My first suicidal caller of the year came through just about an hour ago. At first it was just the normal sort of anxiety ridden APS report. I was almost frustrated with the caller, because of the "I'm a helpless, defenseless female" vibe going on through the entire report. Heaven help me, I asked about her medical conditions because I was wondering if any of the situation was in any way related to some dementia or other mental health condition making her less capable of dealing with the world. She started to choke, and cry.
Whenever they say they are suicidal, a little frisson of fear rolls through me. I feel my hands tremble, my stomach turn, and it's like every part of my body freezes for just a moment.
This one wasn't as bad as the first one, or even the second one. My voice didn't shake. I stayed on the line, asking and asking while I tried to figure out if she had already overdosed. The hardest part is waiting for the police to get there and hoping it is quick. She kept repeating herself over and over. I kept trying to be reassuring, trying to make sure I wasn't missing anything.
I feel sort of numb now. It's not sad exactly, though I am sad for this woman who is in such a bad place. I feel tired, like I've already worked a whole shift. I bought a cherry coke from the vending machine hoping it would keep me from laying down on the floor and passing out from this weariness. Perhaps I wrote too soon, because I feel now like I am going to cry. Maybe it is just relief.
Nothing scares me more than the thought that someone might die on my watch.
Death is a possibility we live with in so many of these reports. It is so omnipresent that we joke about it to soften the impact. It just is, as much as any other thing. There is no way to avoid coming into contact with it here. We have all taken child death reports, reports that involve someone dying or the imminent threat of death. Death is always there. We do what we can to forestall it, to prevent it, to deny it.
Suicidal callers are different though, because you find yourself right on the edge of the abyss with someone. There's a sort of chaotic lurch to such a call, because you're not expecting it right away. You're right up there with them, hoping that your grip on the line will forestall that long drop off the edge. You keep talking while you scribble down the address so one of your coworkers can call EMS or the police, and you hope that you'll hear them knocking on the door soon.
It's a long, long way down from up there.
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