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I Wish I Could See
I wish you could see the sadness of a business man as his livelihood
goes up in flames, or that family returning home, only to find their house and
belongings damaged or lost for good.
I wish you could know what it is like to search a burning
bedroom for trapped children, flames rolling above your head, your palms and knees
burning as you crawl, the floor sagging under your weight as the kitchen below
you burns.
I wish you could comprehend a wife's horror at 3 a.m.
as I check her husband of 40 years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway,
hoping to bring him back, knowing intuitively it is too late. But wanting his
wife's and family to know everything possible was done to try to save his life.
I wish you knew the unique smell of burning insulation,
the taste of soot-filled mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your turnout
gear, the sounds of flames crackling, the eeriness of being able to see absolutely
nothing in dense smoke-sensations that I've become too familiar with.
I wish you could understand how it feels to go to work
in the morning after having spent most of the night, hot and soaking wet at a
multiple alarm fire.
I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a building
fire "Is this a false alarm or a working fire? How is the building constructed?
What hazards awaits me? Is anyone trapped?" Or to an EMS call, "What is wrong
with this patient? Is it minor or life-threatening? Is the caller really in distress
or is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or a gun?"
I wish you could be in the emergency room as a doctor
pronounces dead the beautiful five-year old girl that I have been trying to save
during the past 25 minutes. Who will never go on her first date or say the words,
"I love you Mommy" again.
I wish you could know the frustration I feel in the cab
of the engine, the driver with his foot pressing down hard on the pedal, my arm
tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as you fail to yield the right-of-way
at an intersection or in traffic. When you need us however, your first comment
upon our arrival will be, "It took you forever to get here!"
I wish you could know my thoughts as I help extricate
a girl of teenage years from the remains of her automobile. "what if this was
my sister, my girlfriend, or a friend? What were her parents reactions going to
be when they open the door to find a police officer with hat in hand?"
I wish you could know how it feels to walk in the back
door and greet my parents and family, not having the heart to them that I nearly
did not come back from the last call.
I wish you could feel the hurt as people verbally, and
sometimes physically, abuse us or belittle what I do, or as they express their
attitudes of "It will never happen to me"
I wish you could realize the physical, emotional and
mental drain or missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition
to all the tragedy my eyes have seen.
I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction
of helping save a life or of preserving someone's property, or being able to be
there in time of crisis, or creating order from total chaos.
I wish you could understand what it feels like to have
a little boy tugging at your arm and asking, "Is Mommy okay?" Not even being able
to look in his eyes without tears from your own and not knowing what to say. Or
to have to hold back a long time friend who watches his buddy having rescue breathing
done on him as they take him away in the ambulance. You know all along he did
not have his seat belt on. A sensation that I have become too familiar with.
Unless you have lived with this kind of life, you will never truly understand
or appreciate who I am, we are, or what our job really means to us.
I wish you could though.
--Author Unknown--
 The Stentorians
of Los Angeles County, Inc., established in 1954, is a nonprofit organization.
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