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  1. #1
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    Dec 2009
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    Default Need Some help here.

    Have a fire service event coming up on May 16th 2011, I am supposed to get up and give a fire service related toast, nothing special. Having a difficult time coming up with something. If you all have anything that would help i would sure apprecheaite it. If you could please email them to me at MThompson4149@gmail.com, with the subject line Fire Service Toast, or something like that. Thanks so much. Stay safe.


    Matthew Thompson
    Train like your life depends on it... Because it does!!!


  2. #2
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    Nov 2009
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    Default

    What are you toasting

    New chief

    Retirement

    New station

    New truck

    End of probation

  3. #3
    Forum Member snowball's Avatar
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    Nov 2000
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    Default

    I'm sure there's a toast in here somewhere.

    Quote Originally Posted by skylarmorris89 View Post
    So, I'm writing a book about my life. I just wanted to share a part of my story with you all. My book is not about being a fire fighter, I just have parts of my life as one. This was a glimps at being 16-18 years old before I was a caree guy. I was with a Volunteer Fire Department on the Oregon Coast. Yes, there are mistakes, and it may seem to jump around. It's not exactly anywhere close to being finished. Yes, you wont get a finish, because I'm not done.


    I didnít sleep that night. The call came in as a victim assaulted with a bat. I remember racing with every thought of what I do with trauma. My pager was beeping loud, it was dark and raining. Itís frightful to know exactly what to do, but at the very same time, not knowing what the hell youíre doing. I paced to my vehicle, threw my turnout bottoms on and started the ignition of my van. I got to the scene within moments. Once I realized where I was, my heart fell to my stomach. I knew the address very well. I got a sickening feeling in the pit of my belly. As I approached the house; I was almost afraid what Iíd find. I found her lying in the bathroom on the floor. She was weeping heavily and was lying in a pool of blood that continued to trickle from her vagina. Her underwear was ripped and covered with blood. The scene made me want to throw up. I knew immediately what had happened, she had been raped. Who had done it was unknown at this time, but I was feeling a sense of rage to the bastard who had violated her personal space. Because of him, she was injured in a violent, horrific fashion, and was now beyond emotional stability. She was wild with hysteria. Yet, I had to keep my personal feelings in check as I attended to her needs. I took her vital signs, her blood pressure was low, her pulse fast, her skin clammy and cold. While a Paramedic started an I.V. into one wrist, and a firefighter hooked her up to a portable heart monitor. I put her on a nasal cannel to ease her rapid, gasping breathing (hyperventilation); she was air hungry from fear. We put some sanitary pads under her bleeding vagina, covered her shaking body with a blanket, and strapped her to the gurney. We then rolled her out to the ambulance where we loaded her up, and soon took off towards the closest hospital.

    That was my first call as a volunteer fire fighter. I joined the fire department to be cool. I wanted attention. I wanted to be recognized as someone better than just the average Joe. Maybe the fire department would be like Back Draft I thought, get all the ladies, go fight big fires, laugh and joke at the station. Never in my wildest dreams did I believe I would be doing CPR at our local grocery store , or being covered in grandmas poop at two a.m. Months went by without any sort of thing called fire. I didn't believe fire departments fought fire, I started to believe we fought difficulty breathings. I ended up fighting a house fire. I can honestly say, it was not as exciting as I hyped it up to be. It took an hour to put a two story, fully involved structure fire out. I remember being mad, and upset that it wasn't longer. I mean, my whole 7 months of wishing I would get a fire, and then have one, and it only happened for an hour, was very disappointing to me.

    It came in as an 11year old shot through the left, lower quadrant (left lower stomach). I could sense the frustration the dispatcher was feeling by her elevated voice; it was almost frightening. As the alarm and bells went off in the station, three of us headed to engine 13, buckled up, and headed out. The screaming of the siren raged on as we sped down 101 like the running of the bulls. People who were unaware of the fire truck kept right alongside us without a care in the world. We gave them mean faces and laid on the air horn, scaring them enough to pull over. As we approached the street, I realized I had known the address, and knew the people inside years ago from a birthday party I had attended. The police had us stage right outside the home. When, later, a man roughly the age of 30 exited the building with handcuffs. Two police were holding his shoulders while another singled us to enter the home. We walked right next to the man in handcuffs, I could smell alcohol, he looked at me, and seemed to smile. My adrenalin was high, and I felt like a steam train going a million miles per hour. Walking into the living room of the home, I could see the mother in the kitchen, she was located feet from the living room. She wasn't crying, and didn't seem to have any feelings at all. She was just staring at her child in the middle of the living room floor next to a T.V. that was shatter to pieces. Murphy the paramedic approached the boy and asked him for his name in a comforting voice. I grabbed the medical bag and proceeded to hook the child up to some oxygen. Jackson another paramedic started an I.V. and went to check the wound. There wasn't much I could do, I was asked to apply pressure to the puncture. I was nervous. I had never seen someone so young shot before. When the rest of the medic crew arrived on the scene, we put him on a gurney, boarded the child, and escorted him to the ambulance. Clearing the scene, not one person said anything all the way back to the station. It was the longest ride back I had ever been on. We all knew we couldn't show emotion even though the call was over. We still couldn't believe we had just witnessed such a horrific crime. To us, it was our obligation to forget about it, and move on. It's important to never show emotion on scene, as people could question if you're a professional or not. Well, that was my mentality. I didn't believe it would make me insane
    IAFF

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