8 Minutes

By Mark vonAppen

I wake up to a spunky gal standing at the foot of my hospital gurney in bright blue scrubs and a skull and crossed bones bandana.  

She says my name.

I stir from my fog.  Sleepy from medication and an irregular heart rate of 61 to 190.  I say, "That's me."

In a voice that is entirely too chipper for me, she bubbles, "I'll be your anesthesiologist.  You're scheduled for a cardioversion, right?"

I think, she's awfully plucky.

Plucky it is.

"When's that?" I ask absent-mindedly.

She draws back the curtain, looking at the clock on the wall she says, "Hmm, in eight minutes."

My mental brakes seize. 

Eight minutes?  My mind swirls, my body tangled in wires, I sit bolt upright.  They said they were going to do this, but they didn't say exactly when they were going to do it.  

I'm not ready yet.  I have a lot left to do.  

Eight minutes.

When someone tells you that they're going to put you to sleep and momentarily stop your heart by shocking the shit out of it and then restart it in eight minutes, there is a sense finality associated with it.  My lack of any control of the situation is as palpable as the dysrythmic liquid slamming of my broken heart.

My phone is almost dead, "Can I call my wife before you stop my heart and jump start it again?"

I need a phone charger.

Plucky opens her fishing tackle box of night-night drugs on a table next to me.  "I'm going to be giving you propofol."

Isn't propofol the same stuff Michael Jackson's doctor overdosed him with?  Michael Jackson took the big sleep on that stuff.  I hope I wake up. 

I hope you're good at math Plucky. 

15% battery life...

The blood pressure cuff squeezes my arm.

Seven minutes.

A nurse horses in a defribillator.  I sit in detached wonder as she places a patch on my chest and another on my back.  Is this really happening?  A guy in scrubs walks in, "Is your blood pressure usually this high?"  I reply, "No, but then it isn't every day that somebody says, 'We're gonna stop your heart for a second and then restart it by shocking it.  It usually works.'"

So there's your answer.

Six minutes.

My fingers stumble across the keypad of my phone, dialing my wife's number.  Please answer.  What if this is the last time I talk to her?  What do I say?  The kids are at school, will I see them again?  She answers, I try to explain what the doctors have planned for me.  

She cries.  

The cardiologist walks in holding a cup of coffee, his medical student in tow.  The student is listening too eagerly for my liking.   

My wife doesn't want to understand what I am saying so I try to explain again.

Please don't cry.  

It's not working. 

I hand the phone to the cardiologist so he can explain in cool doctor-speak.

My battery is going to die.

Five minutes.

This should work; right?  What could possibly go wrong?
  
My car is such a mess, how embarrassing.  Everything that I worked so hard to achieve, nothing matters except what happens right now.

A moment has never seemed so real.   

Plucky cleans the IV port in my arm. 

My son has a football game today.  I wonder if I'll get to see it.   My daughter sleeps with her soccer ball.

I take a deep breath and savor it. Be here now. Everything before and after is just a story.   

Four minutes.

A clipboard and pen are thrust in my face by another doctor who is trying not to spill his coffee as he parts the crowd around me.  "This says that you consent to the procedure.  I need you to sign in a few places."  Turning the page, "This one says that you understand the risk of the procedure, including death."

Nice.  

I sign the pages.  I sign all control of my life away.

More nurses and doctors walk in and surround my bed.  As a rule, eye contact is avoided, but when it is made I get the requisite look of sympathy.

The heart monitor beeps erratically, and the blood pressure cuff squeezes tight again. 

None of these people know me.  I could die in the company of complete strangers as the one person who cares most about me is driving in a panic to get here.  If I do die, I know how it will go, "It was such a bummer.  We had a 42 year-old male who died today when we attempted a cardioversion.  Sucks for him."

I'm just a 42 year-old male.  I'm a problem.  Every doctor that walks in the room sees me as a 42 year-old male with an acute medical problem.  I'm a statistic.  I have no name or personality.  

The doctor hands me the phone.  He hung up with my wife.  

I didn't get to say goodbye.

This wasn't long enough.

I wanted to say goodbye.

Dread.

Three minutes.

"His blood pressure and heart rate are going up," a disembodied voice says.  "We need to get this thing going."

Plucky asks, "Are you doing okay?"

The cracking of my voice betrays me.  I croak, "Yeah."

Peter Brady.

Keep it together.

A nurse lays me flat.  The light above me is entirely too bright.

Plucky says, "We're going to give you some oxygen."

I hold the mask to my face.

I say, "Why do they give you oxygen when your plane is about to crash?  Because oxygen gets you high," and chuckle at my contrarianism.

Nobody gets the reference.  As usual, my brilliant sense of humor is evident only to me.  

I breathe deeply from the oxygen mask.  What if I wake up and I'm somewhere else.  What if I'm nowhere at all?

Two minutes.

Be here now.  Everything before and after is just a story.  

The kids were asleep when I left this morning.  What was the last thing I said to them?  

What will I be remembered for?  What did I accomplish?

Have I been a good father?

This can't happen to me.  

Everybody that this happens to thinks it can't happen to them.  Then it happens to them.  So much for immortality.

I am always in control.  I fix things.

Everything is fine.

Breathe.

Plucky says, "The propofol is going to make your arm burn a little when I give it to you."

"What time is it?" I ask.

It's time to go to sleep.  I hope it's not the big sleep.

The syringe enters the port.  

One minute.

What if I wake up to nothing?

I don't feel anything except regret.

I take a deep breath and savor it.

I say to no one in particular, "My arm is starting to burn..."

Oblivion.

Heart

By Mark vonAppen

What do you believe in?  Do you believe everything you are told?  Do you always do exactly what you're supposed to?  I believe leadership is a two way street.  Do you believe in that?

What motivates you?  Is it the promise of moving up in the world and the status that supposedly accompanies it?  What if I told you that getting to the top by any means other than hard work won't garner the respect of your peers?  What if I told you I'm not exactly like everybody else? 

I won't follow anybody just because somebody tells me to.  Never have, never will.  I make up my mind about who to follow based on the character they demonstrate.  I believe in character, not characters.   I won't follow somebody just because they wear a badge of higher rank or hold down a position that wasn't earned the hard way.  I might obey, but I won't follow.  I am not so blinded by positions of power that I validate and give respect to all who claim it.  You shouldn't either.

What motivates me?

  "I am amazed at honesty's ability to cause people to deny, become enraged, or be a catalyst for change."

The level of honesty that is required of a leader is what motivates me.  A leader can  identify weaknesses, need, even point out (unpleasant) reality in order to help others overcome them without causing resentment.  Honesty builds trust.  By making those you teach face reality you help them build character.  The type of person who derives power from intimidation, empty promises, and inconsistent policies will never truly lead effectively.  One who is a mentor must encourage the mentee to ask good questions of those in charge, make no excuses for passion, and tell the truth about their performance and experiences so that they will grow.  A leader with heart tells the truth.

How do you build character?

• Ask good questions 
• Make no excuses for passion 
• Tell no lies about performance

What do you believe in?  Authority and dogma, or honesty and respect?  Fame, titles, wealth, or authority have never impressed me and they shouldn't impress you.  A body of honest, quality work commands respect.  I am awed by the power of honesty and integrity.  We all should be.  I am amazed at honesty's ability to cause people to deny, become enraged, or be a catalyst for change.

Whether someone likes you or not is immaterial.  Whether they respect you is not.  Respect is earned through consistently fair actions and built through trust.  Respect is built on character.  When you teach someone something learned through the lessons of your life it isn't you who is doing the teaching, it is your experience.  Some people believe that one person can't make a difference, but that's a big lie.  One person with passion is all it takes to make a difference.

What if I asked you where your heart is?  Could you tell me?  Would you have the courage that it takes to tell the truth?

We Do That

By Mark vonAppen

If you ask any fire service brother or sister what our job entails, most of us would reply, “How much time have you got?”  Our craft is an all encompassing, all risk profession in which we respond to about everything anyone can possibly think of. 

Fires?  We do that.
Medical emergencies?  We do that.

Car wrecks?  We do that.

Cat up a tree?  We do that.
Flooded basement?  We do that.

The list goes on, and on, for eternity.  If you can think of it, we’ve either done it, or we've been asked to do it by someone, somewhere, at some time.  We truly do it all and we have to celebrate the diversity of our profession.

“We do that” is rooted in a belief in service before self, treating everyone with respect, and working through adversity.

“We do that” comes from us.  It is ours, and it is a current that runs from the bottom to the top of our industry.  It is more than a mantra, it is our way, and it truly embodies who we are.  “We do that” was born from bearing witness to, and being a part of a group of brothers and sisters who are driven by a spirit of innovation and a desire to be part of something that is bigger than any one of us.  “We do that” is our collective soul. 

We make a difference in people's lives with every interaction, not only when the bell hits.  We have the opportunity to leave our fingerprint on every person we meet, whether customers or co-workers, as we share our passion for the craft.  “We do that” is rooted in a belief in service before self, treating everyone with respect, and working through adversity.

A select few people in the world have the privilege of  helping people on the worst day of their lives. 

We do that.

We are fire service brothers and sisters.  Do we make a difference in people's lives?  

Yes, we do that. 

  

Latch Key Kids

By Mark vonAppen

If you're from a generation raised on your own, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.  

Our adolescence looked like this:

We had two working parents, if they were even still together, and a front door key shoe-laced around our neck.  We'd let ourselves in the house after school, turn on MTV, and fend for ourselves until someone came home after dark with take out and bellowed, "Dinner!"  Meals were spent with the TV perched atop the table and scant, absent-minded conversations regarding a day nobody really cared about.  "How was your day Jimmy?"  The answer, "I'm so bored I could scream and I don't think anybody cares about me."

"That's nice dear."

We'd go through the motions, making nice until the nightly ritual was over, retreating to our tiny boxes and taking refuge with the flickering light of our surrogate while mom and dad self-medicated to remain numb to the monotony.  On my own, that's where I'm most comfortable, leave me alone with my stuff, it's easier than dealing with reality.  Annual family portraits did nothing to betray the lie we lived.  White shirts, blue jeans, and big smiles.  

Perfect.

Our belief system is based upon everyone and everything that ever walked away from us. We have it backwards because of who we were brought up to be, always seeking to please someone who isn't and never was there.  Loneliness, boredom, and fear became our friends.  Unspent energy led us to act out, cave in to peer pressure, and blame our problems on everybody else.

If you blame your upbringing for your problems, then quit. Let go of it all.

Mom and dad, the center of our universe as latch key kids, left us alone and we had to face the possibility that they were never coming back.  This was not the worst thing in the world; we had the run of the place and the possibilities were limited only by imagination.  Now, we've grown up and moved down the road, but still there is no support system.   

When we let ourselves inside the door of fire service, we discover over time that the organization, our new, but nonetheless drunk custodians, has left us and now we are latch-key kids of the craft.  We are the forgotten generation, left to fend for ourselves with low bid equipment, no oversight, no training budget, vanishing pensions, and organizations that have all but walked away from everything that makes them what they are, the people.  As the organization plummets toward oblivion with catchy slogans, bloated mission statements, and new patches, we discover that they abandoned us and it pisses us off.  We can either sit around and blame everyone else for all of our problems or we can make something of ourselves.  We can take control.  We must find a new hope that can only be realized when you let go.  Salvation can only be achieved through surrender.  Give up, help isn't coming and nobody cares.  Give up on the notion that someone else will rescue you and accept your situation. 

"Excuses only work for those who make them.  If you don’t take ownership of your career it will pass you by and end up owning you."






Let go.  




Think I'm nuts?  Okay...




We must stop looking to external sources for validation, salvation, redemption, whatever you call it.  We have to stop blaming others for our shortcomings, wishing for some parental figure to validate who we are, and tell us it's going to be ok.  There is no hero, and maybe nobody likes you.  Who cares?  It won't be ok until you accept that.  We must find the inner strength to reject the establishment and find it in ourselves to go on.  We have to do it on our own.  

This whole thing is bigger than us, and quitting is not who we are.  Give up if you're blaming others.  Look around the house and see who's there with you.  There are a lot of brothers and sisters who share your burden.  We are the latch key kids of the fire service, with no direction or leadership.  You must surrender to the notion that no one can do it but you, but you must not surrender to apathy.  There is a lot of freedom in "The Latch Key FD."   Being abandoned can create self-reliance, the ability to adapt, and a desire to contribute needs within the family.  Nobody is home to tell you that you can't reach for greatness, nobody is home to crush your dreams.  

    

It is only through a belief in the value of people that we can see any of this through.  We do it by believing in our big four, do your job, treat people right, go all out, and be all in.  We are in the people business and our people matter.  If latch key kids are what we are, then we will raise ourselves in a manner that is consistent with our core values.  We know what they are, we live by them, and they belong to us, not to the ones who left us all alone.  It's bigger than the fire service.  These virtues are transcendent.  

Anger is better than indifference.  If people are angry with you because of your passion for the job and family, then so be it.  Hate me for who I am, don't love me for who I'm not.  A corporate mentality has snuck in the back door of the fire service, eroding our family values and making things more valuable than people.  We have to bring family back.  We can't sit around and wait for it to happen.  We have to make our own opportunities.  The stakes are too high for us to give up on ourselves.  

Stop asking why somebody isn't here to fix it and do it yourself.  






For those who don't wait: BB, CB, CO, DM, GL, TR, and Captain David Heath (NHCFD).

Bones

By Mark vonAppen

I am quick to anger, motivated by passion, I have my principles and there have been many times when I have been tempted to ring out from being monumentally frustrated and exhausted from jumping through hoops and over hurdles.  The greatest source of my frustration is watching talent and motivation squandered.  I hate to see broken bones.  I don't know what the keys to success are necessarily, but I know the quickest route to failure is trying to please everyone, or trying to punish everyone.  Call me old fashioned, but I suppose I'm a victim of who I was as a kid, back before the age of instant gratification and Jack Ass Nation, back when people mattered.  I believe in service before self, and I also believe that some of us have lost sight of how to treat one another.  

Sometimes we break our own bones. 

I know that we have to play to our strengths and our strength lies in our people.  We don’t need our 15 minutes, we need sustained effort towards excellence, because it’s everyone’s responsibility.  In order to get to where we need to go we have to create a culture of belief.  So many organizations get it entirely wrong, change the patch, create a hollow mission statement, issue forth dogma, and rule through intimidation.  Those tasked with leadership must remember that strength comes from their people.  People are the bones of any organization.

"Show them what you have in your soul after stress has stripped everything away.  Show them strength."

The bitter reality is this, you're only as valuable as your last performance and people have short memories.  Some are constantly seeking to improve their own standing and as harsh as it sounds, they'll do most anything, including walking on others backs in order to get there.  Organizations that sustain success keep their core group of contributors united in cause, acknowledging their accomplishments, recognizing that the key to success are strong bones, strong firehouse leadership, and core chemistry.  Strong core leadership ensures that the role players fall in step and comply with the program.  Without strong leadership in the firehouse the new faces, young, impressionable rookies, can easily seek a lower level.  A house divided cannot stand - that's what they say anyway.

As leaders at any level, we must never quit.  In the same breath, I'll tell you that we must know when to quit.  We must remember that proving we are right and proving someone else wrong are bad reasons to continue a fight.  The best reasons to push forward when things are rough are your bones, the people, sound principles, and strong beliefs that are people driven. 

How do you rise above it?  Remember that it's a game; you can beat them at it.  Push harder, stiffen your resolve, and maintain your composure.  Show them what you have in your soul after stress has stripped everything away.  Show them strength.

Treat people right and they'll walk through fire for you.

Running on Empty

By Mark vonAppen

I've heard it way too often lately, “Dude, I'm out.”

I have been there too and done it all; believe me.   I have played nice, played hardball, caused a big stir, and walked away from everything more than a few times. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time, start all over somehow and get it right from the start.  It's too late to go back now, but over 40 years of living through mistakes, some of them on an epic scale, has taught me a few things.  One of the biggest things that I have had to learn to do is allow time to celebrate victories, no matter how small.  Celebrating success is a key survival technique and it works whether you are adrift on the ocean or foundering in a rudderless organization, but you have come to the realization before you're completely out of gas.

Too often I see my brothers and sisters in the fire service throw their hands up in surrender and cry, “Uncle!” as their organizational frustration reaches its zenith.  The courage and perseverance that it takes to drive positive change and influence a cultural shift is much less spectacular than the story of one who quits in a fit of passion.  I have been there, ready to quit, many times myself.  I had no place to be other than where I was at the moment, yet I always wondered where I was going, I always sought a better answer, and I couldn’t settle for the status quo.  Like me or not, I push, constantly look ahead, and ask, “What’s next?”  I have experienced a lot of setbacks and heartburn along the way.  I subscribed to the notion that you have to burn some bridges in order to light the way for change and I wasn't always successful in my approach.

"The courage and perseverance that it takes to drive positive change and influence a cultural shift is much less spectacular than the story of one who quits in a fit of passion."

I began working and pushing to the exclusion of everything else.  I began to equate success or failure in my professional life with who I was, taking every perceived slight - no matter how small - as a personal assault on my character.  Part of the make up of people like us is that we are ultra-competitive and we cannot tolerate losing.  When we are not successful, either individually or collectively, we take it very personally.  All of this self-imposed pressure can add up and we lose sight of the many small victories that add up to bigger, more widespread successes.  If you don’t give yourself credit for the good that you do, focusing only on defeat, then there are no points for winning and the emotional toll will be devastating.

Preventing burnout:

·      Don’t become an island: Have a trusted group of peers to confide in; keep open lines of communication with mentors.  Chances are one of your friends or mentors has been through the same challenging circumstances and can offer guidance during trying times.

·      Delegate responsibility:  If you’ve been leading right (allowing your people to lead from anywhere), you have built the mechanism to step away when you need to.  If you have talented and prepared people around you allow them to shoulder some of your burden, it will keep you from being overloaded.

·      Don’t let setbacks define you: Don’t let what you weren’t able to get done overshadow what you were able to accomplish.  My competitive nature has made this a difficult one for me.  When faced with organizational roadblocks, put your head down and continue to work at finding a positive solution.  If you can’t find one, seek answers from outside of your organization and drive change from the outside in. 

It is far too easy to dwell on the negative and wrap yourself in a cocoon of self-pity.  Sometimes you have to walk away to see if anyone will notice.  If the noise you were making is truly for the good of the organization they will notice how quiet it is and come looking for you to ask for your help.  If you do decide to walk away, rest assured that the machine will continue to function without your contributions, you must be prepared for that.  

There is a difference between compromise and being compromised. Compromise is an agreement or a settlement of a dispute by two sides making concessions. Compromised is to weaken a reputation or principle by accepting standards that are lower than what is considered acceptable. It is possible to compromise on an issue without compromising your principles. 

Change what you can change and put the rest aside in the short term.  The big battles will still be there when you get back, better to chip away at them over time than to try to break off a large piece all at once.  The burden you bear will lessen, and your river of personal pessimism will recede because you will witness the positive fruits of your labor in the development of others around you.  

Don’t ever apologize for being who you are, every organization needs a jackhammer or two to shatter the mold of complacency and shift the sands of the intended shore.  The people that matter will know who gets the most done.  When you see your brothers and sisters performing at a high level in concert with one another, that's when you know you’re winning.  The time to give yourself credit for small wins is before you're running on empty.

Flow Path

By Mark vonAppen

All of my life I have been known as a bit of a trouble maker.  I have pushed limits and challenged authority.  In the process, I have trampled a path that few have chosen to follow.  Sometimes it's a lonely place.  I feel like I have no home, I find my place where I ramble. 

The limit pushing and challenging of authority continued after my appointment as a career firefighter.  Until recently, I struggled with this identity, pushing forward and standing in front with a huge bulls eye on my back only to have the organization punch me repeatedly in the face.  I began walking the fence as I tried to be a crowd pleaser, attempting to appeal to everyone.  In doing so, I have felt reined in, put in a box, metaphorically bound and gagged (my emails are still screened).  I felt average and frustrated.  I was out of the flow path.

No more.  So here it comes.

Respect is far more important than approval.  I start trouble over matters of principle, not in a sophomorish attempt at capturing the spotlight.  I have never stirred up trouble simply for trouble's sake.  I am outspoken on issues that I am passionate about, usually regarding education in the fire service, high standards of performance, and treating people right.  On these issues I will not waiver, my standards will not be compromised.  If that alienates some, so be it.  If you agree with what I say, but not how I said it, so be it.  If you don't like me, so be it.  I own it.

"I am outspoken on issues that I am passionate about, usually regarding high standards of performance and treating people right.  If you don't like me, so be it.  I own it.  Respect is far more important than approval." 

I have learned a couple of things over the years.  One: Educated and aggressive beats timid and uninformed any day of the week.  Two: We tell the same stories again and again, repeatedly proclaiming the same tired, flawed tactics should have worked, that they will work next time, and the text book is the be-all-end-all.  They won't, and it's not.  Three: Even if you are speaking the truth, most people don't want to hear it, it makes them uncomfortable.  They're usually mad at themselves for who they are, not for who you are.  Four:  Even if you work your ass off you don't always win.   Five: Quick change happens slowly.  Positive change shows itself when you least expect it and need a lift the most.  

Comfort zones are for people whose jobs are predictable, they are safe and cozy for having them.  Our job is neither safe nor predictable so personal comfort levels must be pushed and the boat must be rocked.   Occasionally, people have to be dumped out of the boat in order to learn if they will sink or swim when on their own.  Finding a way to get comfortable being uncomfortable is the only way we can successfully navigate the fireground, a place where consequences are immediate, unforgiving, and sometimes irreversible.  This isn't a game, and it's not cool to be stupid.  We can't have scared, stupid firefighters.  

What's cool?  Learning.
What's cool?  Coaching.
What's cool?  Leading.

If you lead you're automatically a target. Being in the flow path is a dangerous business.  Often you find yourself on your own.  I've learned a lot of things the hard way, making a lot of mistakes because I put myself out there.  Change is occurring, I can see it.  In order to continue, change requires those who push.  Sometimes it might seem like you have no shot at winning, but you'll never know unless you try.   

I am proud of what all of us have been creating through this movement of, "We'll do it on our own together."  I will continue to push and I will continue to grow.  This thing is fully involved and I'm standing directly in the flow path; who's with me?

Why do we start trouble?  Because somebody has to and there is a lot more work to be done.