RESPONSE INJURIES IN THE VOLUNTEER SERVICE
VOLUNTEERS CORNER
FIREFIGHTER INJURIES and deaths suffered while responding to and returning from fires and other emergencies are the most frustrating of all, perhaps because they are usually so preventable. In assisting in the preparation of a safety and survival course for fire departments in the state of New York, I tried to be as “real world” as possible, especially in addressing the response and return injury category for volunteer firefighters.
I called to mind all the years that I had been a member of the Bayport, N.Y. Fire Department on Long Island’s south shore. Where did I receive injuries in my own experience? What was I doing when I received them? Finally, I had my own breakthrough answer: The sprains and strains, lacerations, abrasions, and broken fingers had all occurred getting out of my house!
Response preparation for the volunteer firefighter is a 24-hour-a-day, 7-day-a-week, 52-week-a-year responsibility. This is one of the cases that highlights the difference between the paid firefighter and the volunteer. Duty hours give the career firefighter a respite from response size-up and preparedness. He can relax that sensitivity when off duty. The volunteer must always be ready to respond.
Response preparation must begin with the inside and outside of your own home. Did you listen to the latest weather report as you prepared to nod off after a tiring day at your primary job (the one that supplies your salary)? Oh well, notified or not, off you go to slumber land. Suddenly, the piercing tone frequency next to your bed jolts you into awareness. You usually make a rapid stab for the receiver, hoping it will not wake the rest of the family in the early morning hours (certainly not your spouse, who’ll be sure to suspect that you plotted this early morning meeting with friends).
Dressing hurriedly, you attempt to sneak out of the darkened bedroom by the Braille method. The wail of the village siren has now caught the urgency and is calling for additional haste.
Injury Point #1: the partially open bedroom door. More than one time (and perhaps many) it was responsible for sutures over one eye or the other. Damn door! (It’s easy to blame inanimate objects.)
It’s on down the hall toward the front door and Injury Point #2: With four children, a little broken-field running knowledge from high school football days is invaluable here. With the lights still out, the tripping hazards are numerous. Toys crush underfoot, and wheeled objects propel you in directions you never planned.
A water glass left on the kitchen work surface falls and smashes on the floor as you grope blindly for the car keys you’re sure you left on the first hook. Ha, that broken glass won’t get me, you think, and toward the front door you go, in a little more pain than you planned when you laid down for a long winter’s nap.
It’s on to the front steps and Injury Point #3: So you forgot to listen to the weather report. You don’t see the ice that formed since the cold front came in on top of the early morning dew. You topple head-over-heels on this invisible, slippery surface, landing flat on your back on the front lawn. Did any of the responding brothers see that?
Then it’s on to the garage and the primary response vehicle. Starting is no problem. However, the expensive crunching noise that follows is another matter. Those two kids should have known there’d be a fire in town tonight. They should have put those bikes somewhere else. It’s their fault. Right? Once I even backed into my best friend’s brand new car, not remembering that we had encouraged him to stay the night.
Safely into the street? Into drive and toward the fire station. You are now in a shooting gallery and Injury Point #4: your own district’s streets. Your brother firefighters, who did not have the delays you did, are now rocketing toward the fire station with their nuclear generators—power supply for the individually owned Code 3 equipment—on overload.
VOLUNTEERS CORNER
RESPONSE INJURIES
The closer you get to the station, the more you try to fight funnel vision. You know you have no rights while responding in your own vehicle, and you are still a target. You fight those accelerator problems. It seems that the closer to the station you get, the heavier your right foot feels.
There’s the truck on the ramp. Which one is it? Will it wait for you? You scream into what appears to be the nearest open parking space and make a better attempt than the last time to align the lines with the wheels. Your right hand pulls the shift lever in the direction of “Park” as your left tears open the driver’s door. Did you look in the rearview mirror?
Injury Point #5: Is another rocket preparing to dock? Junk-car dealers would be wise to remove, store separately, and catalogue driver’s-side car doors in those busy volunteer communities.
Missed the truck! Run to the next bay for the next response vehicle. You don’t even check as you dart past the nearest bay. It’s vacant? Nope! The second apparatus has just shifted into third gear as it roars toward the opening into the world of dark. Code 3 equipment and apparatus color will never warn the running, funnel-visioned firefighter in time to avoid an apparatus/human collision.
To the fire. Does your department’s commitment to NFPA’s 1500 assure responder safety?
Well, with the fire fought, overhauled, and salvaged, you return to quarters. All the battery-boosting equipment that the department owns is ready for all the firefighters that left their car lights on in the parking lot.
You’re in worse shape. You have to wait until 9 a.m. to call the transmission shop’s towing service. You’ve left your now-doorless car in gear and the ignition on race. Thank God for the brick fire station. It kept the automobile gently bumping against a solid object rather than the alternative— an unmanned vehicle cruising through town because you left it in gear.
Sound farfetched?
Maybe for you or your department, but these types of incidents have happened all too often in ours. Size-up, response preparation, commitment, and concern for other citizens will go a long way to assure that you will at least be able to get to the scene safely.
In preparing the visuals for the safety course for New York state, Tom Brennan and I approached the chief and announced our Sunday morning intentions. We wanted his permission to stage the incidents and accidents we mentioned here. “Shoot,” said the young chief, with a twinkle in his eye. “Just blow the siren and get ready to take all the pictures you want.”
