergency line.

The answer this time came from the man’s wife. Her voice was faint and distant, though I knew the phone handset was right at her ear. She started to weep. I tried to stay with her as long as I could and get whatever information she could recall immediately after having her life threatened by her own kin. God bless her. She seemed disoriented, lost, distant. Her voice cracked as she cried and all I could tell her was “Ma’am, I need you to stay with me, I’m here to help and we’re going to get somebody out there, okay?” She responded by saying something along the lines of “I know that...” Then she started crying again. This call was heartbreaking. But I had to keep myself together. After gathering whatever info I could, and making sure they locked their doors and stayed inside the house, I hung up the line and gave all the info to the sheriff.We made plans and got a first responder to check out the couple and make sure they were okay.

A few minutes later, another 911 call. Out of area cell phone number. Great, what now? “911, your emergency?” “Um yes, I was wondering if you had gotten a call about an altercation around an hour ago at a house outside of town? If you did, I was probably the other party involved in that..” Holy crap. I took the guy’s info, and asked him to stay on the line while I advised the sheriff what was going on. He said he would be en-route to the subject's location. He claimed he was at a grocery store where he was using the pay phone because he had forgotten his cell phone. Weird, huh? I told him somebody would be out to meet him shortly and to stay put.

After all was said and done, the call was cleared for the time being. The husband and wife were okay. Quite shaken up, but didn’t require immediate medical attention. The sheriff took the suspect down to the sheriff’s office for further questioning, and probably to see if this guy was even sane.

After all was said and done, did I really help anybody? Maybe. But maybe I was just the garbled voice on the other end of the telephone who couldn’t be understood worth a damn. Still, I have to tell myself I did something. I made plans quickly with the sheriff and together, we got things sorted out. Nobody died. Nobody died... I can only imagine waking up to somebody smashing things in your house, then looking around and suddenly staring death in the face. The scariest part of all of this is probably that at this point, death looks a lot like your son. And you don’t know whether to reason or fight back.

That call took so much out of me, but it wasn't until after the fact that I realized the magnitude of this call. It was a traumatic experience. But I made it. I didn't quit, I didn't hate my job, I didn't think twice about what I was doing. I made it. We are on the front lines of the Everyday Heroes of America. We get paid to keep going when the going gets tough.

Holiday

For many, including myself, today is what most consider a "holiday". And most in the workforce; banks, city offices, state bureaucratic organizations, most of these people have the day off. But for those of us who work in the wonderful field of public service, particularly law enforcement, it's just another Friday shift. Something that bothers me about working in this field is the fact that people don't remember that when they call 911 on a day like today, there's a human being who has given up their government-given right to a day off to keep the peace and perform their civil duties.

Here's how things like this play out: After having more than a few alcoholic beverages, Uncle Tommy starts bringing up how his brother John was always the "mommas boy." John, after having his fair share of alcoholic indulgence, gets mad and decides to start a yelling match with said Tommy. After this goes on for a few minutes, they make an attempt to settle this "Fair and Square" in an all-out, drag-out, "Battle of the Borrachos." *cue bullfighting music* After making an attempt at trying to hit each other, they both manage to miss their targets, and instead end up sprawled out on the ground. Tommy has cut his hand on the now broken bottle he forgot he was holding, and John has managed to roll his ankle, which now looks the size of Kirstie Alley's left thigh.

The nosy neighbors, hearing all the commotion, call 911 saying there is a fight in progress next door with injuries and they want the cops on scene before the Home Owners Association President gets wind of the situation.We get the call, send out the troops, and happily wait on their arrival. They get there and determine that it is nothing more than a drunken mess. They do what they can within their powers (God knows they would like to do much they couldn't) and clear the call.

It seems like calls like this tend to happen on said "holidays" more often than not. There are holidays that we hate working, then there are holidays where we would rather quit than have to work for fear of all the terrible things that could happen. Take the 4th of July for instance. People like to play dispatch's favorite game that day: Firework or Gunshot. "Where did you hear the shots come from, ma'am?" "I don't know, but they sounded like they were kind of far away! Or maybe they were close... I don't know!"  Aye caramba... Long story short, holiday or not, when duty calls, we are here to perform our job, and are expected to do so without any lip. Birthdays, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Passover, and beyond, somebody is there to answer the line 24/7 when help is needed.

I still swear there's a monkey somewhere in the Middle-Of-Nowhere, Texas standing in front of a fan with a bag of manure in one hand. Go ahead and throw it, my friend... Make my day..

Shall We Begin?

"Well, if you don't have anymore questions, do you want the job?"

I had no idea what I was getting myself into at the time. Nine months into the job, I know I made the right choice. It's the idea of the adrenaline rush when you hear yelling and screaming through the headset, or the thought that a vehicle that came back stolen might take off and you could have a pursuit on your hands. That's what keeps me where I am, doing what I do. I'm a 911 dispatcher.

Needless to say, there are things that go wrong or things that drive me up the wall. The long hours sitting at the console running traffic, answering the phone, transferring calls, taking 911's. And then there's entering warrants into NCIC... All the little things that I dislike about working in such a stressful, fast paced environment. Don't think it's that hard?

The other morning, I walked into dispatch and took my usual place. Just 45 minutes into my shift, 911 goes off. The first thing I hear is groaning and gurgling.

"911, your emergency?"
"Yes, there's a woman who is a guest at our house and I believe she's having a seizure."
"Your address ma'am?"
"1204 Johnson Lane"
"How old is she?"
"46, please hurry."
The groaning gets louder and sounds painful. Time to rally the troops. I page out EMS and they go enroute to the call shortly after. Meanwhile, I give the woman on the phone instructions.

"I show your callback number as.... Is this a good number? Do not try and hold her still ma'am. I know she looks like she could hurt herself but she shouldn't, just stay with me. Any medical history? What is her name? Is she on any sort of medication? What was she doing before this happened? She's calming down? Okay, have her rest in a comfortable position and do not give her anything to eat or drink. Is she disoriented? Does she know her name, where she is, what her birthday is?"

Then the radio clicks. 
"Unit 41, Central, show us on scene." 
"Central, Unit 41, 10-4, on scene at 0805"

Back to the caller.
"Ma'am, EMS advises they are on scene, can you tell me if they are outside?"
"Yes, I see them!"
"Okay, they will take the call from here."
"Okay!"
*click* 

For those few moments in time, a dispatcher goes from being a regular person to being a lifeline. Being a dispatcher, you are responsible for so much more than what most people think. It's like asking somebody to memorize the local phone book, all the cross streets in the city, and a medical dictionary, and being able to recall this information at the drop of a hat. At least you're get paid for it...

What a lot of people don't remember is that there is another human being on the other end of the line, trying to make a living doing what many people wouldn't ever consider trying."You guys ask too many questions. Why do you need to know that? What does it matter what medication she is on? I don't remember what color the car was, just pull them over! I want to remain anonymous, I'm just reporting that I saw the vehicle being stolen. How should I know where I am, you're the dispatcher! I'm just driving through, how should I know how far I am from Middle-Of-Nowhere, Texas?" It's a never-ending slew of questions being used as answers for my questions. Do you want help or not?!

This is my rant page, the page where I plan to talk about all the good and terrible things that happen in this line of work. Check back often, I promise there is much to talk about. Mind you, I work at a very small agency. Small enough that there is often just one dispatcher on duty, dispatching for two counties. I am the call taker, 911 operator, and dispatcher. And for now, I wouldn't have it any other way.