#dispatch life

As dispatchers, we always joke that we have things we are going to do and say on our last day working as a dispatcher.  All those things you wish you could say to that snarky caller or the officer that thinks he is God.  I always imagined that I would have my own last day log and would hurl all my pent up frustration back at everyone on my last day.  Little did I know....

I am not a 911 dispatcher anymore.  As I type out that sentence my eyes are tearing up, but I am not.  I didn’t plan to not be a dispatcher anymore this soon.  I always knew I would move on to other things eventually, but eventually hadn’t came yet.  Sometimes things happen and they always don’t go as planned.  In short, I was called into a meeting with my director and assistant director to discuss an incident that occurred over 8 months ago.  I wasn’t in trouble.  I didn’t do anything wrong.  However, I was treated very poorly in the meeting, as all the employees are treated at the agency I worked for.  Afterwards, I walked out to my car to leave.  I got in.  Sat there for a few minutes.  Suddenly, I was hit with overwhelming feelings and emotions.  I began to sob uncontrollably in the parking lot.  And I knew.  I knew that I just couldn’t do it anymore.  I knew that I couldn’t take one more minute of being treated poorly by people who haven’t touched a radio in years.  I knew that I couldn’t take one more second of playing the political game that often comes with this job.  I knew that I couldn’t take one more moment of being miserable.  So I walked back in and resigned.   

I have dedicated over 9 years to the citizens of three different counties.  I gave them so many parts of myself.  My biggest fear is that I will never get those pieces of me back.  

There are so many things about this job that I will miss.  I love the job.  I love helping people and being able to control the chaos.  There will never be any kind of high close to what you can get from behind the console.  I will miss a lot of the people that I worked with.  Dispatchers are a rare breed.  They are good people and even if they hate you, they will always stand behind you as some sort of messed up family.  As much as I will miss, there will be just as much that I won’t miss.  

I won’t miss calls from little girls begging to come live with me while I can hear their fathers beating their mothers in the background.  

I won’t miss calls from daughters watching their parents burn in houses not knowing what else to say except “turn around.”

I won’t miss calls from mothers screaming into the phone because their babies aren’t breathing and not being able to save all of them.  

I won’t miss calls from fathers with guns who want to die, and listening to them pull the trigger while on the phone.  

I won’t miss calls from elderly wives who aren’t strong enough to do CPR on their husbands who aren’t breathing in the bed next to them.  

I won’t miss calls from teenagers who have wrecked with their friends in the car and one of them was ejected.  

I won’t miss mandatory on call or working all the holidays and weekends.  

I won’t miss being cussed at and chewed out for no reason. 

I won’t miss telling someone that they’ve called 911 not 411.

I won’t miss putting up with officers who are in bad moods.  

I won’t miss the backstabbing and the gossip that always goes on in centers.  

I won’t miss working for people who have no idea what goes on in the radio room.  

I won’t miss the effects dispatching has had on my health and my state of mind.