Holidays, full moon, too much alcohol. What do these things have in common? All make for a busy night at 911 dispatch.

So it was no surprise to me that I have two friends from that past life who made a little Facebook post about it. One relived a traumatizing suicide call and the other just cautioned us to be careful this weekend. I look for more posts from other former coworkers soon. You know, a ripple effect as we all think about our own experiences behind the headset. Holidays always bring out the crazy in people, and the call volume is definitely up. And therefore, the memories. Of course I have my own demons, and ghosts of calls that rattle in my head from time to time. If you could hear the screaming, you would understand why I’ll never swing my leg over another motorcycle. If you could hear the incessant ringing, you’d know why I exercise extreme caution at the Pleasant Hill and Chapman Highway intersection. And if you could hear the gasping sobs, you’d know why I am so adamantly against narcotics.

You see, when you do something stupid, and you pay for it with your life, it doesn’t just affect you. That’s a very selfish thought. Of course it affects your family, your friends, the people you work with. But it also affects the paramedics who work your body, the police who have the grueling task of interviewing witnesses, the firefighters who establish command, and the first responders. It affects the innocent bystanders who were witness to your idiocy. Its a ripple effect that never stops. I left dispatch in 2007 and some of those calls still haunt me. I guess they will for life. And I didn’t even see them with my own two eyes, I only heard them. Sometimes calls only last a few seconds, sometimes they last over thirty minutes. And like I said, some last a lifetime. It’s a rarity when you get to find out what happened afterwards. Sometimes you wish you didn’t.

A few of our dispatchers have been there since this county gained a 911 center in year 2000. So a little over two decades. That’s a lot of kids prank calls, domestic disputes, cows in the road, reckless drivers, fights at the Walmart, drunk and disorderlies in Gatlinburg, and MVA’s (motor vehicle accidents). That’s a lot of brush fires, house fires, tire fires in the Valley on Halloween, and chimney fires. Oh, and not to forget, “I see smoke, but I can’t tell where it’s a-comin’ from”. That’s a lot of seizures, babies being born, allergic reactions. There are heart attacks, strokes, and more often than not, just waking up dead. There are thousands of calls about bears on porches, bears in cars, bears on the road. And then the people trying to get off the mountain in the snow. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it. It’s also a lot of meals scarfed down in a rare, quiet minute. It’s sheer panic; the single worst event in the caller’s life. But for the dispatcher, it’s just another Tuesday night. Most of the time, anyway. It’s scary for the dispatchers though, when the caller can’t tell you where they are. That’s the absolute WORST. I would say the location detection is much more accurate these days, but I cannot stress enough how important it is for you to know your whereabouts at all times. You’ve got a big problem on your hands, but now you have two when you don’t know where you are.

But I tell you: dispatchers who stick with it are a rare breed, indeed. They have steel 2 inches thick for skin and a guarded heart. Sometimes they take off their headset after a particularly taxing call and go stand in the rain, smoking, staring into the distance. Or sometimes maybe they just close their eyes against the raw pain of it all. I’ve seen it. Maybe they run down the hall to the secluded bathroom to empty their soured stomach or cry into their hands and pray they don’t get another call like that tonight.

And then they come back, sit down, and plug back up. Because the phone never stops ringing. There is never a shortages of emergencies. And when it rains, it pours. It’s almost as if people wait till they know you’re busy to wave a gun in traffic, choke on food, or hit a deer. No one can understand what dispatchers go through besides the other ones who have stared so hard at that map, clenched their teeth as they heard the last words of someone in pain, and have prayed with those that are scared. Sometimes that fire’s so real you can feel the heat and sometimes you give your desk CPR to help the caller keep time. Sometimes you pace while you wait for EMS to get on scene because you know this one’s especially bad, and why does anybody choose to live out Wilhite? You work second shift, then the next night you’re on graveyard and you just swing it because you’re called to. It’s not preaching, and it’s hard to live right, but those dispatchers are out there giving it all they can.

Even now As I sit on my porch, writing this, I hear sirens. And lots of fireworks. It’s not even dark yet, nor is it the Fourth of July. So for the love of God, BE CAREFUL THIS WEEKEND. It’s not just about you. It’s the ripple that never stops.

Love from the former #7.