Let’s tell a story.
I’m working my 24 hr (work 24 hours, off 48 hours) duty. It’s 1100 and I just finished morning lecture (equipment drill and familiarisation) in the engine bay of my fire station. It’s a Saturday so our rota (platoon-ish) orders nasi lemak. Coding comes in over the loudspeaker and we turn out to a case of locked door, suspected DOA (decomposing body). Traffic doesn’t give way to our LF (red rhino), as per usual (smh). We arrive at the HDB unit and instantly we smell the dead body. The knowledge of smell will come with experience. The niece, who called 995, asks me if her uncle will be ok. I already know the body is decomposing but I reply “We’re unsure, but we’ll try our best”. I lie to her face. My pump operator (PO, and the only regular in the crew) looks at me and grimaces. We’ve been in this situation together many times before. We easily break the door and the smell intensifies. I go in first, followed by the ambulance (alpha) paramedic. We find the body on the bed in the master bedroom. The paramedic tells me, “About two weeks”. The body is severely bloated, skin green and black. The face is unrecognizable as it has bloated too much. Bile attempts to escape from between the discolored lips creating bubbles. The smell is sweet but rotten and my fireman gags. I get the relevant information I need and step out for a breather. The niece looks at me and asks what is going on. I look at her and I know she knows he’s dead. “You uncle… has passed away”. I turn away to avoid the emotions. Emotions are killers in this line of work.
We get back in time for nasi lemak lunch. The chicken is a bit soggy this week. The smell of rotten flesh lingers in my nostrils. I watch the Malay romantic drama that my enciks chose on the TV. It’s ok, the girl is cute.
Before dinner we get another call – unit fire confirm case. We race there and reach before the fire engine (pumper). They’re caught in traffic and will take another few minutes. Two firefighters and I proceed to the unit. Instantly the thick black smoke chokes my throat and waters my eyes. I struggle with my breathing cylinder because the air hose delivery tool is stuck between my backplate and my back. I say fuck it, neighbours are already screaming for us to hurry. The pressure escalates but I close myself off from the members of public, just like normal. We all focus. The only things I listen to are my matra (radio) and my fireman. I just wear my facemask for minimal protection and crawl in. The fire is well alight on the stove and I shoot at it. The smoke limits my visibility to 0, I now can’t see my fingers as I stretch out my arm. I crawl back out and get stuck on a fallen wire. I panic as I think of my family. Emotions are dangerous. A fire biker crawls in and frees me. We step out and I tell the crew the fire is almost finished but our CAF backpacks are finished (water foam sprayers). I send the firefighters down to set up water supply from hydrant and crawl back in with the firebiker. The smoke makes it feel like someone just threw hot ash down my throat. We extinguish the fire using an ass-washing hose from the kitchen toilet. I am coughing badly but he sprays my face with the hose. The kitchen is badly burnt. I can feel the smoke damage in my lungs. The owner and neighbours pat me on the back and thank me for saving their home as I walk out. I smile but I know I took another step closer to death.
We get back at 2200 and order McDonalds. It is the best Double McSpicy I’ve eaten in a while.
At lunch the next day my friend (SAF LTA) tells me how stressful being an instructor at SAFTI has been recently. I remember as my cylinder got trapped on the fallen wire, and how I thought of my family in those few struggling seconds. I nod my head and grunt. ” SAF has it tough with JCC and everything huh?” I joke. He agrees enthusiastically.
All in a day’s work for the NSFs in SPF/SCDF. If we fail, someone dies from our direct actions. Welcome to NS. No second chances or semula. Just death. I wish the public knew the risks that some NSFs take each day. We might not be as fit as NDU or as garang as commandos, but we put our lives on the line literally every day.
As an NSF I can say I have saved many lives, fought many fires and contributed to Singapore. No play acting or training for a war that will never happen (though I understand the incredible need for an armed military). I love my job, I love NS and wouldn’t trade it for anything else (maybe an EMT vocation).
I am still amazed that many members of public still associate NS with army. I wish people would know. There’s no greater feeling in this world than knowing some uncle I helped rescue on my first duty at 0200 will live to eat his favourite mee pok or talk cock with his kakis because of my direct actions. Pride and care right?
At least I get paid $1400 a month (;
UPDATE: Thanks for overwhelming suppourt. If I knew how big this would get I would have proofread my writing more ? (some might say it spread like fire in dry grass during lalang season). I would tell more stories but I know that it would compromise my anonymity so I’ll just shut my mouth, and unfortunately since this is a throw away you guys probably won’t be hearing from me again.
What were my goals for this post?
- To bring awareness to the nature and extent of NSF work in SCDF.
- To just get some words off my chest.
This post was NOT meant to:
- Bash SAF. I know the importance of a trained military (I believe I addressed this point in my initial post). If we didn’t have the National Service Scheme, invading Singapore as Indonesia or Malaysia would be easy af.
- Over-dramatise our work. I tried my hardest to write from a neutral stand point and deliver facts about incidents as cold, hard, and true as the Ben&Jerrys ice cream in my freezer however what we do on a daily sometimes makes me ask “Am I in a Michael Bay film?”. It happens to the best of us.
If you were offended, I apologise. My intentions were merely to raise awareness for the often overlooked and under-praised “little brother” NSFs in SCDF/SPF. So many of our kind deserve recognition for what they deal with.
One last short bit before signing off.
EMTs (medical assistants in ambulances) have some of the roughest calls out there, no contest. I was having dinner with my buddy from BRT who later became an EMT at a high volume station when he dropped Fat Man 2.0 on me. Traditionally he and I have always been tuned to similar wavelengths as the chaos-utopia nature of our jobs is only shared between a select few.
He’s an NSF like me — 18-22, male, horny. As per the norm we were sharing gossip about events or big incidents in the Force, latest happenings and where that one cute paramedic at 33 is now. We were just digging in to our chow when he told me “I had a casualty die in my hands for the first time”.
According to him it’s not common for that to happen. I nod my head as I spool my pasta. It’s has a thick green sauce and I can’t help but think of my last DOA. I throw the idea out of my mind. Work is work, recreation is recreation. Usually when EMS arrives the casualty has a high chance of surviving, albeit sometimes with long lasting or even permanent injuries, or the casualty is dead. “Case of fall from height. The skull was completely smashed,” he told me between mouthfuls of food, “I had the guy in a head grip but the harder I held his skull, the more my fingers just… pressed into his brain. There was no structural integrity left in the skull.” We continued eating, he had told me of a similar case before. It wasn’t new news to either of us. The pasta burns my tongue and I sip on my lemon tea. Too sweet. “Then he just stopped breathing. CPR AED didn’t work.” It was the first time witnessing the transition from alive to dead. They couldn’t resuscitate. We paid the bill and started chitchatting about soccer on the way to the MRT. It was one of eight calls on his 8 hour duty. The food place was way too expensive and I made a mental note to never go back (unless I’m with my parents). Who charges $5 for ice lemon tea? Christ.
There are many duties where I don’t get a call the whole 24 hours. If it’s a busy day we’ll get 3-4. 3-4 for him is a light day. Alpha (ambulance) guys really get it the hardest.
If you know someone who has a similar job, just listen to what they have to say. It’s not easy for everyone to transition from seeing a broken family outside a unit containing a dead body to eating breakfast with their fam at their favourite prata house while being all happy smiley. We all get desensitised to death and risking everything but desensitisation doesn’t mean it doesn’t take a mental toll on our minds and well-being. We don’t admit it because it’s not garang, but everyone needs to get their thoughts off their chest every once in a while. You can help them by lending a ear (or a hug).
Source: www.reddit.com
