I remember the woman standing behind me, gently sobbing as I gave my deposition. I can’t recall a single detail of her face. But the sound of her anguish is as fresh as if it happened yesterday.
I was an EMT then. The attorneys’ questions brought me back to the night, a year earlier, that my ambulance crew mates and I rolled on the “head injury” call. Two teen boys were in a back alley and had been in an alcohol-fueled fistfight. The cop on scene directed us to the kid with the lacerated forehead.
As we hoisted the injured young man into our rig, his friend reappeared, agitated, and tried to climb in. I struggled to keep him out until finally the officer returned and took him away in handcuffs.
En route to the hospital, our young patient told us that earlier in the day he’d tried to kill himself. He rolled up his sleeves and showed us the deep cuts on both arms. We logged it and informed the E.R. staff upon arrival. But somehow, tragically, they failed to keep him under 72-hour suicide watch. He was released from the ER a few hours later.
The next day, he, his friend and their girlfriends got together and killed themselves.
The incident made national headlines and led to a spate of copycat attempts. Thankfully most of those were unsuccessful.
In the immediate aftermath, I struggled with what I would later learn in therapy was survivor’s guilt. I’d recriminated myself that somehow, unrealistically, I could have done something different that night to have prevented the senseless tragedy. It also didn’t help when another ambulance corps member (not one of my crew) flippantly remarked: “You should be happy! Now there’s four less dirtbags to deal with.” Those insensitive words cut like a knife and only deepened my remorse.
As the weeks and months rolled by, that remorse gradually diminished. That is, until the deposition.
The mother of one of the kids had filed a lawsuit against the hospital as well as the municipality. Even though my crew mates and I had acted appropriately, we still had to individually give sworn testimony. The interrogatories, combined with her sobs, flashed me back to that night in the alley. I relived the feelings of guilt and despair in believing that I’d somehow failed to protect those four young lives.
My symptoms began that night and continued every night thereafter. Waves of depression and anxiety, accompanied by extreme nausea. I was unable to alleviate them through reading, watching tv or listening to popular music. My sleep was horrible, which made me perpetually irritable. I felt like I’d been enveloped by a cold, gray, winter shroud from which there was no hope of a spring thaw. I sought medical help and was scoped, stuck, poked and probed but doctors found nothing wrong.
A tough diagnosis
That’s when I was told the problem was likely a form of post-traumatic stress (PTSD).
It was tough to hear. “I’m a First Responder,” I told myself, “I’m supposed handle stuff like this! What’s wrong with me?”
After several more nauseating, sleepless nights, I finally acquiesced and hooked up with an excellent therapist. I also turned to my faith by listening to a Christian radio station and speaking with my pastor. These helped me to develop a healthier perspective: that there was truly nothing I could have done to prevent that tragedy. And that I was never really alone, even in the depths of my emotional turmoil.
The nausea and sleeplessness gradually began to subside as I came to accept the truth. My crew mates and I really did our best.
In my case, I had a relatively mild form of PTSD. There are many other First Responders—cops, firefighters, EMTs and paramedics—who experience far worse on the job, from fatal traffic accidents to shootings, catastrophic house fires and serious medical emergencies. Police officers, for example, are 71% more susceptible to developing PTSD than are civilians. Those other First Responders are also at greater risk. So too are medical doctors, nurses and technicians, and of course, members of the military. Yes, and even therapists.
In my work with these groups, and in my profession, there is a common thread that runs through most of us. Part of it is our mission to serve others, be it country or community. The other is a sense of honor: to never give up, to never fail our comrades or constituents. But with those virtues comes a conundrum: sometimes, despite our best efforts, rescues fail. Innocent people get hurt or die. And good people suffer. Given the right conditions, almost anyone in these fields can become enveloped in the bleak shroud of post-traumatic stress.
Shedding the Shroud
The good news is that in most cases, that shroud isn’t permanent. Often, time is the ultimate healer. Because the further removed you become from a traumatic incident, the less affected you are by it. But in other cases, extra help may be needed
There are several proven treatments for PTSD and other forms of post-traumatic stress. One that I offer my clients is Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR). As its name implies EMDR helps a client to become less emotionally distressed by a traumatic memory. This is done through systematic, controlled exposure to it, thereby reducing and even eliminating symptoms.
Are you a First Responder struggling to cope with a tough call? Do you feel caught in the shroud? My hope and prayer are that you’ll reach out for help if you need it. And that you find encouragement in knowing that “this, too, shall pass.” Spring always returns.
If you want to learn more, please let me know.
Leave a Reply