I just found this article in "African-American News and Issues" written by Councilwoman Jolanda Jones May 18, 2009 that leaves me shaking my head. Her comments are erratic. Who is the real Jolanda Jones? She shoots from the lip.
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Firefighters do More Than Save us From Fires -- By Jolanda Jones May 18, 2009
God Bless Fire Fighters! I say that because I have a new-found respect for them after doing a stint at Fire Station 25 (“25’s”). Initially, all I thought they did was rescue us from fires. I don’t say that lightly because they do save our lives during fires; they rush into the heat when we’re trying to rush out. Boy was I wrong! It’s just that after I accompanied the 525 ambulance on its 24 hour B Shift, I realized that it’s much more than I envisioned. It’s a grueling job. And most importantly, it’s a job that we’d better hope they’re always around for.
I thought it was going to be no big deal. I’m a former world-class athlete who still works out (weights, cardio and abs) and who is as tough as any guy. I arrived about 7:00 a.m., after the shift change with A Shift. I was full of energy and excited. I had my pink bag with toiletries, a change of clothes, and my own sheets and pillow. Boy, did I have a lot to learn. The restrooms, especially in the watch room, were not a place I wanted to use or shower in. The mattresses were not a place I wanted to sleep.
Breakfast was ready and cooked by Engineer Operator Morris—eggs, bacon, pancakes and coffee. I began to make my plate when the red light and sirens went off. I found out real quick how to make a pancake sandwich. I hopped on the pumper and away we went. The first call was an assault at a local university. I won’t go into details, but it was very interesting. The 525 took a person to the hospital. I went back to 25’ with the pumper. I ate some more bacon.
The next call was a cardiac arrest. I was able to share in the most phenomenal experience. I have known the family of the cardiac arrest patient since childhood. They kept asking me questions. Although I knew the patient wasn’t breathing without the aid of CPR, I kept advising them that the patient was being worked on, which was absolutely true. I got to see 25’s EMTs and paramedics, from another station, work as a team and bring someone back to life. It was incredible! I saw all these strong men manually doing CPR and switching out because it was so tiring and just going on and on and on. I’d lost faith that the person could be saved, but they didn’t. They just worked exhaustingly for at least 30 minutes. Then we rushed off to Ben Taub, with everyone except me still performing CPR. The patient wasn’t breathing on their own. By the time we got there, they’d brought the patient back to life. I was AMAZED and so proud of them. I was also happy for the family of the patient.
We went back to 25’s. I was advised that the ambulances were the busiest. That was it for me, I wanted to be busy. I wanted to ride with the ambulance. I still had energy. After that, it was the 525, the number assigned to one of the ambulances at 25’s.
We made other calls. We went to “Fill the Boot” on the corner of Scott and Elgin. I was surprised to find out that you didn’t get off the clock to do “Fill the Boot;” that you had to raise money for charity in between runs. Dispatch came on and ordered us on a run. We packed up our boots, hopped in the pumper, and we were off. We made runs, some serious, where lives were saved, and some a lesson on why we need universal health care. We made runs to homes for what should have been doctor visits. We also made runs for boyfriend/girlfriend drama. Some lady couldn’t get her baby’s daddy to answer the phone. She didn’t want him going out to the club, so she called the ambulance and said her child was sick. It didn’t work. He still didn’t show up. What a waste of tax-payer money.
We were dispatched on a call where mental illness was involved. EO Morris was doing his best to calm every one down, especially the patient and his family. He did all he could to keep the family members from asking the patient questions, speaking with him and approaching him. He tried to just have the patient’s mom speak with him.
At the time, I thought that was insensitive. A younger fire fighter kept asking if the police had been called. EO Morris kept saying, “no, not yet.” Let’s only do that as a last resort. Finally the mom convinced her son to go to the hospital. As soon as the patient got in the ambulance, the police come running with their hands on their guns. An escalation was averted.
He later explained to the younger fire fighter that in situations where mental illness is involved, the situation should be calmed down, if possible. He said he wanted to see if the patient’s mom could talk the patient into being taken to the hospital; that all the questions from family members might agitate the mental health patient even more and escalate the atmosphere; and that you only call the police as a last resort because sometimes mental illness and law enforcement don’t mix. We’d continued to make non-stop runs all day. Capt. Dean and EO Morris were right—I should have grabbed rest whenever I could. At about 8:00 p.m., 14 hours into my shift, I was running on empty. I hopped in the bed, every time I could, clothes laid out perfectly to jump into in less than one minute, to get quick power naps to re-energize myself.
Then EO Morris came in and advised that we had lost two fire fighters. It was sobering. It was the last six hours of the shift. Morris asked if I wanted to come to the Medical Examiner’s office. I said I was a part of their team that night. When it was time to go, we boarded the pumper, this time with no lights and sirens blasting; just thinking and appreciating life. The boxes were on runs. When we arrived at the ME’s office, other pumpers, ladders and boxes and squads and chief cars were there. The Honor Guard was there too. It was drizzling, but that didn’t matter. Everyone got out and communed. Others, including Dean and Morris, figured out the logistics of how to salute the fallen fire fighters. All the apparatuses were lined up along OST. HPD drove by in unison as well. When the boxes carrying Harlow and Hobbs arrived, the apparatuses were lit up. All the fire fighters were lined up along the street in a salute. What camaraderie, friendship and respect.
The stretchers were carried by fellow shift men of the two fallen heroes – Capt. James Harlow and Fire Fighter Damion Hobbs, with American flags draped around the stretchers. It was later explained to me that Capt. Harlow and Hobbs would not ever be left alone. There was a lot of emotion- a lot of grown men crying and needing help to stand. The uniqueness of the bond of fire fighters was a sight to behold.
After Capt. Harlow and Hobbs were safely at the ME’s office, we headed back to 25’s. Not much talking took place, just a lot of reflecting, at least for me. I heard some sniffles, but I understood. It’s a dangerous job and someone’s got to do it. I was with the men/women (although there were no women on B Shift) who do it day in and day out. When we got back, I couldn’t sleep, even though I was tired. I sat there until the shift was over. I don’t even remember if there were more runs. I was just numb.
My 24 hour shift with 25’s taught me so much and gave me a better understanding of what it is that fire fighters do. They do so much more than just save us and our property from fires. They come to help us when we are in the most need, most embarrassing, most helpless and most un-dignified moments. Notwithstanding these not-wished-for moments, they help us without embarrassing us. They work in a dignified manner, even when we are helpless.
Since my service with 25’s, I did a 24 hour shift with the D shift at 46’s. That’s another story for another day, but it’s the same story. Day in and day out, literally, fire fighters are there to rescue us. If you don’t respect them, you should! They are the ones, when it comes to sickness, that hold down the fort and try to stabilize us until we make it to the hospital. Firefighters are my heroes!
The recent loss of two Houston Firefighters, Capt. James Harlow, 50, and Damien Hobbs, 29, reminded us all of just how dangerous the occupation can be.
[End of her column]