Serious Moments

This was the first shift where a baby has died.

I realize that I'm very fortunate that in six years as an emergency dispatcher, I've never lost a child, much less a baby. I've lost many adults (and some that were children of the caller), and I've had to begin CPR instructions several times. I've heard terrible scenes unfold over the radio and the phone. But I've never lost a baby.

I didn't even take the call. My partner, a fairly new dispatcher, rocked the call. She was amazing. Great poise, great control. She's a single mom of a small child, and I know it was really, really hard for her. She was fantastic.

I obviously didn't respond to the scene. Three officers, two with children, and one without, responded. Multiple firefighters/EMTs/paramedics, some with and some without children at home, responded. The first officer was greeted with the mother and the not-breathing, not- responding baby, and escorted the ambulance and fire engines to the hospital. The fire department didn't even pause at the house; they simply grabbed the child and transported to the hospital, working all the way. All the responders were fantastic.

I simply handled the radio traffic and the subsequent calls. As I tried to explain to the chaplains tonight that were debriefing us, I really thought I was fine until I heard from one of my responders, and I knew he was not fine; he was devastated. And that devastated me.

The whole chaplain/debriefing situation is fairly new to us. We spend most of our careers at the worst point of people's lives, and once one call is finished, there's another call waiting. We don't always have the chance to recover from one call before something else rolls in. And in my part of the field, I don't get to know the outcome of the call, or what really happened. All I have is my imagination, based on what the caller told me, the caller's tone of voice, the officer or firefighter's tone of voice, and past experience. And in calls like this call, my officer's voice over the radio told me immediately that he was shaken. It wasn't his words (he just said he was with the mother), it was the tone and hours I've spent with him, talking with him and building a relationship with him so that past experience told me it was bad.

I don't know how many of the officers really wanted to be debriefed. It goes against everything we've been taught--the old school just be callous and roll on train of thought. The fire department is great about debriefing, and the chaplains had already been with them after the call. It happened at our shift change(both my partner and I and my officers), and the chaplains came back for us when we reported back to duty. The officers trekked into dispatch, where we and the chaplains had already talked for about a half an hour. One officer was open, and the other two were silent. Pain rolled off of them in large waves. They didn't say much, but just the act of them responding for us--and I really do believe that they responded to check on my partner and I--spoke volumes. We've had some disagreements with this team of officers, but in a moment of crisis, it's all gone. When it was said and done, I know that they care about me, and that our "family" is back. Out of so much pain, anger and ultimately death, comes strength and love.

I hope this never happens again. Unfortunately, it will. As will many other, terrible calls. And I have so much respect for those that choose to work in this field. We are truly blessed to have each other.