How I got into blogging

Funny story actually…

“So that’s why your neck didn’t snap.” the Trauma Doctor told me as he set my helmet back down on the table and left the trauma room. I had confirmation of this statement from the nurse standing closer to the Doc since the ear closest to him was still screaming in pain.

Let’s go back a few hours.

It is just after 6 in the morning on December 17^th, a cold morning for the City, but shorts weather for you in the North East. Ia m assigned to the Division Chief’s house which also staffs a Truck company and my engine. I had taken the night watch, as is tradition for the guy just in for the day, and was just awaking to make the coffee when the first report came in.

A full box alarm had been struck for reports of heavy fire from a window, by a passerby. 99 times out of 100 this is a false alarm, steam or something else non threatening. This was the 1 in 100.

The chief and his operator (Incident Support Specialist) are awakened and away, the rest of the house is not due. I check the card file used for decades to anticipate alarm assignments and see the Truck is due on the second alarm so I make an announcement to let the Truck folks know they may be going out if this is the real thing.

First units report heavy fog in the area, then the statement that gets the blood pumping:

“Control we have a working fire.”

A second alarm is struck in the first 10 minutes and the truck is away, smiling, while us engine folk remain back. In the City, the street fire alarm pull boxes are still functioning and account for a great deal of false alarms. In the event someone pulls the hook near a working incident a single engine responds to investigate. In our case, however, it was someone calling in heavy smoke 4 blocks from the fire that got us up and out the doors.

When we got near the reported address, the smoke was so thick, mixed with the December fog, that the busses had stopped moving and most traffic had given up trying to see the lights and simply stopped. Our driver weaved around and it was clear the report of smoke was associated to the fire up the block. What we noticed as we arrived was that not all the units from the second alarm had arrived yet, possibly due to the unusually heavy traffic.

Out front of the 3 story type 5 theater type building are two 20 foot tall 5 foot wide windows blowing fire 40 feet into the sky and lighting up almost the entire block. We check in and are assigned to the fire floor to assist companies already advancing lines.

Packed up and tools in hand, we make our way past the multiple wyed lines in the stairwell landing and to the fire floor. The smoke is thick and the visibility is about 5 feet. I can see blurs of yellow reflective in all directions and a diffuse orange glow from all around. I learned later this was the fire in the balcony seating.

After pulling a lot of paneling and knocking down the fire that was blowing out the windows, the first teams were back out for a bottle change while we directed lines out the windows to ventilate the large open area. We were then instructed to train the streams up and into the balconys since climbing up there was no longer safe.

 Keep in mind the location of the fellow in the red pants.

The other firefighter assigned to the engine that day tapped me on the shoulder and asked if she could have some nozzle time. I realized I had been a bit of a nozzle hog, the kind we all hate, so I apologized and gave her the pipe. When I stepped back 6-8 feet and picked up the hose, I suddenly noticed my chinstrap was hovering in front of my eyes. I thought it curious since last I saw the strap it was secured beneath my chin and, for the moment, was hovering in space.

“Are you OK?” “Hey! Is he OK?” I hear people beginning to shout.

“Are you OK, stand up!”

“I am standing. Just give me a minute.” I replied, not realizing my colleagues had just seen a section of ceiling, not roof, but ceiling fall 30 feet and knock me down.

Before I knew what was happening I was being pulled out of the building hearing shouts of “MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!”

This part of my Close Call was recounted to me by some of the firefighters who pulled me out, since I have very little recollection of it.

We moved Justin to the hallway and into the stairway landing where the air was clean. He was grasping his right ear and his eyes were shut. His helmet and gear was covered in debris, as well as the gloves now holding the side of his face. He asked repeatedly what had happened, a clear sign of possible head injury so the decision was made to take full precautions from that point forward.

A back board was brought up and one of the other Paramedics on the engine teams attended to him pulling off his jacket.

Justin asked us if the building was still on fire. We we told him that yes, it was still on fire, he asked us to put his jacket back on. Not completely out of it.

Packaged and carried down the stairs to the ambulance, he was feeling dizzy and about to be sick.

I regained my wits looking up from the cot, hearing the sirens and feeling a 16g needle in my Left AC. I was emotional for sure, suddenly aware of the loud ringing in my right ear. When the Paramedic leaned over me I looked into the diaphoretic face of one of the medics I had precepted when he was hired.

“I’m not supposed to be here” I told him.

“I know.” He told me.

“Don’t call my wife.” I asked wondering if I even had my phone on me.

“I won’t” was his reply.

“Can I do my own radio report?” He told me no.

In the ER, my C-spine was cleared and the assembled team slowly made their way out of the room as the injuries I might have sustained were eliminated. One of the Docs grabbed my filthy helmet, gave it a turn in his hands and said,

“So that’s why your neck didn’t snap.”

The ratchet device so common on most helmets secures it to your occiput, theoretically holding it tight in case of impact. However, in this case, the ceiling fell at an angle, they believe, causing the load to hit one side first, causing it to tilt sideways. As it did, the helmet did it’s job, absorbing the force of the impact and directing it sideways, by turning slightly on my head. The inner rim was forced onto my right ear, causing all the pain and tennitus, which would continue for weeks. Had the ratchet strap been tight, the helmet would not have turned on my head, but the force would have turned on the next axis down, my cervical spine.

When I asked him to put that explanation in writing, he let out a small laugh and left the room. Darn it. Had I been hit in any other direction there was a fair chance the helmet would be dislodged, but my chin strap would keep it in place.

In the end, after spending Christmas with the inlaws and on head injury medication, which doesn’t allow caffeine or alcohol, I learned to trust your equipment and treat it properly.  So as a way to deal with what happened, they suggested I start a journal.  I started a blog.

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