The Job We Signed Up For

Few things get under my skin as quickly as the assumptions some people have about the job we do. The general public seems to have this idea that firefighters, paramedics and police officers are wearing the uniform solely for the purpose of putting ourselves in harm's way. Yes, we do that. We do it frequently. Our safety does not need to be in jeopardy all the time, however; prudence and a strong set of SOP's (Standard Operating Procedures) can mean the difference between coming home and going to the morgue. Consider these words, spoken by a man who was shot this past June in Aurora, Colorado:

"They signed up for it. They just need to do their job."

Of all the things I've heard a person say about our profession, that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Those words were spoken by Adam Fisher recently as he recalled the June night when a drunken neighbor opened fire and hit him three times. A friend called 911, then as police responded to the scene that friend followed dispatchers' instructions to try to stop the bleeding. Firefighter/paramedics were dispatched to the scene, but because of SOP's - a requirement that police declare the scene safe before entering - fire crews staged about a mile away. They wouldn't enter the scene to treat Fisher until the officers at the scene declared that scene secure.

Recordings of radio transmissions during the incident show what the news report failed to touch on: the lack of communication on the part of police officers. I fail to understand why the firefighters' failure to move from staged to responding is all their fault, because I'm hearing what officers are saying over the radio and I hear quite a few dancing around whether it's safe. Nobody declared it safe. Then, when they got frustrated that firefighters weren't responding, I'd like to know why officers didn't send someone out to physically tell them, "hey, the scene is secure, we need some help."

How hard was it for them to simply declare the scene safe? There were 30 officers there, surely someone could have put two and two together.

Despite what seems to be glaringly obvious, this all gets laid at the feet of the firefighters. The victim and his friend don't have the first clue what the reasons are for not rushing in immediately and nobody has bothered to explain it to them.

Let me tell you about the job we signed up for. We signed up for public safety. We signed up to rescue the injured, treat the sick, and put out fires. We signed up knowing that the nature of the job requires that we accept a certain level of risk to our personal safety. The vast, overwhelming majority of us are adrenaline junkies, so that feeds the need to some degree. What we did NOT sign up for, though, was an expectation that no matter what's going on, no matter what danger, we will throw ourselves at the mercy of God because the public thinks we ought to.

If that were really the case, we'd stop issuing guns, night sticks, OC spray and tasers to police officers. God knows they've been persecuted for their use of every single one of those tools even though they're quite often justified in using them.

I've been burned before and it really isn't that bad. I've had broken bones; those often heal with minimal issues. I've had lacerations that required stitches. Each and every one of those injuries would have been far worse if it hadn't been for my training and PPE (Personal Protective Equipment). Unfortunately, I don't have anything that will really save me from a bullet. I don't wear a tactical vest that will protect my major organs. Since we're not living in the Matrix, I'm not capable of dodging bullets. If someone at a scene gets stupid and starts cracking off shots at me and my partner, we're just as susceptible to serious injury and death as the Joe Schmoe we're being called to help.

I'm not really afraid of dying. If I'm on a call and some unspeakable danger befalls us, I would much rather be the one to die rather than have to tell my partners' kids that I did the best I could. What I am more afraid of is surviving a gunshot wound. Survivors end up with all kinds of health issues; I'm sorry, but ending up with a colostomy bag, a hole in my skull complete with an inability to control my mouth and spending life in a wheelchair - all of which would keep me from ever doing the job I love again - are NOT what I and my brothers and sisters signed up for.

If someone is running around a scene with a gun, then I'm not going in blind. In some situations, I'd absolutely break that rule, and I'm not saying that I would wait until my dispatcher told me the scene was secure; if a cop came out and asked for my help, sure, I'd follow him. But if I'm sitting in my rig, watching scores of officers come sweeping in with guns drawn, you'd best believe I'm going to wait on them to clear it out.

In 1993, Denver firefighter Doug Konecny was shot and killed while extending a ladder to the window of a suicidal man. In 2004, Lexington firefighter Lieutenant Brenda Cowan was shot and killed trying to help a victim of a domestic dispute. In 2008, St. Louis firefighter Ryan Hummert was shot to death while trying to put out a vehicle fire. Others have been wounded and survived.

In this case Adam Fisher and his friend, Leah Lockert, are angry with firefighters. They believe the crews should have ignored the danger and come charging in full-code without regard for the situation. We cannot fall into the trap of believing that our lives are expendable simply to placate an angry public. We all know just how off-base the public often is.

Mr. Fisher, I will not, for one second, attempt to downplay your situation. I would ask you not to downplay ours. Don't think that those firefighters were being lazy. I promise you, they weren't standing outside their rigs with their arms folded, relaxed. They were anxious to help you. If they were anything like me and my boys, they were bouncing on the balls of their feet, muttering under their breath, raring to go. It's not fair that you got shot. It's equally unfair for you to expect us to put ourselves in mortal danger and run the risk of needing even more rescue crews to come help us.