Posted on by Julie Deziel

If These Walls Could Talk

This old house has stood strong and tall since 1921. It has seen a century of faces that have moved through and left their mark within the stucco walls. It has seen death within the walls and heard the laughter of many children bouncing down the stairs on their butts just to run back up to do it all over again. There are secrets hidden, innocence stolen, and heard a fight or two. Oh the stories those walls could tell.

The house prior to the most recent changes we have made had 54 windows…yes, 54 windows. Most of the windows were the original paned windows and it was not uncommon to see the curtains move on a very windy day as they were drafty and cold. This house was my childhood home and now it is my forever home. The peace, the lake, the wildlife bring so much joy to our lives. Since January 3rd though I have had an extensive amount of time to spend within the walls of my favorite place where the curtains no longer move with an Arctic Clipper. Every time I look out the window the lake is frozen over and the snow is blowing over it and I am, somewhat, thankful I am thrust to just sit inside. I have COVID.

We have all been inundated with what is COVID and what we need to do when we have it and how to avoid it and the never-ending battle of pro versus con vaccination. I am vaccinated but still had the virus find it’s way into my asthmatic, pneumonia/bronchitis-prone lungs. It took a bit before I was finally tested as I did not present normally…ha big surprise. So I was in the throes of it when I was finally tested. Thankfully I have a great doctor who worked with my wishes to stay out of the hospital for personal reasons and decisions made. Plus they would not do much more than what I was doing other than an experimental treatment not approved by the FDA. COVID hit numerous organs a little hard and it has been a struggle but I am through the worst we believe although I am still having some residual issues with some things.

Today is February 8th and I am still sitting within the walls of my house. My husband and I quarantined from each other and walking stairs was impossible for me so I just have lived in my living room. But when you sit in the same place 24 hours a day, day in, day out can take a toll on you physically and mentally. I am timed to medications and nebulizer treatments. Sleep is almost non-existent and the walls have begun to talk. I have heard and felt this old soul of a house creak it’s tired bones just as I do each day. I hear it say I am tired of being strong just as I do also for each of the 36 days I have lived in my living room. In the silence as I do my Bible Study I can hear the lake and the house have a conversation together. It can push a wearied mind into a state they begin to think they are going off the rails. As I sit here though and think about my situation I think about all those that have to sit these same number of days behind a closed door in some type of care facility with minimal human contact and are scared and alone. They hear sounds from other rooms but not the rooms of their safe place, their home. The contact is not necessarily their loved one as I was blessed to have throughout.

So for now I will gladly accept the stories I hear each day and night within the confines of my living room knowing my strength lies just a floor above me. I will accept that it is a slow process to heal from this virus. I will welcome the midnight activity of the lake and wildlife out in our little world. And for now, I will continue to be content in sitting on the inside looking out.

Stay safe my friends, stay safe.

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Hidden

Shinedown “Through The Ghost” posted at the end of the blog. Feel free to play it will reading. Very thought provoking song. I do not own the rights to the music.

Who as a child did not play the game of hide and seek. Oh the excitement as you waited as they counted to ten or twenty and heard the words; ready or not here I come.” Holding your breathe so they did not hear you as they looked behind the couch and you may have even shut your eyes believing that by doing so you became invisible and there was absolutely no way they could ever find you.

Through the years I cannot deny I have simply wanted to shut my eyes and pretend I am invisible, that I do not exist, that I am a ghost that not a single soul can see me. I have tried to hide myself away from all that I encounter just so they will not know me…as I know me.

I boast oftentimes that I am the “queen of the mask” and I have drawers full of different ones. I can pull one out at the drop of a hat, for any situation. I do this so that I can hide myself away. I can find a way to cope with all that I hear through the 911s I hear. I can cover myself with the dust of an old mask of anxiety as I wait for the next tragedy. The tragedy of it all is that I no longer see myself. It seems the color of who am is blank. The senselessness and hopelessness has overtaken the color of my soul.

I am pained that through all the aid given, all the proper authority that has been sent, all the abuse taken by the upset and angry individuals, and all the tears cried with the hurt and desperate that the world with never know me as I once knew me…for I live within a shell of a ghost. It is easier to hide myself away. I have found that shadows allow me to live and function forward. The world will not know me as I had once known me. Time has taken its toll. I will remain behind the shadows as I take my place behind the mic where the only part of me exposed is my voice. My voice is my mask and the callers becomes a part of my army of ghosts that I will live through tomorrow. Excuse me. The line is ringing once again that I cannot hide from. “911, where is your emergency?”

Posted on by Julie Deziel

The Silence is Deafening

There is no denying that a train makes a statement. With its large lumbering engines blowing their horns at every intersection to the rumbling of the ground as they pass by at 60 miles per hour as we sit on the roadway and wait for each of the train cars to make it through and we can continue on with our day. For many it is an opportunity to check their social media pages or make a phone call or another to touch up their makeup or just to simply get lost in thought. Even though it is so loud and annoying to me personally…that silence is deafening.

I have written before about my son-in-law who we lost six months ago to an undetected heart condition. We are still reeling over that tragedy. Having worked in the EMS world I know that tragedy happens and it is definitely not choosy. My youngest son and I experienced a terrible car accident years ago and I remember the look of my children and family when I was able to see them and the fear in their eyes. I do not wish that on anyone. As I have walked with an officer to deliver the news to a young mother her husband will not return home, I wish none of our officers ever had to knock on that door and see the absolute horror in a parent’s face as they know what is coming.

As I put another year as a 911 dispatcher behind me…23 years actually, a scenario that just seemed unimaginable recently occurred at the end of a long shift. I experienced a 911 call that was eerily similar to my son-in- law’s situation. There is no training for this type of situation. During the most devastating moment of the caller’s life all I could do was think of my daughter having to make that exact same call. As I walked through the information I needed I wanted to assure them they were not alone just as I prayed my daughter did not feel. As they waited for help to come and the caller and I worked together I am most certain was a lifetime for an “actual person” to get there. Even though I was “with them”, I can only think they felt a crippling silence from their most loved. When ambulance and law enforcement arrived I was able to disconnect and even though there were two other dispatchers in the room all I heard was a deafening silence.

As the words from Disturbed’s “Prayer” sing out, “Another dream that will never come true just to compliment your sorrow. Another life that I’ve taken from you, a gift to add on to your pain and suffering. Another truth you can never believe has crippled you completely. All the cries you’re beginning to hear trapped in your mind, and the sound is deafening.” This is the life of a 911 dispatcher. You carry the sounds, the sorrow, the horror and they find you in the silence and it can most deafening in those moments. I do not wish that on another soul. I think about the dispatcher that took my daughter’s call often. I am so sad she had to comfort my daughter on the worst day of her life at the moment I would have given anything to have stood in for her.

I will continue to watch the trains go by and hope for a glimpse of a baseball cap and sunglasses and a smiling Geoff riding along with his buddies and silently remember all those lives I have been a part of through a loud siren ringing telephone when it pierced the silence of the dispatch center.

Posted on by Julie Deziel

I Have Mail

I love the holiday season. I can spend all day sitting admiring my Christmas tree all decorated and soaking in the smell of Christmas wafting from the oven. One of my favorites of the season though is checking the mailbox and finding out that I have mail and it includes those special envelopes from friends and family wishing our household a “Merry Christmas”..

I work in an environment that does not bring much good news. Those that reach out on 911 do not do so to let us know they have a new grandchild or they won at bingo or they are getting company over the holiday season. They unfortunately call on their worst day no matter what time of year.

This year has seemed to be a different year in the center. Communities being in lock down brought struggles that families were not familiar with which brought out more violence, more juvenile issues and substance abuse. As the crisis has continued to drag on and continued lock downs, be it schools or businesses, it has has wreaked havoc mentally and financially on many. The tentacles reach throughout on the crisis lines, mental health providers, emergency rooms, and our 911 lines.

It seems as if death has enveloped me lately. Recently I was involved in 3 CPR in progress calls within a 24 hour period. Over this past weekend there were 2 unattended deaths in 12 hours. There are many ambulance call for services and later an obituary is viewed in the local newspapers. It may or may not be related to the medical crisis sweeping across the United States. It could be due to an internal struggle they have or an undiagnosed medical issue or simply old age took over their tired body. I turn on the National news and there is the never ending broadcast of doom and gloom and the out of sight crescendo of death due to CoVid-19 and no matter where a person goes to on social media you cannot simply will not escape it. It is suffocating. It is almost as if I can actually feel the death as a formidable item. It is exhausting and overwhelming most days.

Tomorrow though I will walk through the locked doors of the 911 doors and prepare to take the calls of another individual who is having their worst day; short of breath, high fever, or a young wife finding their husband laying lifeless on the floor. I will do my job. I will check my mailbox on my way out of the driveway in hopes that it will present me with a little joy; an envelope filled with a peaceful scene or a goofy Christmas scene but both sending love with the pictures of the family and signatures of season greetings. I will FEEL alive and hopeful…for now.

I pray you are enveloped in much love and peace this holiday season.

Posted on by Julie Deziel

A Hard Season

*click on song below to play while you read*

The perfect home for the long awaited season. My husband has enjoyed deer hunting since he was a young child. He has passed on his passion to his oldest son who is passing it on to his sons. For many in our neck of woods it is a tradition that is planned meticulously for months. Lists made, food planned, the perfect spot picked out, and the stand put up. The hours of sitting and waiting for the perfect “one” and the talk of the big ones that got away. The season will go on for approximately two weeks and the venison will be packed in the freezer and those lucky enough to get the trophy buck will have it hung on the wall much to the chagrin of the spouse.

I have watched my extremely strong, independent daughter build the life she wanted with the perfect fit for her. They shared twelve years together with most of them laughing and cementing the strong marital bond that many would be jealous of. They brought their long-awaited son home and the perfect home was laid out with the three of them. Their little home was set…until tragedy stuck like a bullet cursing through the fall air on opening deer hunting.

We as parents take our children through maybe trials in life; potty training, that scary first day of kindergarten, first loves followed by the first breakups. We kiss their ownies, love them through the long nights of high fevers, chase the monsters out of the bedroom and hours of horrendous homework. We are there to make it all better no matter what. What do you though as a parent who cannot make your children better when major tragedy hits? How do you fix it for your child whose grief is so heavy?

I have entered that long, hard season with her. The loss of her husband is the one horror that cannot be chased out of the room. I have no kisses to make this pain go away. I sit here at a complete loss. I feel as if my hands are tied behind my back. I am at a complete loss because I cannot mother away her pain. My baby hurts immensely and my instinct is to run immediately every day to her and just rock her and make it better. I can sit with her and wait with her but her love will not return. Her love will not be anticipated for supper at the end of the day. His stories will not be shared anymore. Her trophy hangs on the wall never aging, always young.

The season will not end after two weeks. It will last for an eternity. I will always want to make her better but I will not be able to. I will climb the mountain with her and sit beside her in silence waiting and wishing there was a way for a mommy to make it all better.

Grief is a hard season and I cannot save her. Plain.And.Simple.

Posted on by Julie Deziel · 1 Comment

Wallflower

This picture was taken this fall on a peaceful walk around our yard and I took some time on the dock and this is what I was privy to see. The wind was not blowing and there were a few ducks making ripples nearby and a few seagulls finding summer. I did not need to be have someone with me to show me through the beauty or experience it with me. I did not have to share the beauty with another soul. It was a moment of silence in which I was simply regenerating my soul.

I grew up being “that” girl that was laughed at because she turned beet red when she was asked a question in school or had to give a presentation in front of a group. It would send me into an anxiety-ridden panic for days if I knew it was coming up. If I could silently fade into the walls i would have done it in a heartbeat. The thought of being a wallflower was welcomed by my psyche.

Push through to being a mother and grandmother and being in a job as a 911 dispatcher; needing a type A personality no doubt. The shyness within me is hidden behind a few masks or two. I have no choice but to talk at work. Often times I talk nearly 10 hours straight; 10 HOURS straight. Many times it is to people I do not even know but need my help. It is not normal talking. It is stressful talking. Then comes those few moments of silence and someone wants to speak. Many can understand. But the shy, quiet, introvert wants to live inside herself for awhile…to try to remain alive. Silence my ears.

Recently I was told that I appear to come off cold or chilly at times. I need to work on making eye contact with another. This person does not understand silence. They do not understand another’s need for live-sustaining quiet. At the drop of a hat we go from 0-100mph and the peace prepares the mind and soul for what is to come. When did it become a bad thing to just need a little down time with thoughts and quiet without it being that something is wrong? I am 56 years of age and now have to change who I am or do I? Is it so bad to be me in the end?

“Solitude is for me a fount of healing which makes my life worth living. Talking is often a torment for me, and I need many days of silence to recover from the futility of words.”

~Carl Jung

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Hide and Seek

17, 18, 19, 20. Ready or not here I come. The childhood game of Hide and Seek. Who has not played it as a child, as a parent and even as a grandparent. The giggles of the hidden as the seeker gets so close and then being so very quiet, even holding breaths so the hunter cannot find that elusive hiding spot.

A few months ago I was standing in front of the mirror and I could not see myself. The sharp defining lines that ensured my hair was just right to the assurance that my clothes were matched or tucked just right not to show too many imperfections had completely disappeared. It seemed I even lost a mask or two I wore dependent upon the day.

Who I am seems to have been lost. Is it that I am too busy and rushed? Is it that I am simply stressed? Can it be that I cannot face the fact I have aged and do not recognize the face that shows wrinkles and trying to hide the fact that I am getting older? If I look I can find the blond hair that I spend much too much time and energy on so it looks just right. I see the blue eyes of an older person that are ringed by signs of her middle age. I see a smile that her husband puts on her face every day. I see a woman standing there who has so much on her shoulders and in her heart. I blink though and I cannot see her…the lines again are blurred.

I am lost in the anger and the frustration that I allowed something so evil to enter my life through actions of antagonism, belittlement, and intimidation. I allowed another to overpower my strengths and discount me to that of a small child that sends me running to a place of hiding; a place where I attempt to feel safe. He was able to creep through and crack the lines of who I am and blur the image of myself. He may not have the face of who I envisioned Satan to be but he is just as evil; a devil in sheep’s clothing. Just as Satan hid in pretty clothing, I have hid myself. I hush myself so no one hears me. I may peek out from the corner and look and see if it is safe to come out and try to smooth the lines of the reflection of myself. I may put on a stray mask I have laying around so my demeanor is not in question. One thing though is my hair will look good and will be sure I am watching, listening. This time though I am seeking. Shhh just know…”I know more than you think. I just don’t say anything.”

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Rock On

As a 911 dispatcher we are perceived to be strong type-A personality types. We answer that phone by the second ring and make extremely fast decisions in some of the most tragic moments of other’s lives. We attempt to deal with these calls so they do not follow us home. We appear to be strong, a rock; handling it all with ease; nothing can shake us.

My surroundings were thrown into chaos and all the dust around me was stirred up. At times I felt I could not see through the darkness. My world was rocked. It was shook to its core in the last month in that same environment that I feel my strongest while taking calls on another’s worst day. The walls of my life that project a strong, capable woman were shaken so hard that it left a shell of woman that I do not even know. I feel I am lost to who I am and it is scary. I believe I gave power to another person who i have no relationship with seems impossible. To allow another to intimidate and defeat me is almost humiliating.

I am rocked each time they walk into the room…rock me until my heart is beating close to 120 bpm. Rock me until my breathing is deep and fast, until I am sweaty, until the room seems to spin. The core of who I am has forever been changed.

I will bounce back but I will at times relive what was done to me. I will feel those icky feelings of post-traumatic stress. I will have to face the monster who made me feel unsafe regularly. But…I will rock on. I will put on my mask and simply pretend that I am okay because that is what those of us who are strong rocks in our line of work do. It is expected…for a rock is strong. It does not break.

Rock on my friend, rock on.

Posted on by Julie Deziel · 1 Comment

Shake It Off

When a racer hits the track he aims for the lead where he can see the checkered flag quite clearly at the end of the race. At the end of the night there is little dust and mud to shake off and you are ready for the next race. Track prep lays down enough, and at times too much water that aids in avoiding a dust storm. When you are in the back of the pack and traveling nearly 70mph not being able to see the car in front of you or alongside you is a recipe for catastrophe. Those of us who drive in the upper Midwest know what decreased visibility is like in the middle of January when snow falls and the winds blow at 35mph lending to zero or near-zero visibility. White knuckle driving and many prayers lead the way and before we head out on the road the next day we have to dust off all the snow left behind. If only…we could dust off all the yuck in life.

There has been an increase in the recognition in first responder suicide. It is a sad fact in this line of work. This extends from fire to law enforcement to EMS to dispatchers. It is a difficult world to walk through. Each line has its own adversities and none of them should be diminished over the other. The aspects of the job that each hold are arduous enough but are compounded even more by outside components.

We all know life is full of struggles. Being an adult is strenuous and there are rough roads to travel and at times it is that white knuckle ride. There seems at times you will not see the light through the darkness of bills, familial struggles, loneliness and then we pile on a call a horrific car accident or an elderly woman who lost her husband and then a bullying co-worker whose life goal seems to be to belittle those around them, maybe a co-worker who is unhappy at his or her position and lays it at the feet of others in the way they treat them and oh yes the toxic people. Do you have an elderly family member that needs additional care that wears you down? Finding self-care is simply impossible and the shoulders cannot hold it all. I have found in my years of work in this, yes it can be, rewarding line of work it seems you need to be hardened and do not or should not show your “weak” side. All of these have been whipped together for that recipe for catastrophe.

It is a sad story to see these stories every day and the families affected. I do not know the answer to help everyone in that dark place. I believe that together we can hopefully lessen the struggle and make the track in life not so dusty, not just in these lines of work, but in life by simply…

Being respectful

Saying “hello” because you want to, not because you are the only two in the hall

Do not dismiss another due to their sex, race, political view, or religion

Just be kind

Forgive often

Love today, love tomorrow

Share laughs

Listen and accept

Hug more

Never should it be “suck it up, buttercup” and absolutely never should it be “shake it off” and pushed off to the side. Find someone, someplace where the darkness is not allowed to fully encompass you. I know I no longer want to read another statistic. My heart hurts enough.

Oh…and bring your dispatcher more chocolate (he/she really does like your company)

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Did That Really Happen?

Ten years ago at this time of year we had supported our mother’s decision to end treatment against ovarian cancer and enter hospice. We did not know a time frame that we would be blessed with her earthly presence and treasured every moment we had with her, every conversation, every touch, simply her presence. Ten years ago I was turning 45 years old and facing the actual reality that my mother was not going to be in my life much longer. I remember asking myself during those days “Is this really happening?”

I consider myself a nostalgic person. I am “that” kind of mom that has Christmas ornaments made from my young children saved in my Christmas stuff. I have birthday and anniversary cards tucked in my hope chest that my daughters would say, “Why did she save these?” if they have to go through my things one day. I am certainly not a hoarder (that would involve having a mess and chaos in my house and God forbid we have that haha) but there are those things I just cannot find within me to take to the garbage can just yet.

Besides holding onto those material things I tend to take and heap many occurrences in my life into my imaginary backpack and carry them along my journey in life. I would assume many have the same backpack; some lighter, some much heavier. I am very territorial about my burden I carry. I do not want to give it to anyone to carry for me and I certainly do not want to leave it behind for anyone to open up and see what I carry inside. The contents come from past and present relationships, normal day-to-day happenings, and the ever present voices and sounds from very difficult 911 calls from nearly 20 years of service in that line of work. As much as I and maybe yourself wish that rock labeled with the name of a past relationship or a difficult situation could simply be taken out of the backpack and thrown out and pretend it never happened. They are the most difficult. Struggles in our daily life may lay on the top of the pile that we can pull out and pitch. Those are the easy ones.

I trudge through life carrying my backpack just as every other person carries their own burdens through theirs. We each do it in our own unique way. I have through life looked through it and taken out heavier burdens and have been able to whittle them down so they are not so big. Some of them simply do not get easier and just like on the day of the original struggle looking at that rock; that burden it is a step back in time. I hear the pain. I hear the loss. Those voices of the 911 caller do not hang up. They fall within the backpack and take a permanent place within the empty spaces in the load upon my shoulders. Just as I said when I suffered a breakup and said, “I can’t believe this is happening” or taking a horrific 911 call whispering in my mind, “This cannot be happening,” and now looking to the 10-year anniversary of my mother’s death and the enormity of that and it truly seems just like yesterday, “Did that really happen?”

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Hold On. It’s the Phone . I Better Get It.

How many times does your cellphone ring a day in which you can simply hit the “ignore” button?  How many times does your office phone ring and you are able to look at the caller ID and say to yourself, “No, I will call them back later when I am back from my morning meeting.” At times it is a blessing to be able to just pick and choose which calls to answer.  I would be correct that most often the ones chosen would be the ones that come from your best friend, your mother or significant other and they may each leave you feeling good when you hang up; more often than not you are smiling or laughing at some point during your conversation. Imagine answering phone calls that brings at most times a high level of stress every time you answer that special ring; that ring that sounds like a siren to alert you that this is a special call.  A phone call from someone experiencing one of the worst moments in their life.  I do not have the option to ignore that call.  I do not have the option to call that number back after my lunch break.  I must answer that call as I am 911.

I go to work.  I walk through the back door after swiping my card and enter the building.  I swipe my card once again, take a deep breath and cross the threshold and listen to the room to get a feel for what my shift may entail.  I am in the 911 dispatch center.  I go to my locker and smile as I look at a picture of my granddaughter Harper Grace held there by a butterfly magnet.  I hang up my coat and put my food in my cupboard and fridge and take my mouse pad that has a picture of sweet Juliana as Little Miss Thief River Falls, my special pen, and my headset and I walk around the corner into the center and see where I will be spending the next 10 hours where I will orchestrate the activities throughout the county.

One aspect to this unique job is that it no day is the same and for the most part I thrive on that.  A dispatcher may simply take phone calls mainly dealing with property crimes and dependent upon which officers are manning the many miles of the county and city streets, take on many traffic stops.  Most days bring an ambulance page for an unfortunate family having a loved one facing a medical emergency and then there are the “regulars” that can bring a smile or an occasional eye roll.  Myself and any other dispatcher simply cannot ignore the ringing phone and have no clue what is coming with those rings.  It was recently that the phone sent a siren out signaling a 911 call and before I could even get the words “911, where is your emergency?” out I knew this was a call that would impact me.  Not necessarily in the same manner the caller was impacted but certainly would haunt me.  Her pain and agony could not be dismissed through the screams.  My own pain was difficult to hold in.  It brought forth foreign feelings that I did not know how to handle.  I have had difficult calls in my 19 year career previously that were difficult and similar in nature and did, unfortunately, awake these same types of feelings.  For the first time ever I could admit that the “struggle is real.”  The things that dispatcher “hears” are entirely guttural and agonizing.  Those calls do not go away as a property accident does.  It plays over and over.  In my mind I paint a picture of what is occurring or did occurr. I disconnect from that sad, difficult call and take a walk to get myself together as this night I am lucky enough to not be working alone as most often we do.  Those 10 quiet minutes alone are a blessing. I am 25 minutes away from the difficult call and 911 is ringing again for a plane that had to do a emergency landing which sends the center into high gear.  There has been no true time to deal with the difficult situation and now we are in hyper mode.  Andrenaline is at a high level.  All I ask for is a moment to catch my breath. But for now I cannot do that and I move through the chaos.  Hold on a second, its the phone. I better get it.

Life as a dispatcher…one phone call away from life changing; not just for the person calling but for the one picking it up, “911, where is your emergency?”