Stairclimb Pictures

 

We stopped by the Space Needle to get a picture of C9 in front of it...just for kicks. We wandered the streets of Downtown Seattle late on Saturday before checking into our hotels, went down to the pier to look out over the Sound, and threaded our way through the crowds at Pike's market.

The view from the top of the Columbia tower, taken on my phone.

Me, at the finish!

And this is the view of the tower from the street--it just keeps going up...

Scott Firefighter Stairclimb--1st Year

  It's over!
I'm done!
Yesterday was probably one the most awesome, brutal, and amazing days of my life!

 It started early Sunday morning. Emily and I drove the rig from our hotel into Downtown Seattle where we would meet the rest of our team, Shane and Trevor. I HATE city driving. It's like a nightmare. Trying to find a place to park downtown is like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
The atrium of the Columbia Center was packed. Vendors were set up in the center, while teams staked out their space on the ground around the perimeter and camped out with their gear. It was really cool seeing people from other Oregon departments, some of whom I knew, and people from other states, or countries. New Zealand, the UK, Poland, I think there a few Aussies too...

 Participants are split up into Battalions of about 30 people, Trevor was in Battalion 15, so he climbed fairly early.
I was in Battalion 41.
The first Battalion is sent off with the Seattle Pipes and Drums leading the way, which was awesome! A fellow sleeper lent me his GoPro, and I got a video of the first battalion but I haven't been able to get the video from the camera to my computer. Way to technical for me I guess.
In the hours that followed I camped out on the ground, lying on my turnout gear, munching on granola bars and remembering Dad's warning not to puke in my mask.
I wasn't too worried about that though.
I'm not too proud to admit that when I get excited/nervous, my glomerular filtration rate skyrockets and my nephrons seem to do little in the way of reabsorbing fluid. I made more trips to the restroom than I care to recall.
I spent money on a fabulous Seattle Firefighters Pipes and Drums t-shirt--maybe spending money is a nervous response as well. ;)
Around 14:20 it was finally time to climb! I donned my gear, tucking my pant legs into my boots, which everyone told me helped cut down on the resistance. I bounced nervously to the beat of Kate Perry's "Roar" and "Immortals" by Fall Out Boy. I had spent a great deal of time putting together an up-beat playlist for the climb, and I told myself I would never make it to the top without my music!

So off we went, Battalion 41, up the first three floors on the escalators, out to the front of the atrium. There's about 15 seconds between climbers.
Just enough time to don your mask, helmet, and gloves, snugly nestle those earbuds in your auditory canals and move up the line. You'll swipe your right arm across the sensor to activate your timing chip, and off you go!
The night before, we did the math.
If I paced myself to 20 seconds per floor, and added in maybe 2 minutes for a rest at the bottle changing station, I could do it in about 25 minutes.
So I paced myself.
At about the 6th floor I felt myself start to get into that heavy breathing, and I thought, 'What have I done?'
But I pressed on, stepping aside in the narrow stairwells to let other climbers (many of them) pass me.
Around the 25th floor I started to hate myself.
'Think about why you're here!' that little voice in my head kept saying. Every floor had a poster of an honoree, someone who had battled, or was currently battling blood cancer. Some people touched each one as they passed it.
Sometime around the 30th floor my bottle started chiming.
It seemed way, way, way too early.
I picked up the pace. My music was blaring, my bottle was chiming, the PASS device chirping its little song...someone else's bottle started chiming. I mostly just heard myself breathing hard, so I yanked out the earbuds and left them to fate.
Staggering onto the 40th floor, a volunteer grabbed me and helped me into a chair.
That is where my bottle changer, Shane, and two friends from our neighboring district found me, gasping for air like a fish out of water. I abandoned that two-minute bottle change idea.
They helped me take off my helmet and mask, open up my jacket and poor bottles of water down my back and over my head.
It felt like heaven.
"I don't think I can finish." I pant.
They assured me I could. They waited patiently while I caught my breath and then changed my bottle out. Another guy knelt down next to me and asked who I was and how I was feeling. He told me to keep my gloves off and leave my jacket open to cool down.
I really must have looked beat.
With an impending sense of doom (wink) I reattached my regulator, and it was back to purgatory.
Those last 29 floors were the worst. I stopped every 2 or 3 floors to hunch over and catch a little breath. I passed some firefighters. And then they passed me--like a game of leapfrog. Passing firefighters would give fist bumps, or a thump on the back, and urge each other on. A guy from another department and I ended up sticking together for several floors, and he would look back and make sure I was still going, or I would stop and wait for him while he caught his breath. We kept each other going for a while, but then we lost track of each other.
That's the thing about turnouts. Everyone looks like everyone else for the most part.
Around the 52nd floor I stopped again (as I did at every opportunity) to have a volunteer dump water down my back. She looked concerned enough that I let her lead me out of the stairwell and sit on a chair for a few minutes (next to another very tired looking firefighter) and chug some water. I think I had her dump two more full bottles over me before I suited back up.
By then I was almost crawling up the stairs. The pack felt really heavy.
And wouldn't you know it, but around floor 56 it started chiming again! It's deceptive--you know the climb is 69 floors, so at floor 56 I'm thinking, 'Okay, only 13 more floors.'
But remember, we started on floor 3, so it ends at floor 72.
Somehow, with many stops along the way, I made it! I made it up those 69 floors! It was so amazing seeing all those people at the end yelling and clapping. I did actually manage to run to the table and swipe my timing chip. There are volunteers to hustle you out of the way of other arriving firefighters, but they take off your gear for you as they guide you forward, help you find a seat, get you water, make sure you're not dying, and if you are they will get medical help for you.
It was a gorgeous view from the top--a perfect, sun-soaked day over the deep blue of the Puget sound. A volunteer took my picture with my phone (which takes horrible photos), and then I was ready to go. Maybe next year I'll hang around a little longer, celebrate with total strangers, take advantage of the free massages offered to climbers, but right then I wanted to eat something and get out of my soaked clothing.
The elevator down was crammed like a tin of sardines and smelled (as you can imagine) of many sweaty bodies. Down at the atrium there were tables heaped with fruit and every kind of granola or energy bar imaginable, and we were instructed to take as much as we wanted. In retrospect, I should have filled my turnout pockets (we have those lovely, deep pockets), but I really was in a sort of daze, so I scooped up handfuls of Cliff bars and followed the masses back down to the first floor.
And yes, I ate all the Cliff bars before we even left the tower.
I had a chance to shower at the hotel and inhale the sandwich Emily made me (filled with too much tomato--what do you think I am, Em? A vegetarian!?). It felt kinda weird walking down the streets of Seattle to the hotel looking like a drowned rat. :)

The after-event celebration was held at Fado's Irish pub. The place was like a head-on collision between a zoo, a sauna, and (again) a sardine tin. Pretty much standing room only. We stayed long enough for our team captain to say hi to his buddies, and then we left. Red Robin's made for a much quieter venue.
And let me tell you, being done with the Stairclimb is like license to eat anything and everything.
And so I did--we all did.

I love being a firefighter. The climb kind of puts my job into perspective. It's tough, but there is one thing that always keeps me going.
I'd like to say it is the public, the people I serve. While they are the reason I serve and love serving, the thing that keeps me going esprit de corps shared by firefighters.
I come from a large family, and am proud of it. Now my family has become even larger, and I'm proud of that too. I have so many brothers and sisters--my family members who were firefighters, my station family, classmates, the people in the next city, the next county, state, country...
It's an incredible feeling knowing they have my back and I have theirs.
Congrats to everyone who made it to the top!
Here's to all those brothers and sisters who have gone on before us, and thank you to everyone who donated to the cause!! 

Tick Tock...

 Time is ticking.
I get a sense of intense excitement commingled with a feeling of impending doom when I think about it.

The Scott Firefighter Stairclimb

Only 55 days left until the event.

Thanks to your generosity, I have reached $357 in fundraising, about 35% of my ambitious goal of $1,000 this year.

One thousand dollars to support cancer patients and fund research for a cure.

 I've finally quit feeling like I'm begging for money.

I'm not begging.

This is not for me.

It's for others, and (yes, I'm using the guilt trip), someday it could be for YOU.

According to the Leukemia & Lymphoma society, every 3 minutes one person in the U.S. is diagnosed with blood cancer. Every 10 minutes one person in the U.S. dies of blood cancer. That's 6 people every hour, and approximately 144 every day.

It could be me next.

It could be you.

Or a loved one...

 I sent out emails to 42 people when I signed up for the Stairclimb, asking for help in fundraising.

The math isn't too hard.

You don't have to give a lot.

Can you give $10?

That's $420 right there. That would put us at $777.

Can you give $15?

That raises the mark to $987.

Can you tell a friend?

Will you help me get the word out?

My participation is not dependent on your giving right now. I gave, you gave, and thanks to your help I passed the required $300 minimum in fundraising.

Now it's about going above and beyond.

You can join the fight, alongside the 1900+ firefighters from around the world, the LLS volunteers and staff, and many others who are participating in this event to help put an to end blood cancers.

 Visit my Personal Page to learn more about the Scott Firefighter Stairclimb, and you can click on the "Donate Now" bar at the top to make a donation.

Let's take it to the top!

A Firefighter's Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through station

All was quiet except for our snoring dalmation.

Our boots had been placed by the bunksides with care

In hopes that the shift change would finally be here.

The lights were turned down and the TV was off

The rigs had been washed and the floors had been  mopped.

Firemen and Medics lie nestled in bed

While visions of homelife danced through their heads.

When out of the darkness, arose ringing and light

The Plectron brought tidings of something not right.

The Firemen and Medics were dressed in an instant

Aboard their trucks and racing into the distance.

The moon on the breast of the newfallen snow

Reflected the lights in a hellish, red glow.

The sirens, they wailed while the federal screamed

Moving too slowly, as if in a dream.

The wreckage was there and came slowly in sight

Lending fear, pain, and loss to our silent night.

Each of us thought of our own Wife, Daughter or Son

Each prayed in silence, "Let me save at least one."

We leaped to the task without further a thought

And for more than two hours we worked and we fought...

To free the two drivers who hadn't been thinking

their driving would suffer after a full night of  drinking.

The smoke of the flares, and the stench of the blood

The screaming of metal as we rolled back the hood.

The cry of one driver, the whine of the Jaws

Putting fear aside, we never gave pause.

With one driver out, and the other prounounced dead

We focused our efforts on keeping our heads.

C-spine and backboard and IV in place

We loaded him up and we started the race.

The monitor showed a heart rate to slow 

BP revealed a systolic too low.

Level of consciousness rapidly dying

Despite all of this...the Medics kept trying.

Atropine, Dopamine, Epi and more...

to keep our reason for being from opening death's  door.

We fought and we prayed and tried all that was known

While trying to believe fault wasn't our own.

The sun, she was rising as we reached the ER

We'd given all that we know, and all that we are.

The Doctors pronounced with barely more than a glance.

And gone in a blink, was the patient's last chance.

The ride back to the station was quiet, and then....

Despite what we'd been through, the singing began.

At first it was one and then all followed suit

This effort together was merely the fruit...

Of a labor that however needlessly beared

Was one of a million we knew we had shared.

As we sang out the words of the song, "Silent Night"

We acknowledged to ourselves that we put up a good  fight.

The punch of the clock, the start of a car

we all realized and loved who we are.

And on Christmas morning, as we all drive away...

We know we'll all try in a couple of days...

To give someone back their one chance to live

Now matter how hard or how much we must give.

So please, when you pray on this new Christmas morn

Add something for us, and for all that we've borne.

    -Anonymous

With my family celebrating Christmas on the 26th due to conflicting schedules, I swapped shifts with another sleeper so he could have the 25th off and I the 26th.

And surprisingly, I found I LOVE working the holidays, for several reasons. 1) If it's a national holiday, aside from our daily duties (rig checks, cleaning and such), we don't do a blessed thing. It was just the three of us on the duty crew at the station. So quiet. So calm. I almost fell asleep. 2) It gives me a way to give to my community on the day most celebrated for giving. 3) Patients and their families or friends are much more likely to express thanks and gratitude, and folks, that means a LOT to us. We transported an elderly lady who was feeling weak and had been vomiting all morning. There wasn't much I could do for her, except give her supplemental oxygen, monitor vitals and try to reassure her. I felt a little useless. But when I found her son and daughter-in-law in the waiting room and walked them back to her room in the ER I got the biggest hug from the son and a sincere thank you--and it absolutely made my day!

Some citizens of our little town donated food items to the station--which I believe they do every year. We were overflowing with potatoes, onions, carrots, celery and other food items. We were even given a turkey, which one of our crewmembers took upon himself to cook.

And he did it fabulously! We dined sumptuously that afternoon.

We wound our Christmas day down with chocolate brownie thunder ice cream, running on the treadmill, watching movies and doing absolutely nothing.

And then the calls came down.

Ah, what a way to spend Christmas! 

I breathe in the odors of cigarette smoke, vomit and stale, cheap liquor. Hot air is streaming from the vents, perfusing the smell throughout the tight, stuffy space of the back of the ambulance.

Sweat begins to trickle down my back. I painstakingly work my jacket off, but I have to be quick and I don't take my eyes off the patient. With one hand I am holding the Bio-hoop bag beneath her chin. The vomiting has subsided for the moment, but there's no telling when it will begin again. The monitor honks at me irately because the pulse oximetry keeps slipping off and one of the 12-lead electrodes doesn't want to stick. I mash on the button to silence it. The patient's veins are elusive--the paramedic can't get an IV, and she can't take the oral ondansetron tabs.

Thus, it is no surprise when the vomiting erupts once again.

One thing I love most about my job is the camaraderie people from completely different districts, departments, stations, counties, even different states, share. That seemed to be even more true on Christmas. EMS is such a tight, everybody-knows-everybody community, and we exchanged many a "Merry Christmas" with every crew we met up with that night.

 He's in the postictal phase now, characterized by the smacking lips, the dazed expression, confusion and fatigue. Our patient, in his mid-forties, that came down as a "sick person" had apparently had a seizure before we arrived on scene, and his caregiver found him just as he was becoming conscious. He has schizophrenia...or autism...or both. The information we received was confusing. There's a definite barrier to patient care. He can understand us pretty well, but he can't talk with us. He wanders the house agitatedly and it takes us some time to convince him to sit down, take his coat off and let us assess his vitals. Throughout the transport he remains quiet and compliant. I get ready to hold his arm still in case he tries to pull back when the paramedic starts the IV, but he doesn't flinch. He smiles at me frequently with those strange, somehow vacant eyes and crooked teeth, but that's it. He's content to watch the waveforms of the EKG trace across the screen of the monitor. We're about five minutes away from the hospital when the next seizure hits . It was so fast! I try to gently hold his arms still and keep him on the gurney, while his fist clench tight, his head is thrust back and his arm and facial muscles contract in a spasmodic, disorganized, jerking fashion. For a few short moments that felt much longer he doesn't take a breath, and then he relaxes. The whole seizure last about a minute and a half.

It isn't until we're wheeling him down the long hallway of the ER that the next one hits. 

 Part of the closeness of EMS and Fire personnel is covering each others' backs. We took a call in Mac when all of their medics were out, and I was reminded of the time we spent about half of one shift in Mac running calls for them because they were so swamped.
And then I think about all the times they've covered for us...

I fumble with the nebulizer. I haven't had to put one together for a long time. I pour the clear liquid medications into the reservoir, connect the oxygen tubing to the bottle and the vaporized medication starts puffing from the plastic mouth piece. I try to get the patient to hold it in front of his face, reasoning with him that it will help his shortness of breath. He finally consents to put it in his mouth, but it doesn't last long. He lets it slip out and I sit at his head, holding it so he can get some blow by" oxygen. 

Once again, the back of the ambulance is uncomfortably hot and smells of alcoholic beverages. I don't know if the patient was intoxicated or not. It is not my judgement to make.

The patient doesn't want to be seatbelted, but he has to be. He doesn't want to lie on his back or be covered with a blanket. The blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter are close to jerked off. After a few minutes, he gets irritated and abruptly shoves the nebulizer away. His hand swings out and I pull back.

Okay, we're done with that I guess.

It was a good shift, and I'm glad I got to work it. 

How was your Christmas?

Status Update

About two months ago I posted saying I was officially an EMT-Basic.

Well, truth be told, that got a little boring...

Not really.

Being an EMT is an awesome job! However, it is a fact that most of the time Paramedics save patients. EMT's save Paramedics.

 















So, long story short, I found out on Dec. 4th that I have been accepted into Chemeketa's Paramedic program for Spring of 2015.
Am I excited?
HECK YES!! I have three or four current classmates who also applied for the program and were accepted, so we were all in a super-excited, ecstatic kind of euphoria during our last day of class. :)
I am so excited!!!
Being is sleeper gives me a huge advantage. It's not just the monthly stipend, the fact that I don't have to pay rent, the calls I get to run and the experience I get.
It's the knowledge I get to draw from all these other people here who have been in EMS a whole lot longer than I have.
 My shift supervisor is teaching me and my partner some basics about three ALS drugs each shift (name, indications and dosage) and is helping me learn about 12-leads. Another one of the Paramedics spent most of the drive back from Salem helping me understanding EKGs, V-fib, A-fib, and Bundle branch blocks. And of course, my favorite dorm neighbor is helping me mentally prepare for the nightmare than will be paramedic school.
In order to live the dream, you have to live through the nightmare--but don't worry! It will be worth it!

Remembering Veteran's Day

Official 2014 Scott Firefighter Climb video

 Thank you to everyone who has made a donation to help me reach my goal for the Scott Firefighter Stairclimb!
Yes, I know who you are. :)
 No mater how much you gave, it warms the cockles of my heart. It also motivates me to train harder and keep going when I feel like I'm going to have a syncopal episode on the shoulder of the road.
As cliche as it may sound, you'll be climbing those stairs with me, because there's no way I could get there by myself.

 If you haven't donated, there's still 136 days left to do so! Or even if you have donated, there's no rule saying you can't give again. You can make a donation or just learn more about the Scott Firefighter Stairclimb by visiting My Personal Page. :)

 Thank you again everybody!

 Below is the official video from last year's climb, but remember, this year there will be over 1900 firefighters climbing, from all over the states and overseas. Nineteen hundred firefighters, and it's people like you who make it possible.

Scott Firefighter Stairclimb

 Some of you may have received an e-mail from me, some of you may have visited my Personal Page, and some of you may have read Emily's Facebook post that utilizes threats of estrangement to coerce some into donating...

But for those of you who might not have heard...

March 8th, 2015, I will be participating in the 24th Annual Scott Firefighter Stairclimb in Seattle, WA, as part of a fundraising event in support of the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.
Over 1900 firefighters from around the world gather for this competition that comprises a timed race up 69 flights of stairs, 1311 steps and a vertical elevation of 788 ft, all in full structural turnouts and SCBA.

 Yeah, I'm probably gonna die--or pass out. I've already started training, getting out on my bally ankle (that I hurt when I tripped on the curb like the klutz I am) and running. But if you're going to climb stairs, you're going to train on stairs.
So, I just have to find a day when I have spare time (a commodity not many people have these days--particularly working college students) to mount and descend our staircase 69 times.

 You can help support me and the fight to find a cure for blood cancers by visiting my Personal Page and making a donation. All participants must raise a minimum of $300 in pledges to compete, but most are taking it way beyond that. I've set my goal for $1000 this year. There are 143 days left of fundraising and since registering two days ago I have reached 9% of my goal.
Will you help me reach my goal, and help us break the record and reach 2 million in pledges this year?

My new kind of crazy

 In case you haven't noticed, I love sharing stories about my new chapter of life here at SFD. I love hearing stories from other people who have been in the Fire/EMS career field much longer than I have. And hey, maybe you're reading this and thinking about following that same path. I hope maybe some of my stories can give you just a tiny glimpse at the things that set our work apart--namely unpredictable work environments and "clients", long hours sometimes, lack of sleep, lack of or absence of social life outside of your station family, work that is hot, sweaty physically demanding and sometimes exhausting, the pranks, the stress, the frustration, the smells, the blood, the guts 'n' gore...
The list could go on a while longer, but I'll stop there.

 So today I want to share about the new kind of crazy that has become part of my life this week.
Two little words.

Fire Academy

I've been looking forward to beginning my fire training in earnest for a while now. This week kicked off our Yamhill County Fire Academy, which consists of reading from our Fire Essentials book, watching online videos, and then all day skills sessions a handful of times over the course of the next few months.

 But I had no idea how demanding and exhausting it would be.
Our home departments are supposed to help us recruits with drills throughout the week to practice before our class days.
So yesterday morning, after daily duties were squared away, out I went with my shift paramedic, my shift partner and my fellow recruit, Cody.
Out came our gear.
All of it.
Turnout pants, coat, boots, hood, helmet, gloves, facepiece and air pack.
Have you ever seen the new Karate Kid?
"Put your jacket on...now take it off. Hang it up...take it down...put it on...Now take it off..."
No joke.
Our shift paramedic knows that muscle memory is built by repetition, repetition, repetition...
Seven times we put our pants and boots on and took them off again.
Seven times we put our hood and bunker jacket on and took it off again.
Seven times we put our facepiece on, pulled our hoods up, attached the regulator and took it all off again.
Seven times we donned our air packs and doffed them.

Does this make you think of the Israelites, or what?

We then moved on to putting on the whole of our Personal Protective Equipment (PPE), starting right next to our locker, then starting from our dorms, from our cars, from halfway up the stairs...
Hurry, hurry!
Doesn't matter what you were in the middle of--drop everything and go get your gear on!
We were stood in a room by ourselves with in air pack that had some sort of problem that we had to troubleshoot--in the dark. I figured it out after much fumbling--one of the waist straps was lodged between the bottle and the frame--but it took several more minutes of fumbling to get my mask on and regulator attached, realize I hadn't put my hood on, taking it all off and correcting my mistakes.
 By the time we finished these drills we still had about 15 minutes of air in our bottles.
The rules of the next drill were simple--keep going until your air pack starts chiming.
Start by picking up the sledge hammer and hitting the tire 10 times. Move to the next tire and flip it twice. Pick up the two containers of motor oil and carry them to the orange cone and back. Go back to where you started, drag your partner all the way down the hall, and then repeat.
It doesn't sound like much...but it was.
I know I need to work on my cardio fitness.
Heavy breathing is painfully obvious when you're on air and sound like Darth Vader in the calmer moments. I was breathing hard and sucking down my air bottle. I could feel my face getting hot and red inside my mask and sweat oozing from every pore.
I am probably not in the best shape for this job.
We're working on--don't worry!
I made it two and a half rounds before I finally heard the blessed chimes!
After removing the 75 Lbs. of gear, I found that each layer of clothing I was wearing was completely soaked in sweat.

 Now as if this wasn't crazy enough for one day, I had my three month review that day, went to Subway to help investigate a possible electrical fire ran 10 or 11 calls (I have never, EVER ran that many calls in a single day before!!), wrote my first chart, took 2 patients for the first time as an official EMT, finally ate dinner at 11 PM and crawled into bed at 2:47 AM. Less than 3 hours later it was time to get up and go.

 There are about 15 of us recruits, coming from Amity, Sheridan, West Valley, Carlton and Dayton.
Such bright, shining faces.
Not for long.
All I could think of was Mulan, and getting down to business to defeat the huns.
"I'm never gonna catch my breath/Say Goodbye to those who knew me!/Boy was a fool in school for cutting gym!"
Ladders, hoses, hydrants, PPE...
All.Day.Long.
If you've never worn full bunker gear, I assure you, it heats up quickly.

However exhausting our day was, I enjoyed it.
I can don my turnouts in about 50 seconds. I can get all of my gear on in about a minute and 10 seconds, as long as I'm not using the high-pressure SCBA's from West Valley and have a mask that actually fits my face. My mask was too large and I no matter how much I reefed on those straps, I always felt air rushing around the seal.
I learned how to open a hydrant, lay a hoseline and hook it up to a hydrant, restore the hose in the hose bed,, ladder operations, how to use the "buddy breather system" if you or your partner get too low on air...
And more.
Tomorrow will be even more information download.
We'll see if I survive.
I'm honestly not sure how I'm even still coherent right now.
I'll be honest, I don't do well with that little sleep, all my major muscle groups are sore, and I get grouchy when I'm tired.

Crazy?
Yes.
Worth it?
Absolutely.