A recent ride-along with an Anne Arundel County Fire Department EMS Battalion Supervisor and paramedic provides deeper insight into how first responders sustain their mental health.
The author thanks the AACo Fire Department for this rare glimpse into a “typical” day.
A Little ADD Helps
Lieutenant Paramedic Holly Hathaway, an EMS supervisor, is our “host” for today’s ride-along. A 16-year veteran of the department, she became a paramedic at age 20. Her truck-sized chase car carries a locked box that holds fentanyl, ketamine, and versed. She finds it ironic that at age 20 she could administer powerful narcotics “but I couldn’t drink.”
Hathaway is everything you’d want in a firefighter and paramedic: high energy, fit, clear-headed, friendly, and in love with her job.
“This is the best job in the world,” she says, a theme repeated throughout the day. But she admits the culture is complicated. There is a lot to learn. Her speech is laced with three and four-letter abbreviations, like a new language. Listening to her or watching her interact with colleagues, it is clear there must be innate qualities that help a firefighter succeed.
“Some form of ADD (attention deficit disorder) helps,” Hathaway says. “Prefer working with your hands. A problem-solver. Someone who doesn’t mind chaos or confusion.”
The traits aptly describe her. During the ride-along she visits BWMC’s emergency room, three fire stations, headquarters—called Logistics—and responds to two calls, all before noon. She is rarely still and always focused on the eye-level scanner in her car, even while listening to her “ride-along” pepper her with questions.
“Our whole existence is to be ready,” she stresses. “We’re the problem solvers. People come to us for everything.”
The Call
The dispatcher calls out a cardiac arrest, one of 600 that occur in AA County every year. It is a 40-year-old woman. No reason is given. She is young to have a heart attack.
As a Battalion supervisor, Hathaway is dispatched only to high priority calls that include cardiac arrests, shootings, and mass casualties. Her siren now blaring, she races to the one-story home in an otherwise quiet residential neighborhood.
Four police cruisers, an ambulance, a fire engine, and fire truck converge on the narrow street. A teenager appears frantic at the door. Paramedics and police fill the home’s narrow hallway. Minutes later the woman is alert and responding. It was a drug overdose. Narcan revives her within seconds.
Once outside, as police depart and the fire truck slowly rolls away, one young firefighter leans against the bumper of his ambulance. This house is known to him. His crew has been here before, many times.
“It’s just so sad,” he says. And he says it again, and again. Hathaway remains at his side, among the last to leave.
Taking care
Fire Company 26—South Glen Burnie Fire Station—is the busiest station in the county. The crew takes great pride in responding to the high volume of daily calls.
Lt. Mike Jordan has been with the department 14 years. Like Hathaway, he loves the job but also understands its pressures. “You gotta get back on the truck.”
Even though firefighters typically work only eight days a month, they are “on” for 24 hours. Before and after each shift is the “work-recovery” period. Jordan’s calendar marks in bright yellow a six-hour block for the next day. “That’s total down time. You need that to recover.”
He and Hathaway talk about “sleep debt.” Even if they try to sleep at the firehouse, they admit “We don’t really sleep. If you don’t do something to pay off that debt, you’re going to have a hard time. It’s going to catch up with you.”
Outside hobbies help. Jordan says, “Having a non-fire department job is essential.” For him, it is flying. He pilots single engine airplanes with the Clearview Flying Club just outside Westminster where he lives. “At 5,000 feet I can’t think of anything else.”
The crew spends time between calls cleaning not only the outside of the fire house but also inside. Unlike most government buildings, fire stations receive no janitorial services. Their occupants take pride in shining them themselves. They clean and re-clean equipment, check gear, restock supplies, wash the vehicles, and suds up the engine bay floors.
Jordan says, “If you take care of your fire engine, it’ll bring you home every time.”
Much More Than Lunch
Home is very much how firefighters view their workplace. A feeling of family pervades each firehouse. Perhaps it is that culture, more than anything, that nourishes and sustains these men and women.
Unless a call comes in, mealtimes are sacred. Each member puts in $5 to purchase food and keep the pantry stocked. Cooking and cleaning duties rotate.
Today, Hathaway joins the crew at Glen Burnie Fire Station 33. She takes an open seat at a long table set with plates, napkins, and silverware. The buffet offers healthy choices: salad, grilled chicken, and chips. When lunch begins, there are four firefighters, mostly long-term employees. Soon two more drift in. And by the time Hathaway leaves, another group of three has taken seats.
The department is young. The average age is 18–36. Mingling at mealtimes with veterans becomes routine, and important.
A 12-year firefighter says “We solve the world’s problems here.” It’s where rookies and “old guys” come together, where “wisdom and knowledge get passed on.”
Lt. Dustin Zahm, a 16-year member of the department, is an Iraq war veteran who readily shares he was diagnosed with PTSD. “We’re all adrenaline junkies, Type As,” he says. What helps him endure the hard part of his job? “It’s important to be able to open up to your crew, to the people closest to you. It’s more of a lifestyle than a job.”
Several around the table admit humor helps, too. It may be “dark” but it is one of their best coping mechanisms. Sometimes the situations are just, funny.
What does Todd Baldwin, a 26-year veteran of the department, do to stay mentally healthy? He vacuums. Each morning he runs the vacuum in his home across each section of carpet until he is satisfied it is perfect, again. He’s also known to have a soft heart. When a call came in about baby ducks washing down a storm drain, Baldwin rescued them and took them home. He was devastated when they grew up and flew away, and he shows anyone who will look a photograph of a chick nestled against his chest.
Best Job in the World
Protecting people—as well as animals—drives them all. Responding to more than 90,000 calls a year, these professionals fight off bad memories. But some remain.
Hathaway recalls a horrific image. “I will never forget it,” she begins. “I had to scoop up this 16-year-old boy from the highway, his leg like jelly.” Recalling the nightmare of that moment, when she spots teenagers walking or riding bikes too close to traffic, she pulls off the road and lectures them on the spot.
Leader that she is, she looks out for the newer members. “Kids come to us and want to be ‘salty firemen.’ Then they learn that 80 percent of our calls are for EMS. And that’s stressful.”
Hathaway says, “We try to create a culture of physical and mental fitness. We do it because we love it.” And she ends the ride as it began. “It’s the best job in the world.”
