Weighed down by about 60 pounds of equipment and holding a long fire hose, I knelt in a room so smoky I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I pointed the nozzle at a bright orange glow and let the water rip.

The hose kicked violently as a thick stream of water burst out, but I held it steady. The fire dimmed away.

"Good job!" I heard a man shout.

Feeling rather proud of myself, I started crawling back out of the building. Suddenly a bell attached to my outfit started ringing, indicating my oxygen tank was getting low on air.

A stab of fear ran through me. For a second, I panicked.

But only for a second. An experienced firefighter was at my side, and very soon, I saw the light of the gray, drizzly day again. As I crawled out of the building, I was greeted by two firefighters who helped me to my feet.

I smiled with relief.

I had just participated in part of the first Fire Ops 101 at the James N. Robey Public Safety Training Center, in Marriottsville, where police officers and firefighters from around the state come for training.

Fire Ops 101, held March 26, was conducted by the Howard County Professional Fire Fighters Local 2000 union and designed to give ordinary citizens a taste of what it is like to be a firefighter.

Planned for two years, the event included 14 participants drawn from county government and the media. Among those were County Executive Kenneth Ulman and County Council members Jennifer Terrasa and Mary Kay Sigaty

And myself.

What we experienced was just a brief glimpse of what firefighters go through, according to firefighter Josh Burchick, 22, who shadowed me all day.

In my smoke-filled burning building, for example, the floors I crawled on were made of steel and not going to give way underneath me. Also, the smoke was not nearly as thick as what firefighters can encounter in a real-life fire.

Moreover, I was not actually putting out a fire. I was firing the hose at a sensor that determined how much water was being put on it and turned off the propane-induced fire once the sensor reached a certain level. In other words, it was a lot safer than fighting a real fire.

Still, as far as I'm concerned, my day was hard enough.

Rookie EMTs

It started with me getting oatmeal all over my new, union-issued sweatshirt.

Along with my three teammates -- Ulman, his Chief of Staff Jessica Feldmark and the county's Deputy Chief Administrative Officer Phyllis Madachy -- I was assigned the task of being an emergency medical technician at the scene of a call.

EMT Sarah Gajewski came running out of a building telling us that her boyfriend had collapsed. Hurrying inside, we found a dummy (the boyfriend) lying on the couch with what looked like vomit coating its chest.

I grabbed the 170-pound dummy by the shoulders. Ulman grabbed the dummy's legs, and together, we carried it out of the room onto the landing. (In the process, I got the vomit all over myself; luckily, it turned out to be oatmeal.)

We quickly figured out -- from the needles found around the body-- that the boyfriend had probably suffered a drug overdose and we began administering manual CPR.

While I pressed down repeatedly on the dummy's chest to revive its heart, Ulman placed an oxygen mask over its mouth and started to squeeze every time I hit 30 compressions. Trained paramedics were giving us instructions the entire time.

After a few minutes of pressing down on the dummy's heart, Ulman took over to give me a break, and I started squeezing oxygen into the dummy's face.

The chest-squeezing was exhausting work. But when my partner-- the county executive-- asked if I wanted a break, I wasn't about to take him up on it. I told him I was doing just fine.

Later, when he was administering the compressions, he said the same to me.

The tougher task came when our team hoisted the body onto a backboard and carried it downstairs to the ambulance. I never knew how heavy a 170-pound person -- or dummy -- could be. I couldn't imagine dealing with someone, or something, heavier. Paramedics assured us they do all the time.

I was just about tuckered out, and the day had barely begun.

Battling our first fire

Next up was our first fire. I got suited up in equipment that is incredibly cumbersome and difficult to maneuver in -- just putting the face mask on requires coordination skills that I will never have.

Luckily, Burchick was there to help me. When we were done, we headed outside to the parking lot.

There, a stripped-down replica of a car was lit using a propane-like oven underneath the chassis. Each of us took a turn hoisting a stack of hose line on our shoulders from the engine. We carefully laid it out on the ground to avoid kinks and then aimed the hose at the burning car.

Then, each of us walked up near the fire and shot water at it, spraying it from front to back. Completely surrounded by firefighters who guided me every step of the way, it was the easiest part of the day.

After lunch came the above-mentioned burning building. Burchick had told me beforehand to follow the hose line carefully and, if possible, to stick to the left wall which firefighters usually do.

"If you start bouncing all around, you're going to get lost," he said.

After making it safely out of the building, we practiced hoisting lines of hose up the stairs, first two at a time and then in a team of four.

That was the end of the day for me -- I had to skip the last exercise, which involved extricating a person from a car using the Jaws of Life. I left sore and tired, but feeling as if I'd had a blast.

I wasn't the only one.

"I just thought it was such a tremendous experience and in a small, manageable way gave us some insight into what they do," council member Terrasa said. "I would definitely do it again and recommend it to others."

Lt. Kenny Coyle of the Howard County Department of Fire and Rescue Services, told me that the rest of the day went off without a hitch and that the union plans on doing Fire Ops again next year, if possible.

He said the union had budgeted $5,000 for the event; no final cost was available this week.

"I certainly believe there was value in it," he said. "I think the participants got a greater understanding of what the fire service does here."

As for me, driving away from the event I had a David Bowie song playing in my head, "We could be heroes, just for one day."

---

user comments (0)