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Then I notice Lucas. He’s clutching his leg as if it has been shot. I grab one guy and we grab him by the arms and lead him away from the fracas. The chief is right behind is.
When we’re in a safe place, we lay him down.
His eyes are wide open. “We’ve run out of water!” he yells. Then he points at something only he can see. “It’s going to come down. Run! We need to evacuate.” He covers his ears with his hands.
I squat beside him. “It’s over Lucas, it’s over! You’re safe,” I tell him over and over again.
“Was he hit?” The chief asks.
I shake my head. “No, he’s fine,” I mouth to him.
Half an hour later, the situation has been contained and the crowd dispersed. Lucas’ episode is over and he’s quiet, he appears okay. Later in the night, Mike lets out a blood-curling scream in the bunk room when we’re resting. We all wake up frightened.
Over the following week, it happens again. At the end of the shift, the chief calls me into his office. I go in and shut the door behind me.
“What do you reckon is going on?” he asks me, his brow creased in worry.
I’m the only one who seems not to have been affected by the fire at Shoebox. The guys are losing it. At every shift, someone loses it.
I confided in Lexi and she’d done some research for me. It seems as if PTSD is not only common with soldiers but with firefighters too. The fire and loss of life at Shoebox apartments were massive and none of us had ever seen anything like it.
I tell the chief all that. He listens keenly, nodding all the while. “We had a meeting of all the Chiefs in the LA area and suicide is becoming a major concern with our people. We need to do something.”
I hate talking about my therapy, especially with the guys at work. I suppose I’m afraid that it’ll make me look like a sissy. Who goes for therapy? But this is people’s lives we’re talking about. I don’t care if I seem soft as long as Lucas and the other guys get the help they need.
“I’ve been seeing a therapist for my own mental issues,” I tell the chief. “And it’s helped a whole lot. I haven’t had an episode in a long while.”
And that opens up the conversation as to what can be done. We stay for close to an hour talking and at the end of it, we conclude that the chief will look into hiring a dedicated counselor, someone who understands the firefighter culture and the pressure that comes with it.
PTSD has been my shame but today it’s become my badge of honor.
“You’re a little late, I almost called you,” Lexi says when I walk through the door later that morning.
I kiss her and as I do so, Luna puts her hands out and I take her from her mother.
“The chief wanted to have a word,” I tell her.
“Oh,” Lexi says. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine,” I tell her as I settle on a couch with Luna on my lap. She plays with my mustache, her new favorite toy.
I tell Lexi about the meeting with the chief.
“I’m proud of you,” she says. “You could have chosen to distance yourself from it.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t get any sleep. I know how it feels like to suffer silently.”
Lexi inches closer and I drape a hand around her and pull her close. It’s Saturday and she’s not at work today but she has plans to visit with Hudson Turner’s wife, together with the other ladies. I’m glad that she’s forming a bond with them. A support system is crucial in life. Human beings are not lone wolves. We need each other. When I returned from Afghanistan, I’d believed that I didn’t need anyone. But having Lexi and Luna in my life, as well as the guys at the station and my brother and Park, it’s made me happy.
“How’s the cooking going?” I ask her.
“The pie’s in the oven,” she says.
“They’ll love it. I love your cooking,” I tell her.
“I know you do,” Lexi teases patting my belly.
“Ha! It’s not possible to grow a pot belly, not at the station anyway.” By the end of a twenty-four-hour shift, I’ve usually gone to the workout room about three times.
Unable to resist, I slide one hand along her jawline and pull her in for a kiss.
“Mama kiss,” Luna says.
“Yes, I’m kissing your beautiful mama,” I tell her.
She slides off my lap and goes to her favorite place by the window. It’s become her play area. She alternates between playing with her toys and gazing out the window.
“Wait, I want to show you something,” Lexi says and jumps to her feet just I’m about to pull her onto my lap.
