An Open Letter to Emergency Telecommunicators on Emergency Telecommunicator’s Week

I was there with you on your first day – green and scared shitless.  I know that you had no idea what to expect – how could you?  

I was with you during those long grueling training days and nights; it felt like you would never be really doing the job. You sat, motionless for hours on end, reading endless policies, deployment plans, and various Acts, learning how to do the job before actually doing the job.

So, it naturally made me proud when you hit the floor, meet the intense mix of A-type characters who would soon become your teammates, your friends, and eventually, your family. 

I was elated when they cleared you; you were finally good enough to do it on your own.  I know you were terrified; I saw it through your plastered-on smile.

I know the nights were sleepless; they were spent either at work or dreaming about work. It seemed to master this level of multi-tasking required practice during both waking and sleeping hours. 

I drove into work with you while you white-knuckled your drive.   The snow was so heavy and you immediately knew what you were in for on the other end of the lines. 

I was there for the first call that you fucked up; I saw both the realization and the fear on your face.  So, it seems, did a senior dispatcher. I heard her calm you.  She told you that she had fucked up before, too.  Just don’t let it happen again, she says.

I sat quietly while you delivered your first baby over the phone.  We all held our breath as you moved your first-aid instructions between the instructions for “Living, Breathing Baby” and “CPR on a Newborn,” hoping it was the former that you would be giving, and not the latter.

I was there for both.

When you returned to work after your own trauma, I held you tight and let you know that you could handle whatever was thrown your way.  I saw you build back both your skills and your resilience.  I’m your cheerleader - always will be.  You’ve got this, I’d whisper.

I was there at 4am when the giggles hit - hard. You and your teammates laughed so hard at something so simple, questioning after, is it really that funny or are we really that tired?  Who the fuck knows?  Damn, that just killed a solid hour!

I witnessed as you were disciplined for swearing in the workplace; I saw that sly eye-roll behind management’s back.   They are doing their job as you are doing yours; but fuck, sometimes this job gets the best of you.

I was there when you brought your work home; it started filtering, little by little, into your home-life.  It began with a sensitivity to sounds and then crept into your relationship and parenting.  You are all too aware that anything can happen – and does!

I heard you call your husband on your tear-streaked drives home, begging him to keep the baby up.  You need that baby more than it needs you sometimes. It feels good to hold your own after the helplessness of hearing someone lose theirs. 

I watched you strain to hear the background noise of a call that turned your stomach a little bit.  You knew, in the absence of proof, that something else was going on at that residence.  Why else would those hairs be standing up on the base of your neck?  Something is off and it’s your job to hear what isn’t being said.

I listened as you dispatched your friends, your family, your lover, your spouse to a call that you wanted them as far away from as possible. Your voice cracked and you’ll replay that weakness over and over.  You’re scared and it shouldn’t show on the air.  They can’t know that you’re scared for them.

I’ve listened along with you, helplessly, as they beg, cry, and plead to the heavens.  You know that the heavens aren’t going to help so instead you inject, help is on the way whenever you can.  Help is on the way, you repeat; wishing that you could be a bigger help.

I’ve been there this whole time, on the other end of the line, wishing I could be a bigger help. 

I am the first, first responder. 

I am you.