Good is a word we use [in] many ways in the fire service. A bad fire can be a “good” fire, or it could mean it was a good fire, in that it wasn’t “bad,” and everything went right.
The biggest compliment, I think, you can hear in the fire service is, “He’s/she’s a good firefighter.” There are firefighters who know the job. There are firefighters who know some jobs, and there are firefighters who are born for the job.
Good firefighters have good instincts.
You have made a decision. You want to help people. You want to be a firefighter.
Now, the learning begins.
Do you know everything … about firefighting?
Of course not.
The first thing you should learn is: we, as firefighters, are decision-makers. We are offered choices every day, on every call. Choices and decisions go hand-in-hand; two choices, one decision – Choice A or Choice B.
Sometimes there are more choices, just to make the whole process [more] interesting. Sometimes, you are faced with making multiple decisions.
We are also problem-solvers.
In order to solve problems, you have to make decisions, based on choices.
“The results of our decisions,” to quote a friend, “are ultimately the price we pay.”
When I experienced the event, I was offered choices and made decisions based on what I knew and who I was with.
Choices [and] decisions have to be made every day [on] every call. We do this based on a combination of education, training, experience, and instinct.
At the time of the event, I had very little of any of those things.
Firefighting is like that; you can learn the skills, but there’s an instinct to do it: the want and the need to do it well.
Never stop learning and apply your skills.
That’s what I’ve tried to do.
I’d like to be able to teach you everything I’ve learned in the past twenty-six years, but I can’t do that.
The condensed version is:
Wear your gear, all of it. 100% of your gear, 100% of the time.
Always take a tool with you.
Know the basics. Never rely on technology. Technology goes dead or breaks down. Basic skills, once learned, are yours forever.
Train. Never stop training.
Train like it’s real, because we deal with reality.
Don’t be scared to ask questions.
You’re going to be called New Guy, Probie, Rookie, and probably a bunch of other things. Cold hard fact: you are all of those things.
Learn to know every job. Find an “Old Guy” who is willing to teach you, and learn what he has to offer. There’s a reason he’s an “Old Firefighter.”
Know where every piece of equipment is on all your trucks.
Learn to read smoke and judge conditions.
Know your area. Know every street and alternate ways to get from Point A to Point B.
Learn your chain of command, but learn how to be both a follower and a leader.
Know who has what you may need and when to call them. It’s better to have something and not need it than need it and have it twenty minutes away.
You are going to make mistakes. Learn from them. Be accountable for them.
Be accountable for your decisions. Good or bad, they are yours.
Some decisions you can make in advance. That is why we pre-plan some buildings or locations. This is a business of “what ifs.”
What if Incident A happens?
What if I make Decision B and it doesn’t work?
What if I had never decided to be a firefighter? I would never have had the opportunity to be who I have become. I was very fortunate to have good teachers and I’ve tried to be a good teacher.
So at the end of the day, when the time comes that everyone has gathered because I’ve answered “the last alarm,” I hope people remember I wasn’t just a firefighter.
I was a husband, a father, and a son.
I was a friend.
I was a student and a teacher.
I was an only child, but a brother to many.
I will have done my best as a husband and father.
I think I was a good student and that people learned from my teaching.
So when they raise a glass in [my] memory and they talk about the guys who have gone, as we so often do, I simply hope they’ll say, “He was a good firefighter.”
My legacy, I hope, is that those I have taught, and will teach, become good firefighters.
Remember:
Learn from your mistakes. Hell, just learn.
Don’t stand outside the fire; you can’t learn there. Try things. Get wet, get dirty, do the job, and learn.
Decisions are scary, but they have to be made. Be accountable for yours.
When the shift, or the call, is over, go home alive.
And always remember, no matter what you do, or what happens, I am proud of the decision you have made to help others.
Here endeth the lesson.
16
Monique Bartlett and Lucie (Rouleau) Giocondese: The Search for Monique-Lucie
Monique Bartlett, of Haute Aboujagane, New Brunswick, has also made the decision to dedicate her life to helping others. Corporal Bartlett was a medical technician or a med-tech/medic in the Canadian military. She joined the military on September 22, 1998.
Monique no longer serves, at least in the way she once did. She has been medically released after being diagnosed with PTSD. The corporal was part of a medical team working in disaster relief in Haiti following the devastating earthquake in 2010.
She can remember the date she joined the military, but cannot remember many details from her own wedding vow renewal, which took place shortly after she finished the Haiti operation. PTSD has affected her memory and recall of names, details, and dates.
Monique is a fourth-generation member of the Canadian military. Her great-grandfather, grandfather, and father all proudly served Canada. Two of her uncles are peacekeepers. She is also married to a veteran, who was a warrant officer, like her father, Roger Doucette. Her brother is a correctional officer. The call to duty is a big part of the Doucette-Bartlett collective identity.
Monique and I met in Moncton, New Brunswick. She was accompanied by her mother Diane Doucette, who, like all of the corporal’s family, is extremely supportive of the medic and her willingness to revisit the trauma she has experienced for two primary reasons: to assist others struggling with PTSD and to promote wider discussion about mental health among first responders and all people, and to find a young Haitian girl who has become an integral part of her life.
Those are the same reasons why a second Canadian med-tech, one of Monique’s best friends and a former coworker, also agreed to speak with me. Monique was deployed to Haiti with then Master Corporal Lucie Rouleau, who is from Quebec. Lucie and Monique bonded during the Haiti mission and became a support system for one another amid the widespread chaos, death, and destruction.
Lucie retired as a sergeant from the Canadian military on July 4, 2016. After the 2010 Haiti mission, she was also diagnosed with PTSD and no longer worked with patients before her retirement. She remained in the military and ended her career in an administrative role. Our July 26, 2016, interview took place approximately three weeks after her retirement and about six weeks after Monique’s interview.
Monique’s interview mostly focused on her time in Haiti, which spanned about six weeks, while Lucie primarily discussed another medical mission she made to Bosnia in the 1990s, where she served for six months while war was raging.
Monique was six years post-diagnosis when we spoke. She had been doing weekly therapy sessions and was still in therapy in 2016 when our spring interview took place. “I had no idea what was happening until the nightmares started … I’m the caregiver. I’m invincible,” Monique thought to herself, early on. “There’s no way this could be happening to me. I’m fourth generation [member of the military]. How can it be affecting me? My dad made
it through. My grandfathers made it through the first and second wars. Come on. This can’t be,” she argued with herself.
“I’m very educated now. I know that [PTSD] was just my reaction to what I witnessed. It took me forever to get it,” Monique said, of her current and better understanding of the impact of her PTSD, which affects people differently.
Not everyone who has been diagnosed with PTSD has the same triggers, results, or reactions. There are common symptoms, like nightmares, which have been described to me by the many people diagnosed with PTSD whom I have interviewed.
“I had to shut off,” Monique explained.
She went into a type of self-protective mode, as did Lucie. “It took me two and a half years [post-mission] to cry,” said Monique. “I went to my sister-in-law’s funeral, who was just thirty-four years old, and I just stood there … It was an awful thing to see, but I had no emotion. It took me a very long time to understand [why] and rediscover emotion.”
Monique can only remember bits and pieces of the funeral. Searching for help she saw a social worker afterwards. She felt like a “cold soul … I kind of recognized from that [funeral] that I had no emotion anymore.”
She can only partially remember her renewal of vows ceremony to Warrant Officer Maurice (Macky) Bartlett in Cuba on March 16, 2010. The couple were first wed in 2009 but had a larger celebratory event after her time in Haiti. That was approximately two weeks after she returned from the Haiti deployment. She knows she returned from Haiti “mid to late February 2010,” but cannot tell me the exact date. She simply cannot remember; looking at photos during our interview helped jar her memory.
She can remember one date with utter clarity: January 13, 2010. She was working as a medic in Ottawa. She was informed she would be deploying with the Disaster Assistance Response Team (DART) to Haiti. A www.cbc.ca story entitled “Disaster relief: Canada’s rapid response team,” published March 14, 2011, detailed some of what the DART team facilitates. It also mentioned the Haitian mission:
“The Disaster Assistance Response Team – made up of about 200 Canadian Forces personnel – is designed to quickly fly into disaster areas around the world. The primary goal is to provide emergency services, such as drinking water and medical treatment, until long-term aid arrives.
“The Canadian Forces created DART in 1996 because of its experience in Rwanda two years earlier, when international relief organizations arrived too late to save thousands of people from a cholera epidemic.
“That convinced the federal government it needed to be able to respond more quickly. Since then, DART has helped disaster victims in Turkey, Honduras, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, and Haiti.
“DART consists of about 200 Canadian Forces staff who can ship out quickly to conduct emergency relief operations for up to 40 days. …
“Apart from a handful of staff at DART headquarters in Kingston, Ont., the team uses personnel from military units across the country.
“The team consists of:
“Engineer platoon: About 37 field and construction engineers.
“Medical platoon: About 40 staff who operate the aid station.
“Defence and security platoon: About 45 personnel who guard camp and support DART operations.
“Logistics platoon: About 20 staff who provide maintenance, transportation and supplies.
“Headquarters: About 45 personnel who oversee operations and co-ordinate DART’s response with other countries and aid organizations.
“Haiti: Operation Hestia
“A magnitude 7.0 earthquake hit Haiti on Jan. 12, 2010, with an epicentre about 25 kilometres north of the capital Port au Prince. The quake decimated the impoverished country, responsible for over 300,000 deaths and leaving about 1 million people without homes.
“DART was deployed on Jan. 13, 2010 and set up their main relief efforts in Jacmel on Jan. 16, after the team determined they could make the greatest impact there. They distributed 224,760 litres of water and 124,300 meals.
“The team also helped with the maintenance and security of UN displacement camps, cleared the roads and demolished unsafe buildings in Jacmel. In Feb. 2010, members of DART also helped with the repair and refortification of route 204, a key transportation artery connecting Jacmel with the town of Léogâne, working with Haitian contractors,” the CBC report said.
Monique Bartlett and Lucie Rouleau were members of the DART medical team who deployed to Haiti one day after the January 12, 2010 earthquake. Monique said she was not officially part of the DART team, but assisted its members for the Haiti mission.
At that time, she was living and working in Ottawa at the National Defence Medical Centre (NDMC), now the Canadian Forces Health Services Centre (CFHSC). She had twelve years on the job as a medic, working primarily in field units.
On January 13, 2010, Monique was given two hours to pack her belongings. She was initially concerned about the length of the DART deployment. She was supposed to be in Cuba to renew her vows to husband Macky on March 16 just two months later. Her superiors were adamant her team would only deploy for about a month. She would be back in time to go to Cuba.
The DART medical team departed from CFB Trenton, according to Monique, a fact which is also discussed in the CBC article:
“Once DART knows where to set up camp, it begins shipping troops and equipment, usually from Canadian Forces Base Trenton in Ontario. Almost everything DART needs – more than 40 vehicles and 340 tonnes of supplies – is stored in a warehouse at the base, ready to be shipped at 48 hours notice. Another 11 tonnes of medical supplies are stashed nearby.”
Monique flew from Ottawa to Trenton and then from Trenton to Haiti via military transport. She and Lucie became close as they tried to comprehend the magnitude of the mission and their involvement.
“We went from twenty degrees below to forty degrees Celsius. I’ll never forget the smell getting off the plane. It was just so devastating. A vision I will never forget for the rest of my days; everywhere you look, it’s just destruction. There was no hope,” Monique said, of her immediate and first impressions upon arrival.
To help them cope, Monique and Lucie “stuck together like glue,” right from the beginning. “The whole way through we were each other’s rock.”
The first night or two, the medical team slept as a group on the airport tarmac until it was decided where it was safe for them to journey. From the airport, they took a bus to the Canadian Embassy. Monique said she had no idea in which direction or exactly where they were going. The bus ride was hellish. “We could see out the window. The earthquake had just happened and there were bodies as far as you could see, people staying close to these bodies – their families, their loved ones, asking for help,” said Monique.
The bus broke down. They had to exit. They were unarmed. Initially, Monique said she was not certain if it was a ruse and they would be attacked. The lack of control, coupled with the unknown, was frightening. Eventually, the bus was fixed and they arrived at the embassy. They camped outside on the grounds. There were bugs and insects everywhere, including large tarantulas. “I’m very triggered by spiders today,” Monique explained.
She is also triggered by fireworks. The area at the embassy where they initially worked was fenced and gated. Down the hill from their campsite were portable toilets for the team’s use. Lucie and Monique never went anywhere without the other. One night, as they prepared for bed, they headed down to the washroom together. “Someone put in their automatic weapon and opened up on our whole camp. They fired off multiple rounds quickly behind in an alleyway. We were always behind gates and fences. We didn’t know where it [the gunfire] was because it was very dark,” Monique said.
No one was injured or killed.
The medical team was comprised of forty-three people, according to Monique. It included two pharmacists, a lab technician, and two preventative medicine technicians. Each medical shift had approximately eight to ten people working: one doctor, eight medics, and a security detail.
It was chaos. Hundreds of survivors needed immediate medical attention, each and every day. Monique estimated they treated 7,500 people at the Jacmel Jetty, one of two locations from where the Canadian medical teams operated.
They also travelled into the mountains in mobile medic teams and treated about 2,500 Haitians living more remotely. Helicopter access was required on many occasions. Members of the mobile crew travelled 2,300 square kilometres, during fifteen mountain missions, which lasted from one to three days.
That means that first medical team on the ground, comprised of forty-three people, including Monique and Lucie, assisted approximately 10,000 Haitians, of all ages, in about six weeks.
The team set up and stayed for most of that time at the Jacmel Jetty, on the waterfront, which became known as the Jacmel Jetty Medical Clinic (JJMC). Monique described it as “working in a living hell.”
Patients were triaged in order that the most severely sick or injured were seen first. “For our safety, we could only allow twenty patients in at a time,” the medic explained. People sat on benches while they waited to be assessed. Medics worked out of treatment tents. The JJMC was open daily from eight in the morning until about six in the evening.
Of the 7,500 patients the team assisted at the JJMC, one family, in particular, captured the hearts of many, especially Monique and Lucie, and for good reason.
February 12, 2010, one month into the mission, a distraught man appeared at the front gate at the jetty. As Monique recounted that day, her facial expressions, tone of voice, and body language completely and immediately shifted to one of lightness and happiness. His arrival at the gate came at the perfect time.
“We were starting to give up hope,” Monique said. She had been thinking she’d never be able to get through the deployment. “We knew we were going to be messed up … because of all the trauma we had seen: the hopelessness, the helplessness.”
Those desperate feelings began for Monique about two weeks into the Haitian mission. “She came at the perfect time, because I honestly don’t know how we would have made it through.”
The Legacy Letters Page 22
