The 9-1-1 Call You Never Really Are Ready For

You're about 3.5 hours removed from intervention.  Your eyes are bloodshot.  Your head bobs pretty hard.  Mostly you're thinking about not how comfortable sleep will be when you get the chance, but that it's finally going to be a break from the hustle and flow.  Mentally, you also realize something.

The next few days are going to hurt.

You're Pastor is preaching a usually decent sermon, life in the wilderness.  Loving Jesus, means sometimes answering the trumpet call of battle... or something like that.  Mostly you think "I should probably listen to this later this week."  You seem distant.  People in your community/ family of faith take offense to your behavior.  You blow them off.  Then they whine "What's going on?  Are you okay?"  You're not affectionate.  You're not encouraging. You're not anything resembling decent.  In fact you didn't even have time to clean up after the incident.  This is the best two hours of your life every week, and everyone probably thinks you're a jerk.  I wasn't sweating them though.  That communion is what I'd drag myself to the pew for any day. I confess and repent.  I sing to keep my spirit up.  I confess again.  Life in the wilderness.

You don't even want to mention you may have helped save someone's life hours earlier.

It's hard.  Because that person intended to end it themselves, and you intervened.  And that's not a good feeling.  Check it.  I had just the week earlier, had to call the EMS to help this gentleman with another medical emergency.  Naturally I wanted to check in and make sure he was okay.  Medications, good spirits, some sort of plan of attack.  Boy was I ignorant.  I was happy to see him.  So when the time came, I just happened to look over at him and ask "Hey, you doing anything today?" My demeanor intentional in hoping to make him smile a bit.

The pale and less than responsive posture is what really got my attention.  He signaled for me to come into his space, and then he confessed, that an intentional overdose would be the thing he wished to accomplish that day.  My question answered.  My heart sunk.

I remember being agitated with the emergency dispatcher because I couldn't hear her.  She was trying to use a head set and it felt like we were a continent apart.  I struggled with the saying the words ". . . with-the-intention-of-ending-his-life."

That was the hardest part of the situation.  Giving his action validation.  He's fine.  Still alive.  Lonely and shamed out I suppose.  But there are somethings I can't explain, but am glad happened.

*The closeness I felt, the trust this guy had.

* The vulnerability.  That was the miracle.  Had I chosen to make the decision to not look over and observe for more than the 4 seconds I did.  Who knows what would have happened if he'd walked out the door.  A few seconds of your consideration can go a long way.

* The Spirit.  I know this sounds hokey as all get up, but I was trying to cheer the dude up, and well he let me know what was really going on.

* Amazing co-workers.  Those guys are studs and worked through it with such professionalism and class.  There was a moment when I had nothing to say and my co-worker made the kind of small talk where it was literally a matter of life and death.

*  The Emergency Medical Service and their diligence.

The biggest thing is I'm grateful I wanted to drag my sorry self the next day and keep on keeping on.