The Beauty of It
Written by Keely Heyman, published January 26, 2023
A colleague and friend of mine recently left a sticker on my desk that read, “the strongest steel is forged in the fires of a dumpster.” I have thought often about this sticker and chuckled as it rings so true in all facets of the world of 9-1-1. The dumpster fires we find ourselves in daily, be it from our callers or perhaps our tangled webs of toxic work environments that have been woven around us, either of our own doing or by others in our workplace—most times, sucking the life out of our very existence. We tend to focus solely on those moments, the ones that drain us to our core, and how can we not? We talk freely about it now. We talk about being in the “moment” with the callers who aren’t exactly calling us because they wish to chat, and those that are usually aren’t in their right mind. We know that we carry our callers with us, sometimes for the rest of our lives. Some of us even cross paths with our callers, and though they may not know that we were the person on the other end of the line while they were in the largest crisis of their life, we know. We know we are often unseen and under appreciated in all we do. We know we are the punching bag to all our first responder counterparts. We know that there will be good days and there will be bad ones. We just know.
The beauty in what we do is often lost in the flames. We tend to stare at the fires that are before us, they are unpredictable, and dangerous, and yet there is beauty in it, isn’t there?
I have listened to a newly born baby cry while on the phone with a dad who was nervous that he wouldn’t be able to deliver the baby alone, but he wasn’t alone, I was there helping him through that. I have spoken with an older woman who called frequently and would ask if I would come dance with her. She missed dancing, her name was Yolanda, and I didn’t notice it at the time, but I looked forward to her calls. I have spoken with a frequent flyer who was often too drunk to make sense, but he wasn’t at all dangerous, mostly funny, and provided the much-needed break in the otherwise mundane or traumatic lives we lead within the center. He told me he loved me once, and that statement still makes me chuckle.
I have taken a 9-1-1 call from a little girl whose father was a police officer, and she wanted to say good night to him and knew this was his work number, she had been told so! I have listened to the giggles of a baby who got a hold of mommy’s or daddy’s cell phone. While we might get annoyed initially because someone has yet again handed a toddler a phone, which is not a toy, I have also managed to imagine the slobber that will likely be all over that phone upon discovery!
I have taken walks in the middle of the night to try and clear my head after a particularly difficult evening in the center and stumbled across a fawn and her mama lying in the grass, likely clearing their heads and hearts too. I have seen the first snowfall of the season that came in overnight before the children woke to their snow day. In fact, I knew school was closed before the rest of the town heard the news. It was exciting to know something before the rest of the world did. I have worked entire night shifts and have shared the morning air with the birds in the sunrise. Some will never hear the things we have or see the things we see. There is beauty in that.
While yes, our humor is dark and mostly twisted, I have shared in that laughter with our shifts, as well as over-the-air faux pas that have occurred. I still hear the laughter now, as an administrator, that erupts after a questionable caller or an odd radio transmission. The laughter is genuine despite its warped undertone. We have taken that darkness and foraged through it. We have created secondary families within our centers. They aren’t perfect, no family is, but there is beauty in it.
Many of you may struggle with this concept. Many of you likely see the flames of the dumpster fire and wonder how anyone can locate the beauty of it. It is there, I promise. There are several things, as dispatchers, that we frequently come across that are beautiful even when they seem hopeless, just listen from a different perspective. Though much of what we hear is not at all happy, what it is, is real! It is true life that many won't ever hear or even see. We see with our ears and our hearts. We are who they call when they don’t know what else to do, and there is beauty in that.
I have frequently discussed with my Deputy Director about how our most creative thinking occurs in the shower, and this idea happened exactly there, in the shower, where creativity abounds apparently. I began to think of the first part of that sticker left on my desk a few short weeks ago “the strongest steel is forged in fire”, all I could think of was the beauty of that statement. Steel is strong because it takes heat and then cools, and then is heated again, and cooled again. For those in the room that are more literal in translation about the foraging of steel, yes, it’s a few chemical reactions that occur as well. Trust me, we have those too- more commonly known to us as the fiery personalities that flow through our centers. Isn’t this the basic essence of what a dispatcher experiences? Extreme high and low environments, with a lot of spicy personalities, this is how we thrive. It is who we are to the very core, yet we have failed to see the beauty of it. We need to discover the beauty of it, instead of focusing on the suck of it! Bridges are made with steel, and we should remember that we are the bridge between our callers and our field responders, and I cannot imagine a better individual to span that divide than a dispatcher… that’s the beauty of it.
Thank you, Keely for sharing your experience with us. If you are interested in writing a blog, please email amanda@911derwomen.com. Sign up for our newsletter on our homepage to stay up to date with 911der Women programming, exclusive content and blog updates. Click here and scroll to the bottom.
Thank you to Prepared for supporting Her Voice: The 911der Women Blog Spot.