Confessions of a Claustrophobe

This is a story of a little girl who would freak when her sister climbed in behind her into a snow igloo (which she and her sister had built), because there was only one opening and with her sister in the opening, she felt trapped (never mind that she could have stood up at any point and broken through the roof of said igloo). Fast-forward 30 years. That little girl, now a grown woman, has never overcome that fear of tight spaces, but she wants to be a firefighter.

Last week's fire school classes made me face these fears to a degree that I have never had to before. After completing (and I use completing in the loosest possible way) the air consumption test, we had a bit of a break, and then it was onto the maze. I knew I was dreading it, but really didn't know exactly what it was I was dreading. It turned out to be so much worse than I had imagined.

So, let me back-track for a minute. The week leading up to the air consumption test was very stressful for me because I had a track record of freaking out when "on air."  I don't enjoy breathing air that comes out of a cylinder (yes, I SCUBA dive, and I realize there is a disconnect here, but what can I say? It's a woman's prerogative to be inexplicable).  I was not sure I would be able to go through the test without hyperventilating and then tearing off my mask in a mad frenzy. For several nights that week, I woke up multiple times to heart-racing panic attacks. I knew what was causing them, but I could not get my unreasonable fears under control.

I did make it through the consumption test without hyperventilating (very thankful for that). Every claustrophobe has their own way of dealing with the discomfort - singing, humming, thinking of something pleasant. For me, it's focusing entirely on the task at hand. The more concentration a task takes, the easier it is for me to "forget" that I am on air. Climbing the stairs is the worst because it takes almost no concentration. Conversely, raising the fly on the extension ladder is great because it takes ever ounce of my concentration.

A little later, staring into the low, narrow hallway that begins the maze, I froze. My heart was racing, my breathing was far from under control, and the terror of being accidently locked in my dark bedroom closet as a child returned with more force than I could have imagined. I could NOT make myself go any farther into that shipping container. Thankfully, one of the instructors had mercy on me and allowed me to take the mask off and go through it like that. There were still moments when I felt irrationally scared (usually when I got stuck), but I was able to continue on until I made it to the end and back out into the sunlight. I will have to do it again at some point - on air - but that is a fear to face another day.

Since then, I have had nightmares every night, and every night it's the same two nightmares. One is where I am in a coffin, buried alive. The other is right out of a WWII movie... I am escaping a POW camp through a small tunnel.. there are guys in front of me and guys behind and I am stuck in this tiny little tunnel. The panic attack that ensues wakes me before the dream is able to come to a natural end, and I am left lying there in bed, shaking with adrenaline coursing through my body, trying to calm myself and go back to sleep.

Now, you may be wondering why I continue down this path when it seems that this is NOT the hobby for me. But the truth is, this confined space rescue stuff is such a small part of fire fighting, and I LOVE the fire service. I have been a probationary fire fighter for approximately 9 months and count down the days between duty crew assignments. As this point, not making it through fire school would be the most depressing thing that could happen to me. I am determined to face down my fears and finish what I've started!

The Making of a Female Firefighter Pt. II

Fire School

In my county, fire school is offered twice a year for the volunteers - one class in the Spring and one in the Fall. I just started the Fall class a couple of weeks ago. There are 24 of us in the class; 21 men and 3 women. The academic side seems pretty easy. A lot of it is self-explanatory and only requires some common sense (and a cursory reading of the text book). The physical side, however, is a whole other story. This is where being a female has its disadvantages. I am not saying women can't do it. We absolutely can, but we have to work at some things a bit harder than our male counterparts. Men naturally have more upper body strength than women, which means I have a LOT of working out to do to try to catch up.

We went through the physical agility test, which is the test career firefighters have to do to even be eligible to apply for a job. On paper, it sounded like a piece of cake, but actually going through it was much harder than I was expecting. The fact that I hadn't had time to eat breakfast that morning because I was coming straight from duty crew probably did not help. I passed (if anyone was wondering), but not with the time I was hoping for.

The Physical Agility Test

Time to pass: 12 minutes

The participant wears a 50 lbs. vest throughout the test, along with a helmet and utility gloves.

1. Walk up and down three flights of stairs three times (or the equivalent of a nine story building) with an additional 25 lbs. attached to the weight vest, which are removed when you get to the top of the stairs on the third time up.

2. Pull a section of coiled hose (I was told it weighed approx. 40 lbs.) up to the third story, hand-over-hand; let it down the same way (descend the stairs for the last time).

3. Drag an unrolled large diameter hose across the length of the bay (approx. 25 yds.); kneel down and pull the hose to yourself until you get to the first coupling.

4. Pick up a 16' ladder, carry it across the bay (approx. 25 yds.) and lay it down.

5. Swing a sledge hammer over your head and strike a plank covered in fire hose 20 times.

6. Crawl through the maze (it's dark - impossible to see anything in there)

7. Pick up a 22 lbs."pike pole," extending arms fully up and then down 20 times

8. Drag a 165 lbs. dummy from its straps approx. 15 yds., around a barrel and back again.

All of that must be completed in under 12 minutes.

Onto the next obstacle: the air consumption test. If I pass it, I'll tell you all about it.  ;-)

The Making of a Female Firefighter

This is not a single post, encapsulating the story in its entirety. Rather, this is the first of many such posts to come. Today I will give you a short history of my journey into the fire service. In the coming weeks, I will describe fire school and its adventures as I encounter them. If all goes well, this story - the one that ends with my becoming a full-fledged firefighter - will conclude in February 2016.

The Dream

At age three, I announced to my Mom that I was going to be a fireman when I grew up. She smiled and said "they are called fireMEN for a reason." I remember being disappointed by the response, but not dissuaded. While growing up, I dreamed up MANY careers I wanted to pursue, but whenever I went with Mom to vote at the nearby fire station or on Christmas Eve when "Santa" would ride all over town on one of the Engines, shouting ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!  I would look at the red gleaming apparatus and think, "I would love to be a firefighter."

The Reality

The years went by and I left for college. For the first time, I considered the viability of volunteering at the local fire dept. Overwhelmed with my studies and the responsibilities of being an RA on campus, I quickly dismissed the idea. After graduation, I moved to a new town and was preoccupied with the career I had chosen (or that had chosen me - that is a story for another day). Several years had passed by the time I heard an advertisement calling for volunteers to join the local fire dept. It got me thinking about it again, but I knew the timing wasn't right as I was planning for my second deployment. When I arrived back in the states, I heard another ad calling for volunteer firefighters, but I was living in a hotel and prepping for deployment number three. After that, I got married, moved a couple of times, and finally arrived at a stable point in my life (the most stable since I left home for college). My husband and I actually bought a house and I felt anchored to a place for the first time in my adult life. Within the week, I began googling volunteer fire departments in my county. I quickly learned there was one right down the street from our little townhouse. It took me several months to actually attend the information session they hold once a month, but when I did I went with completed paperwork in hand. I had decided I was going to do this.

The Process

I went to the County Sheriff's Office to get fingerprinted and then the waiting game began. I had no idea the process would be so slow (I realize it is different for every dept. and for each individual within those depts., but this was my experience). I waited from Halloween to New Year's before I heard anything back. I was accepted into the Company as a probationary member in January 2015. In February, I attended orientation classes. In March I took the required physical exam and was assigned to a crew. And that is when the fun started!

Now (The Probationary Period)

I have been with my crew for six months now. As a probationary firefighter, I play a supporting role, carrying tools, pulling hose, laying out traffic cones or flares - pretty much anything I can do to help the firefighters so that they can focus on the emergency at hand. I sleep at the firehouse one night per week, and wait for the calls to come in. Most nights are pretty quiet, but when the calls come in, the energy kicks into high gear. officers and the other firefighters have been teaching me everything I need to know to get through fire school.

Well, more on that at a future time. That is all for now. Till next time...

Je ne suis pas Charlie

Like many people, I didn't know anything of Charlie Hebdo prior to last week. I am sure I heard the name in passing, and probably saw some of their cartoon drawings at some point, but none of it was particularly memorable. After the terrorist attack on their office in Paris, I Googled their cartoons and was appalled by what I found. Anyone who knows me, can tell you that I am an incredibly sarcastic person. I like a good snarky comment, and have been known to enjoy an Onion or Duffle Blog article here and there. The Charlie Hebdo cartoons, however, were sacrilegious, offensive, and not at all amusing. Don't get me wrong - I am NOT condoning the terrorist attack. It is NEVER ok to kill someone because he is mocking you. And I do believe in freedom of speech. So, I do mourn with France in there loss - I mourn the deaths of their citizens. I mourn the loss of their innocence. Before now, they didn't know the enemy was within their borders, but now they do, and nothing can change that. September 11th did that to the US, allowing the average citizen to peek behind the curtain and see the darkness that some spend their lives hunting down. But unlike the millions of supporters with their Je suis Charlie signs, I am NOT Charlie. I do not agree with the things they publish, and hope to never treat the religion of another with such disrespect.

My First Attempt at Soapmaking

Over the course of the past year, I have developed a Pintrest addiction. Maybe some of you understand what I am talking about. There are just SO MANY great ideas for DIY projects and the like! I have tried many. some have failed (e.g. cutting wine bottles for use as drinking glasses), while others worked fabulously (e.g. the self-watering pot made from an empty 2 liter soda bottle). Well, my recent Pintrest-fueled obsession has been soap-making. There are so many recipes. And they look so pretty! I have been DYING to try it. After 5 months of talking about, thinking about it, and obtaining the items I would need to actual pull it off, I made my very first batch this past weekend. 

I looked at several lye calculators before I found the one I wanted to use and plugged in the types of oil I had purchased: Coconut Oil, Olive Oil, Shea Butter, and Sunflower Oil (except for the Shea Butter which I bought on Amazon.com, I purchased all oils at Wal-Mart). 

I read that more than 35% coconut oil can be drying; and too much olive oil makes a soft bar, so I tried to use both to even one another out. Then I added the shea butter for conditioning and some sunflower oil 'cause I had it.  I decided to start small and only use 16 oz. of oil total. You can see what my recipe looked like when I plugged it in:

 And here is what it looked like once I clicked on the view/print recipe:

This was what I used to know exactly what to measure out for each oil, and then how much water and lye I would need.

***Just a note on buying lye. I didn't want to pay the hazmat shipping fee, but Lowes, Home Depot, etc. in this area have stopped carrying 100% lye because of its darker uses (thank you, Breaking Bad, for teaching us such things). If you live in NoVA, the only store I found that still sells it is the Ace Hardware in Centerville. For those outside VA, I have been told Ace and True Value hardware stores are usually your best bet.

I measured each oil, beginning with the shea butter (that was the only one that needed to melt) and poured them into a pot on the stove, which I kept on "low" until the shea butter was completely dissolved (the oil heated to approx 120 degrees on the candy thermometer).

I made several mistakes in this first batch, which I will not try to hide from you. Mistake #1 was in adding the water to the lye, instead of the other way around (despite reading the cautions multiple time over). My only saving grace was that I made a small batch and used a large bowl, so despite the sizzling and smoking, the water/lye mixture didn't come anywhere near overflowing. I placed the sizzling bowl in a cold water bath (in the kitchen sink), and stirred the mixture until all the lye was dissolved.

Mistake #2 was not getting the temperature of the lye water before adding the oil. I didn't have any major problems with it, but it did take a LONG time to get to trace and I didn't know if it was because the lye water was too cold or if it was just because I had used so much olive oil in the recipe.

On the issue of tracing... after using the electric beater for 20 minutes, I began to think something was wrong. I let the blended oils/water/lye mixture sit for about 5 minutes while I read soap-making FAQs online concerning my trace issue. One recommendation was to add honey. I added approx 1 Tbs. honey, along with the essential oil (for scent) and beat it for another 10 minutes. It was still thinner than I would have liked (only because I was using a wax-paper-lined cardboard box as my mold), but I went with it anyway.

I wrapped the box in a towel and left it on the kitchen counter. 24 hours later, it was in the perfect state of hardness for cutting!

I cut the block into 6 equal rectangles and put them down in the basement to cure for the next 4-6 weeks. I will let you know how well they work (or don't work) in about a month. In the meantime, I am planning my next soap recipe... I'm thinking oatmeal honey chamomile... 

Restless

If I had to choose one word to describe myself, that would be it. I have always been restless. As a child I was always looking for adventure. In my early teen years I took to redecorating my room... every 6 months. As an adult, I've never stayed in any given career path for more than four years. I'm not sure what it is I am looking for exactly... meaning, significance, job satisfaction... all... and... none of those things.

The pastor was speaking yesterday of how the world looks for rest in all the wrong places because we can only truly find our rest in Christ. I agree with him, but even as Christians, it is still possible to feel that sense of restlessness. I really appreciate Switchfoot's song, fittingly titled "Restless." Here is the first verse:

I am the sea on a moonless night
Calling falling, slipping tides
I am the leaky, dripping pipes
The endless, aching drops of light
I am the raindrop falling down
Always longing for the deeper ground
I am the broken, breaking seas
Even my blood finds ways to bleed

I remember the first time I heard this song. It came on the radio on my way in to work. That last line, "even my blood finds ways to bleed" stuck with me for the rest of the day (I went home and bought the whole album that night). I felt like I could relate. Not only was I restless, but I was weary of my restlessness. I wanted to stop wanting to wander. Two years later, I can say that some of that has settled down a bit (I can thank my very stable husband for that), but there is still a sense in which I am still very much restless. Once again, I go back to the lyrics of that song for answers...

Until the sea of glass we meet
At last completed and complete
Where tide and tears and pain subside
And laughter drinks them dry

And there it is. Even as Christians, we will remain restless on this side of glory. We were made in His image, to spend eternity with Him, and until we can united with Him forever, restlessness tugs on our hearts, giving us that desire to go home.