Radical Kindness Part 2: Jane’s Story

Jane, in a sing-songy voice, spoke of coyotes in the sky and bloody crowns made of pizza.
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She was standing between her mom and dad.Her mom’s voice was strained as she spoke.

“She’s been so much better. And then this morning she was gone again, lost, I mean… “

​Then she began to weep.

Paul is normally a gruff and direct speaking firefighter, then twenty years into the vocation. Yet with Jane, he gently held her hand and slowly guided her into the Med Unit as both Jane’s parents cried. He listened to her, comforted and took care of her like she was his own child.

​Becoming a firefighter is an accelerated course in kindness. It was the most difficult education I’ve ever had because it begins by stripping away comforting illusions: The first lesson is there is suffering and pain everywhere you turn. It is a difficult course because it’s an education of the spirit, the fundamental part of who you are. It’s a difficult course to take because at every turn you can fail and think, “I cannot deal with this.”
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Our early response to pain and suffering is to be repelled. It’s not just blood or trauma or the smell of illness, it’s the pain that emanates from the suffering. It frightens us. It makes us feel vulnerable. In the case of Jane, I remember my first response was being shocked: She looked just like my daughters. Same ponytail, same glasses.Next, because we are still in the beginning of our education, we ask the sufferer to be stoic — because we’re not. We ask them to not display their suffering to us. “Suck it up” we think, and sometimes we blurt it out. Don’t wail, don’t cry, don’t suffer in front of me because I can’t handle it.
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But if we stick with it, after a few years we become attenuated. This is the natural state of firefighters. We can’t work effectively if we are undone by suffering.

When I began, I was at risk of fainting at the sight of trauma. Now I deal matter-of-factly with most trauma and most deaths. (Although I’m keenly aware that there are calls out there that will break me. It would be foolish to think otherwise). For a while I was secretly proud that I would run towards trauma that other people were running from. But I soon realized it had nothing to do with my character. It was just the repetition of calls, day after day, year after year. We can get used to anything, including the suffering of others.
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Next, we can choose to stay here, attenuated, not moved by pain and suffering and simply do our job as best we can. Or we can open ourselves up and realize that being constantly exposed to suffering and the pain of others is transformative. That is where radical kindness comes from.

Walking out of a gym with another firefighter, we noticed a drunk passed out between cars, surrounded by vomit, urine and beer cans. My friend didn’t ignore him, laugh or chastise him. He simply bent down, woke the guy up and said, “Hey bud, probably shouldn’t sleep here.” Then he helped him up.

Simple kindness. I’ve seen firefighters act this way for decades. I’ve watched how they act with drunks or with the homeless wanderers. I’ve watched countless times as firefighters comfort victims long after the emergency is over and trucks have left.

On any given call, I’m surrounded by firefighters who are radically kind. It’s how we are expected to be. We may never be the best firefighters, or the hotshot EMTs, but we can work on being kind and maybe that’s how we’ll make a true difference.