1/
“Frontline-ish”

There is someone running into a burning building. Tall flames lick at their arms, a sweltering heat warms their face. They commando crawl across a floor in a room blanketed in billows of thick, black smoke.

To save a life.

That someone has not yet been me.

2/
They collapse--covered with soot, heart pounding, arms gelatinous from carrying that person to safety. The one who fell asleep and awoke shocked to find the house in flames.

Tears streak the smoky grime when the mask finally comes off. Out comes a breath of relief.

Whew.

3/
“What about the one in the other room?” the captain yells.

They look--but just as they do, the entrance collapses.

“They didn't come out?! We split up, remember?”

A weightbearing beam falls along with part of the roof.

Everyone freezes.

4/
By this point, the rescued person is conscious.

"My mother! I need to see her!"

“You can't go in there!” the captain bellows.

The path is blocked. The rescued person reaches and howls in anguish.

More flames rise. Sirens blare.

Another fire has started one block over.

5/
Confession:

I have not yet been the person in the burning building. Yes, I have suited up. I've ridden on the truck. And yes, I’ve stepped close enough to feel the heat.

But this? The experience of being in the center of the inferno?

So far, that has not been my truth.

6/
Lately, there's not a day that goes by where I’m not thanked for my work on “the frontlines.” I don't know what to say.

But I think:

Me? Frontlines?

A part of me wants to ask:

What do you mean? Do you envision me parachuting into a brushfire?

Or is it something else?

7/
Am I caring for patients & planning & preparing for these fires?

Yes.

But not like I think they think I am.

So a lot—at least right now—I feel disingenuous. And like I should respond to the effusive frontline gratitude with this:

“Real talk? So far I’m frontline-ish."

8/
Being frontline-ish has its own quirky features. There’s this angst about:

*Not feeling useful enough
*Waiting for the worst
*Not wanting others to run into buildings
*Hoping you do the right thing when called
*Fear that you are no match for these flames

Just to name a few

9/
There’s also the discrepancy between the fire locations. Seeing the smoke across town, smelling it even, is scary. You ready yourself. Then you run out to jump on the truck, waiting to be called in.

Knowing it’s coming.
Bracing yourself for your turn.

Yeah.

I feel guilty.

So I ask my Army veteran husband what to do. His response was, “Stay ready so that you don’t have to get ready.”

Which is his way of saying what US Army General @MarkHertling said in @JHospMedicine:

“Plan and prepare for things you don’t think will happen.”

11/
And so.

I read and study about the enemy.
I do what I can to keep my mind right.
I rest while I can.
I check my equipment.
I take care of the platoon.
I assist with plans.
I do my best to know the battle plan cold.

And I try to stay ready.
So I don’t have to get ready.

12/
I confessed this to my good friend the other day. Being conflicted about being more frontline-ish than frontline.

She responded with my own words:

“The frontline looks a lot of ways.”

Then she told me not to forget that my parts so far count, too. I tried to believe her.

13/
To those who’ve already run into smoking buildings and who are in places where wildfires have spread as far as the eye can see?

I see you.

And to those who’ve been "frontline-ish", making battle plans, or waiting to get called off of the firetruck?

I see you, too.

14/
And to those in power. . .

Help us all stay ready, okay?
So . . .we don’t feel so worried about having to get ready.

Yeah.
_____________________________

“There has got to be a way—burning down the house.”

– Talking Heads

#NarrativeintheTimeofCorona #frontlineish