Growing up in the South, you will frequently hear the phrase: “Shit hit the fan.” I don’t think I ever truly understood the meaning until I went to work for Sevier County 911 dispatch.
And yesterday, shit definitely hit the fan in Sevier County.
Y’all all know Ruby’s burned to a crisp in Pigeon Forge on Sunday, which is hard enough to deal with. It’s terrible when it’s a home out in the county, but when it’s high profile business in the middle of town, you have to deal with all the media, too. And then the helicopter crash yesterday afternoon. You think about that. Phone rings, more than likely it’s someone ABSOLUTELY HYSTERICAL because they’ve watched a helicopter fall from the sky & burst into flames. You can’t believe your ears, you hope it’s someone off their meds but then all the phone lines light up at once as the calls pour in from hundreds of eyewitnesses. You might hear screaming from the victims. The trunk lines fill (that’s 7 phone lines with twelve calls apiece for six dispatchers to answer, if I remember correctly) & roll to the Sherriff’s department. Your first dispatcher starts doing what they do- methodically mashing buttons & maintaining a calm demeanor while in a monotone voice delivers the worst news the EMS world will probably hear all day. And from there, it all goes downhill. And by downhill, I actually mean it escalates.
Television & radio broadcasters are constantly monitoring the ambulance, fire, rescue, & police frequencies to stay abreast of breaking news. So they start calling non-recorded lines to get what little information dispatchers can give them. The calls from passers-by never stop. And then you have about 20 units responding to an accident of that caliber for you stay in touch with. Once the initial dispatch goes out, they copy you. You note that time. They tell you they’re en route. You notate time & give them the most explicit directions possible, speaking no more than two words a second although it feels as though all hell is breaking loose around you. Multiply times 10, as different agencies go en route on different frequencies. This is assuming you have a pinpointed, exact location & aren’t sending them in the general area. You give them each truck a time they arrive on scene. And the chaos builds. You feel like your head is going to explode as instructions are shouted by command as they try to establish control of a mob scene. You call Lifestar & work with command to establish an LZ (landing zone) & give the pilots coordinates. I don’t think Lifestar was dispatched yesterday, it was too instantaneous. And then it truly IS hell, as a forest fire is ignited from the fiery remnants of the helicopter. Once the flames are extinguished, it will smolder for a few days as a grim reminder of a horrific accident.
BUT. The helicopter crash was just an added stress on top of everything else: all the regular calls of heart attacks, strokes, seizures, falls, MVA’s (car wrecks), brush fires started by homeowners on a windy day, & whatever else, including accidental calls. Then the fire that’s been burning in Cocke County crosses the county line on English Mountain & it’s our responsibility now. It’s massive, so Wildland Task Force is toned out. Now you’ve got one. Wildland Task Force is one of those things you learn about in training that is so spectacularly awful you think it will never be utilized. You tone out every fire department in the county & you call the Forestry service & roust Gerald out of bed. You call surrounding counties’ dispatch centers to move their units to the county line to stand by in case something else comes in. This happens a few times a year, if you’re lucky. And after all that, if you have time, you pray.
Calls from homeowners pour in as the flames encroach. The Red Cross sets up a replenishment station. It is pure insanity. All these things happened in twelve hours yesterday at our dispatch center.
Your job probably sucks. You probably get lied to, screamed at, cussed, talked down to, & worked like a borrowed mine mule for no recognition whatsoever.
But did anybody die? If you had stood paralyzed, would anybody have had a different outcome in their life? Would they have perished? Our beating heart will at some point probably rely on a phone call to a person responsible for getting you help. In the meantime, they’ll give you a list of things to do to keep you comfortable, or at least stable, & expedite your journey to the hospital. They will be your rock, the center of your universe, the only person holding your hand as you face down death in the single worst experience of your life.
Pray for our dispatchers. They need it as badly as anyone I know.
They had a dang bad day yesterday.
***I haven’t been a dispatcher in ten years, but there are times in your life you’ll never forget. Serving in emergency services is one.
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