911 Is Still the Number For 911

I totally forgot it was National Public Safety Telecommunications Week, so I'm give you a rerun of a blog I posted in 2022, in the hopes it was long enough for everyone to forget it.

 We got a new radio system in our dispatch center, and the guy training us on it claimed we could use it at home, on a laptop.

This is a great idea in theory: It would save me gas, and clothes would be cheaper if all I had to buy was pajamas. Of course, video 911 is coming, and callers might not be comfortable with my Star Trek onesie.

Actually, callers might not like seeing me no matter what clothes I'm wearing.

"You got what stuck WHERE?"

This is my thirtieth year celebrating Public Safety Telecommunications Week, which is in April between the snow storms, brush fires, and tornadoes. Since the title's so long, I started calling it PSTW, which is kind of ironic because PSTW sounds a lot like PTSD. Everyone who's dispatched longer than seven years gets to know both. It's science.

Here's the strange thing: I'm burned out on this job. Once too often I've picked up the 911 line only to hear hysterical screaming. Once too often I was the last person someone ever talked to. Once too often the name of a victim or suspect ended up being someone I knew.

Yet it's still the best full time job I ever had.

I actually do wear a cape, but only at home when no one is watching. But yay, cookie! Better keep it away from the dog.

 

Maybe it's because we're actually doing something important. That's a weird thing to define when it comes to jobs, because the best paying ones often are the least important. When a family member is having a heart attack, you don't call your favorite sportsball player for an ambulance. For that matter, when your water pipe bursts you don't look up the number for Beyonce, or Reba McEntire. (Actually, Reba could probably help.)

But that's the way it goes, and at least I've never been stalked by a 911 groupie.

I know the artist!

 

If you've considered being a dispatcher, I'd encourage it. It's way more important than being a security guard at the Oscars. Also, you have to be bad at it to lose your job--the demand for dispatchers just continues to go up.

Still, it can be just a bit stressful. When I'm talking to new people, I like to give them a few tips they don't get in formal training:

No matter what the caller says when you pick up the line, never reply with "You gotta be kidding me."

Always know if you have a live mic. Always.

Try to avoid cursing in dispatch--see above about live mics.

Well ... at least try not to curse too much.

If you have to scream in the bathroom, turn the water on first.

 

Yes, you are a first responder. When 911 rings, you're the first to respond to whatever the problem is. All the others have the advantage of knowing that problem, because you find out.

Hold your temper if your 911 caller starts with, "This isn't actually an emergency ..." Deal with it if the business line rings and it is an emergency. So it goes.

If you have to bang your head against a wall, choose a different place each time, to avoid damage to the concrete.

And finally: If the melatonin gives you nightmares, try sleepytime tea. Sleep is precious.

On a related note, that idea of dispatching on a laptop from home? No. I already have dreams in which I come downstairs and find the dispatch center has been moved to my living room, and I'm the only dispatcher. Besides, I like my Star Trek onesie, and Star Wars pajama bottoms just wouldn't be the same.

Buy some books, just in case of an emergency:

·        Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO

·        Barnes & Noble:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

·        Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter

·        Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/

·        Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/

·        Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/

·        Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914

·        Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/

·        Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter

·        Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter

·        Substack:  https://substack.com/@markrhunter

·        Tumblr:  https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

·        Smashwords:  https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ozma914

·        Audible: https://www.audible.com/search?searchAuthor=Mark+R.+Hunter&ref_pageloadid=4C1TS2KZGoOjloaJ&pf

The odds of having to dial 911 are much lower if you're home reading.

Say happy National Public Safety Telecommunicators Week three times fast

 April has sucked royally thus far, and I haven't felt very funny (as opposed to not being funny and thinking I am). So I'm celebrating National Public Safety Telecommunicators Week the way they used to do summer television: With a re-run.)

I've been taking 911 calls for so long that they were originally 91 calls.

Well, it seems that way. It turns out National Public Safety Telecommunicators Week predates my full-time employment in the emergency services by ten years, and can we possibly shorten that name down a bit? By the time I finish saying the title, the week is over. I'm going to call it ... NPSTW. I know somebody who got their Bachelor Degree at NPSTW, although they've since married. Go Bulldogs!

Anyway, I started with the Noble County EMS as a seventeen year old trainee in late 1979, and joined our volunteer fire department on my birthday in 1980. But it wasn't until December, 1991, that I took an actual paying job in that area, as a jail officer with the Noble County Sheriff Department.

Within a few years I got tired of getting sick all the time. Seriously: Those inmates breathed so many germs on me, I thought I was in a sequel to The Andromeda Strain. So I went into dispatch, trading physical ailments for mental ones.

 

 Unknown to me, way back in 1981 Patricia Anderson, of the Contra Costa County Sheriff's Office in California, came up with this idea to give tribute to, um, NPST, or as I'm going to call them, dispatchers. Yes, I know "dispatchers" doesn't tell the whole story, but my typing fingers are tired.

I've been here--let me update--about 32 years, and dispatched for most of those. So long that when I started we had only one computer, to get information such as license plate and driver's license returns, using DOS.

Get your grandparents to explain DOS to you.

My wife points out that back then we received 911 calls by smoke signal, while carving notes onto stone tablets. I'm fairly sure she was kidding.

I've been here so long I could retire. Full retirement pay! Sadly, I haven't figured out how to make up  for insurance and the difference in income, but I'm hoping my book sales will pick up. (Note: They have, but not enough.) Also, it would be tough learning to sleep through the night.

Things really were easier back then, when it comes to learning the job. Our computer systems do make it easier to help people these days, but astronauts don't train as much as our rookies do. Spaceship vehicle pursuits are faster, though. The truth is, I'm not sure I could make it through training, if I started today.

Instead of one small computer screen,  I'm looking at seven flat screen monitors, not including the security and weather screens. Our report was written (in pen) on a piece of paper about half the size of a standard sheet. Today we have a Computer Aided Dispatch (CAD), radio screen, phone screen, mapping screen, recorder screen, 911 texting screen, and a screen to keep track of everyone's duty status. We also have a screen to keep track of screens. Those are just the ones we use regularly.

I found this waiting for me when I got into work Monday. They get me.

 

 

I'm pretty burned out at this point, and some of our calls can get rough. I have all the symptoms of PTSD; some of them include:

Experiencing a life-threatening event, like when the dispatch pop machine ran out of Mountain Dew;
Flashbacks and nightmares, such as reliving the night we ran out of Mountain Dew;
Avoidance, such as staying away from places that don't have ... well, you know.
Depression or irritability, which I just now realized might be related to consuming too much caffeine;
Chronic pain ... wow, that one hit me like a pulled back muscle.

I checked off each and every box: avoidance, numbing, flashbacks, being on edge, overeating ... HEY! Who the HECK took my meatball sub out of the break room fridge! I'm HUNGRY!

Where was I? Oh, yeah:

Why the heck am I still here?

Here's the thing. I've worked in retail; in factories; as a security guard and jail officer; as a radio DJ; I once made two bucks an hour growing worms for fishing lure. And for all the emotional turmoil, all the mental stress, all the physical ailments, all the days when I wanted to scream, and so desperately wanted to NOT go back into work the next shift ...

Dispatching is still the best full time job I've ever had.

Of course, I'm not a full time writer, yet. For that I'd only have to deal with one computer screen.

Wait, am I seriously the only male who works here? Anyway, thank you to the Town of Albion for the thank you.

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

Stressing Out Over PTSD

 One stressful thing about being a dispatcher is that when the phone rings it could be anything. Many of us play Dispatch Bingo. A UFO report? A herd of cattle blocking the roadway? Lunch, interrupted? A couple arguing over who gets custody of their dog? That's a row--bingo!

For some dispatchers this is one of the perks of the job: the challenge and variety. For others, not so much.

Years ago the business line rang and, in a calm voice, a man gave me his name and home address, so we could notify his family. Then he gave me the location where we could find his body. Then he hung up.

Often, when a suicidal person reaches out, it's a cry for help. Not this time. When our units arrived they could only confirm my certainty: Immediately after hanging up the phone, he shot himself. I was the last person he ever spoke to.

It messed me up.

Word got around, and my boss called to check on me. I told him I would be okay, which was true in the long run. I don't know if I told him that in the short run I wasn't okay at all, but my wife was with me, and I hung in there.

I've served in three branches of the emergency services: EMS, Fire, and 911 Dispatch. If anyone mentions PTSD or critical incident stress, I immediately flash back to one particular call in each of those three areas. But a lot of time has passed since those incidents, and although they still dwell in the dark corners of my brain, they don't control my life.

Usually.

Earlier this year we received a report of a person threatening to kill themself with a gun. I didn't take that call, but the moment I heard the details my body chilled, I could barely breath, and my mind went numb. That suicide from so long ago crashed out of the cage I'd trapped it in and rampaged through my head.

It turns out the person in this case did not have a gun, and the whole thing ended peacefully. Still, it was a wake up call. A jangling alarm that took about five years off my life ... and after three decades at this job, I've already lost enough. It's one of the reasons why I've been pushing my writing career: Not only because I have a lot of stories to tell, but because I'd like to spend my time writing them instead of screaming into a pillow after work every morning.

(This is one time in this blog when I exaggerate: No, I don't scream into a pillow after work. I kiss my wife, hug the dog, and hit the bed, where I usually get a good eight hours of sleep in between the weird dreams.)

I'm not writing this to get sympathy for me. I just wanted to remind everyone that the person you think is strong and "normal" may be battling monsters inside. In fact, they may be the most cheerful people you know, always with a smile and a joke. But the effects of stress are real, and the challenge of maintaining our mental health is a stigma that still remains, even today.

Look after yourself. Look after your friends. And if someone says they're having a problem with their emotions or their mental state, take them seriously. Sometimes we make it look way easier than it is.

Now, I'm off to write some humor ... we all have our ways to cope.

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

County Annex Building Went Up, So We Moved In

(Okay, so it's possible I wrote this a few months ago ... it's been a summer.)

 

As a firefighter, I studied building construction a lot. Sadly, this gave me no skills in actually building a structure, although I can tell you why a lot of them fall down.

So when they started building the new Noble County annex in downtown Albion (which is right beside uptown Albion), I took double interest, since it was to be my new workplace. That's why I started stopping by periodically to take photos of the construction process, which I'm now sharing even though I'm pretty sure no one asked. (You can click on the images to expand them, which would be handy with real buildings, too.)

First is the skeleton of the building, more than a year before it was done. As you can see, the rib bones are connected to the hip bones.

 

The corner facing the camera is where our new dispatch would be, on the top floor. If they had run out of money right there, we would be dispatching al fresco, which means in the open air, which would play hell on our electronics. It wouldn't do me much good either. I believe you used to be able to buy cans of fresco at the grocery store. (Wait, do they still make Fresca?)

 

Faced with threats of indecent exposure, workers finally put some brick meat on the bones.

 

The final product looks way better than I thought it would, although it can't beat the old jail you can see here, just past it. There aren't a lot of bells and whistles, but there are doors and light switches, and that's something.

 

And here is my workplace, which doesn't seem to be making me sick like the old one. (I'm talking literally--allergies.) The job remains the same, but we don't blow a breaker whenever we use the microwave ... and that's also something.

 

We have our own kitchen! Which may not seem like much, but when you work 12 hour shifts it's nice to have a sink to wash your dishes in. Overall I can't complain, although I probably will anyway. I'll probably stay on until I hit the bestseller list, or get taken out on a stretcher.

 

Find all our books here:

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

 

911 Is Still the Number For 911

 We're getting a new radio system in our dispatch center, and the guy training us on it claims we could use it at home, on a laptop.

This is a great idea in theory: It would save me gas, and clothes would be cheaper if all I had to buy was pajamas. Of course, video 911 is coming, and callers might not be comfortable with my Star Trek onesie.

Actually, callers might not like seeing me no matter what clothes I'm wearing.

"You got what stuck WHERE?"

This is my thirtieth year celebrating Public Safety Telecommunications Week, which is in April between the snow storms, brush fires, and tornadoes. Since the title's so long, I started calling it PSTW, which is kind of ironic because PSTW sounds a lot like PTSD. Everyone who's dispatched longer than seven years gets to know both. It's science.

Here's the strange thing: I'm burned out on this job. Once too often I've picked up the 911 line only to hear hysterical screaming. Once too often I was the last person someone ever talked to. Once too often the name of a victim or suspect ended up being someone I knew.

Yet it's still the best full time job I ever had.

I actually do wear a cape, but only at home when no one is watching. But yay, cookie! Better keep it away from the dog.

 

(To be fair, my part time radio DJ job was nothing but fun, even though I kind of sucked at it. But that job, in a problem similar to my writing gig, barely paid enough for the gas to get there.)

Maybe it's because we're actually doing something important. That's a weird thing to define when it comes to jobs, because the best paying ones often are the least important. When a family member is having a heart attack, you don't call your favorite sportsball player for an ambulance. For that matter, when your water pipe bursts you don't look up the number for Beyonce, or Reba McEntire. (Actually, Reba could probably help.)

But that's the way it goes, and at least I've never been stalked by a 911 groupie.

I know the artist!

 

If you've considered being a dispatcher, I'd encourage it. It's way more important than being a security guard at the Oscars. (Ahem.) Also, you have to be really bad at it to lose your job--the demand for dispatchers just continues to go up.

Still, it can be just a bit stressful. When I'm talking to new people, I like to give them a few tips they don't get in formal training:

No matter what the caller says when you pick up the line, never reply with "You gotta be kidding me."

Always know if you have a live mic. Always.

Try to avoid cursing in dispatch--see above about live mics.

Well ... at least try not to curse too much.

If you have to scream in the bathroom, turn the water on first.

 

Yes, you are a first responder. When 911 rings, you're the first to respond to whatever the problem is. All the others have the advantage of knowing that problem, because you find out.

Hold your temper if your 911 caller starts with, "This isn't actually an emergency ..." Deal with it if the business line rings and it is an emergency. So it goes.

If you have to bang your head against a wall, choose a different place each time, to avoid damage to the concrete.

And finally: If the melatonin gives you nightmares, try sleepytime tea. Sleep is precious.

On a related note, that idea of dispatching on a laptop from home? No. I already have dreams in which I come downstairs and find the dispatch center has been moved to my living room, and I'm the only dispatcher. Besides, I like my Star Trek onesie, and Star Wars pajama bottoms just wouldn't be the same.

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

Another Christmas Parody Song

 Last year I was inspired to write a parody holiday season song, and this year it appears I still haven't learned my lesson. Here's last year's effort:

https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2020/12/tis-911-season.html  

Again, I can't imagine anyone who's not in the emergency services will fully appreciate this, but that never stopped me before. I wrote new lyrics to the Christmas song "Happy Holiday/The Holiday Season”, dedicated to emergency telecommunicators out there--including those who, like me, still call themselves 911 dispatchers.

I'm 30 years on the job, so it's possible it's starting to get to me.

I am, too: see?

Crappy Holiday/The Dispatcher Season

 

(Sung to the tune of “Happy Holiday/The Holiday Season” … in Andy Williams’ voice.)

 

Crappy holiday,

crappy holiday

As the relatives keep drinking

Crappy holiday to you

 

It’s the family fight season

And Uncle Ted is coming ‘round

He gets so drunk that he falls to the ground

When old Teddy gets into town

He’ll be going to the jailhouse now

(He’ll be going to the jailhouse now)

 

It’s the drunken fight season

Your cousin Roy got into the booze

Wonder  how many fights he will lose

He may show up on the evening news

He’ll be sleeping in the jailhouse now

(He’ll be sleeping in the jailhouse now)

 

Your nephew Jack is flat on his back

The football game didn’t go quite his way

So your old gram, a big Bears fan

put him underneath the Christmas tree

 

It’s the drunk driving season

An SUV, instead of a sleigh

Is hung up on your outside display

The guy inside thinks he’s in his driveway

He’ll be going to the jailhouse now

(He’ll be going to the jailhouse now)

 

Crappy holiday

(drunken holiday) Crappy holiday

Till the hangover takes over

Crappy holiday … to you!

 

 

 

Remember, every time you don't buy a book, the Grinch steals a tree.

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"