by Diana Festejo | Jul 1, 2020 | Client Stories
Today I am sewing another pair of pants. A pair of pants in a pile of many that are torn, have holes worn through, and hems that have completely let go.
With each stitch I sew I am wondering; “When did this hem come un-done?” Did it come un-done when my husband was getting into the police truck? His step weighted down by his duty belt, his kevlar vest, and his broad shoulders that willingly carry the burdens of others? Or was it when he chased on foot the man who had just brutally assaulted his wife? He was running after him because this man punched him and took off claiming he “wasn’t done”.
Maybe it was when he was pushed backwards down a flight of stairs after bending down to help up a child who was left unattended and alone at a house party that had gotten out of control? Or maybe it happened when he ran into a burning building without hesitation to ensure the children who were inside playing with matches had gotten out? It could have been when he climbed inside of a smoking car at the scene of an accident to cut a man free from his seatbelt bringing him to safety at the side of the road while shielding him from the sight of his deceased wife… wait, no, it couldn’t have been then. That happened when we were on vacation. He wasn’t even on duty that day, but that didn’t matter. That never matters.
When you are called you are called 24/7. It doesn’t matter if it is Christmas day or any other holiday, their child’s first birthday or their wedding anniversary, in any moment ‘the called’ will be there for you and for your family, leaving behind their own.
I suppose this hem could have come un-done when he was playing street hockey with some kids in town during a quiet afternoon. Or it could have even unraveled at the hand of a child who was sitting on the floor beside him after a DARE class. The little boy wanted to talk and got his attention by pulling at the cuff of his pants…
As the moments pass and I continue to sew I am overcome with emotion. Suddenly my hands are trembling in anger, confusion, desperation, and sadness and my thoughts shift; “I suppose it doesn’t matter how the hem came un-done, what matters is that I still have to sew his pants”. Today my husband will need his pants. Today duty will call and he will gladly serve. Today he needs to go out that door into the unknown and protect our community. Today my heart will ache at the unknown from the time the door closes and he walks out, until it opens again and he walks through it into my waiting arms. Today I will worry about him more than ever. Today my fear has increased because once again a monster has threatened our well being; – mine, yours, my husband’s, everyone’s. Today there is another First Responder spouse who is mourning an unimaginable, earth shattering, life altering, utterly senseless loss… learning she will never have to sew her husband’s pants ever again. Today she learned that she has to say goodbye. Today, other First Responders will be dealing with sights, sounds and carnage that takes a terrible toll on the human soul and spirit, on themselves and their families.
Another tear falls down my face as I realize that today I am not just sewing “another pair of pants”. Today I am trying to stitch my world back together after my sense of safety has once again been shaken. Today I mourn with my fellow spouse and spouses. Today just as I hold these pants in my hand I hold a piece of every single First Responder and every one of their family members across Canada in my heart. They are an extension of my family and they are my family. They are my husband, and my two brothers. They are some of my closest friends and confidents. They are my neighbours. They are my family away from home, and wherever I go, they are there.
Everyday, Police Officers, Fire Fighters and Emergency Medical Services, all over the country are working hard to help ensure that you are safe, rescued or treated. Today and every day these men and women are what stand’s between you and a very scary, rapidly unraveling world. As I take this all in and although my heart is very heavy, I am also beaming with pride. I am beaming with pride because at the end of the day the evil in this world will not win. I know that even if the hem in their pants comes un-done, THEY WILL NOT. “Together we are strong, together we are fierce, together we stand”.
by Diana Festejo | Jul 1, 2020 | Client Stories
Flashing lights, burning buildings, “Police Line Do Not Cross” tape, make shift medical scenes, devastation and destruction. Our job is to respond when people are in the midst of an extreme crisis. While some call us heroes, we’re really common folks called to a profession that deals with the brokeness of this world.I know first hand the every day struggles faced by First Responders. I am one.
We’ve seen people die before our eyes, helpless to do anything. We’ve responded to violent robberies, domestic disputes, homicides and suicides. We run into the dangerous situations that everyone else runs away from. We’ve rang many door bells and comforted the families while telling them that their loved one has passed away.
The sights, smells, sounds and carnage of our job can haunt us. We are trained to have answers and control situations. It’s hard to drop it all from your mind when you walk through the front door to your family at the end of the shift. There is a stigma around admiting help is needed to mental health concerns. Heroes aren’t supposed to have emotional breakdowns, not in front of their families and especially not at work.
I tried my best to live a normal life outside of work, but I’ve suffered anxiety over simple “normal things” that remind me of horrendous situations that I’ve been called to. Sometimes I’ve slept poorly and the pent up frustrations become overwhelming on my family.
My spouse was living a roller-coaster existence, never knowing when I would be called out, uncertain if or when I’d be home. At home I was often disengaged, distant and really trying desperately to recover from the trauma of the job. My kids avoided me because of my anger. One day it became too much for my family and I found my bags at the door and told to get help. I realized I needed help but how do I do it without being judged or navigate thru the difficult depths of the situation I was facing.
I had heard of Legacy Place Society in it’s support to First Responder and Military Families but I still didn’t feel that it was something that applied to me. But stubborn me, I’ll figure it out on my own. I don’t need to talk about this emotional or relationship stuff to anyone. Guess how long that lasted.
Legacy Place Society provides confidential accommodation support for us. A quiet place, away from triggers that allows us to figure things out. Others also seeking this support understand where we’re at as they too had to make this courageous step. We don’t have to “put on a happy face” for our kids or hide away our feelings. We can freely speak about what’s going on without fear of being judged or losing our jobs. This is a place where rest and healing can begin. A place of support and encouragement.
Yes the first days were tough, fighting the urge to walk away, fight off the fear I wasn’t going to make it through this. But after wiped tears and conversations, and time with professional counseling, I realized I can and I will become victorious over this blip on the radar. Through tough decisions and behavioral changes, I’ve grown stronger in so many ways, including going back to my family and sharing this new resiliency from within and sharing it with my co-workers. I realized for myself and also others around me, it’s not a matter of if this same experience will happen but when.
I am grateful for the support and patience from my family and Legacy Place Society.
by Diana Festejo | Jul 1, 2020 | Client Stories
My name is Matthew Barber I’m a 28 year old husband and also a father of two, I was also known as Master Corporal Barber Formally.
I deployed to Afghanistan in 2010 as part of the Canadian forces Battle Group. For 5 years I carried issues that made living a normal life impossible so I ran away from Hamilton Ontario and move to Forest Grove British Colombia, like my 3 year old son hiding from monsters under
blankets, I hid in a remote part of BC hoping to hide from my problems.
Like everything else it catches up to you and in Nov of last year I attempted to end my life. I just couldn’t stand anymore and was formally diagnosed with PTSD.
Only with great support from my wife was I able to contact veterans affairs and get set up with Care west OSI clinic in Calgary. Being out of work I needed a place to stay while I underwent my therapy for a week at a time.
For the first few weeks I stayed with family and it caused more of problem then help with no money and relying on the Royal Canadian Legion for my transport to and from BC I was in a bad situation.
Until I was set up with the Legacy Place in Calgary for $15 a night you get to stay in a beautiful clean house with you’re own room. The young soldier that looks after the house is an amazing support to anyone staying there.
This last week in therapy staying at the house has been the best for me and feel my life starting to improve for the first time in a long time.
Matthew Barber
by Diana Festejo | Jul 1, 2020 | Client Stories
I wanted to write a letter regarding my brief stay at Legacy Place Calgary. I was privileged to stay at the house in June well my husband underwent his therapy. The house felt very safe from the moment I walked in the door very warm and inviting. Having a place that wasn’t home feel quite like that was fantastic for helping myself as well let down my guard. Its never easy staying in a place you don’t know no matter who you are. The house mother “Mr. Cameron” was extremely friendly and out going I could sing his praises till the cows come home.
In the past 7 months of my husband coming to the house I have found a drastic change in his behavior. Normally leaving home was a trying process for Matt but having Mr. Cameron at the house when my husband would come back from therapy was detrimental to the process my husband was undergoing. I wouldn’t put any place in the world with higher regards than I do Legacy Place Calgary.
by Diana Festejo | Jun 30, 2020 | Client Stories
I’m home after finishing a 24-hour shift at 8 a.m. as a rural fire department paramedic, and I usually get the same question: “Did you have a bad night?” my wife, Michelle, asks. Most mornings, I says simply, “It was all right.”
I’ve tried to leave my work at the firehouse, to not let the violence I see on the job come home with me. This is what I saw on one shift a few months ago: Shortly after 3 p.m. on Friday, I and my partner were dispatched for a call of a child struck by a vehicle at such and such address.
While riding to the scene, an update came over the radio: Shots fired, multiple victims. I started to feel anxious. I started to mentally size up the possibilities and prepare myself for what I may see. Two engine companies were already on the scene.
Getting out of the ambulance, I look to my right. Lying in the street was a middle-aged man. A few firefighters were administering CPR. To my left, I saw other firefighters caring for a teenager lying in the grass. “Where’s the kid?” I thought. As part of the first medical unit on the scene, I needed to quickly assess the victims. The man receiving CPR had a gunshot wound and no pulse. I instructed the firefighters to continue CPR. My partner started an IV. The teenager on the grass was still breathing, and the firefighters were bandaging his torso where he had been shot. A firefighter directed me to the child who was struck by the car. The toddler had been covered with a blanket. I lifted the blanket. I saw the extent of the traumatic injuries and agreed nothing could be done. A second medical unit arrived. I directed them to the teen — the most viable patient. The unit needed to get him to the hospital.
I returned to the man. He still didn’t have a pulse. We can’t load a patient into the ambulance without a heartbeat. They ran an EKG to check for electrical activity in the man’s heart. He was gone. Within the five minutes I had been on scene, maybe 5 police squad cars had arrived. It was chaotic. I could just hear crying and yelling.
After 4 years as a paramedic and 9 years with the department, I and others have gone on a lot of bad calls.
A couple of years ago, when I was first transferred to ___________, calls like this one were few and far between. Now I respond to a call about a stabbing, shooting or some other act of violence at least once or twice a week.
I remember the first bad call I went on, shortly after I became a paramedic. Someone had called 911 for an infant who wasn’t breathing. I arrived at the house and saw the infant lying on the kitchen table. The child didn’t have a pulse. The mother said the child was 2 years old. To me it looked as if the child starved to death. There was nothing I could do. “It is the worst thing I’ve ever seen, hands down,” I remember telling my wife.
I have calls with children that are even harder to deal with since my 6-year-old daughter, Angie, was born.
One night a couple of years ago, when he worked at Station such and such, I responded to 3 fatal shootings. “I don’t want to relive some of the terrible things I’ve seen,” I tell my wife this every once in a while.
Even nonviolent calls hold risk. Overnight Sunday, the department responded to a call for a person who had trouble breathing. While firefighters transferred the patient into the ambulance, a firefighter was shot. The firefighter was treated for a graze wound to the side of his head and released from the hospital.
I say it’s worth it — I love what I do.
I grew up in the city and joined the department after graduating from High School, following in the footsteps of my father. After seven years as a firefighter, I decided to become a paramedic.
I’ve seen this town grow into a small city and it’s gone from bad to worse to better. It’s all over the place. This is where I live and I’m here to take care of people.”
My training takes over on the scene. I see tasks to be completed, victims to care for. You really don’t have time to form some form of emotional attachment at that time because there’s a job to be done. I quietly try to wipe the slate clean each time I return to the firehouse. You can’t take baggage from a previous run on your next run. My department’s health and safety officer aims to address the trauma on emergency workers even before they leave the scene of a call.
Before leaving, firefighters and paramedics hold debriefings to share what happened.
A few days after a critical incident, such as a child’s death, another intervention, a diffusing, takes place. People who were on the scene will describe what they saw. Instead of just sharing how they feel, they are challenged to quantify their emotions.
If a call was particularly traumatic, a deeper session, known as a debriefing, may start as soon as they return to the station house.
The department has stepped up efforts over the last few years to make sure people are handling the stress of the job. The department also started a peer support team, which now has more than 10 members.
They are not counselors, but there as an ear to listen.
On that spring day, I talked with police at the scene and found out what had happened.
Person (A) had hit the 2-year-old with his vehicle as the toddler ran into the street. A man who police would later identify as his uncle, Person (B), shot Person (A). The toddler’s brother, 15-year-old Person (C), was wounded in the gunfire. While I stayed on the scene to write my report, I cared for two more people who began to experience chest pain. I helped to treated them, and wrote up another report. I was the last paramedic to leave the scene.
After the fact, you start thinking about little things that you saw because now everything is slowing down and you have time to think about everything that happened. This typically happens harder when it’s your last shift on the schedule and you’re going home.
I get home. Exhausted. My wife and kids want my attention. I can’t even begin to share what has happened this past shift rotation. My family does not deserve to hear the details. I tell them I’m fine and go take a nap. It’s not easy. But it’s my job.
