by Andrew Ahrendt
Working with Miami Dade Fire Rescue, the first fifteen minutes after family breakfast and dinner are exclusively for "talking smack" around the table, no matter where you’re stationed. At first, it didn't make sense to me. As a senior in high school raised with a "time is money" mentality, it seemed like a waste of time. But after my third ride-along, I realized why those moments around the table mattered so much.
Columbus offers a program, Honors Medical Interventions (EMT), to select seniors, allowing us to learn everything needed to take the state EMT test upon graduation, gaining real experience with Miami-Dade Fire Rescue (MDFR) and Baptist Hospital. It’s an eye-opening experience that has shown me the raw, unfiltered reality of emergency medicine beyond the flashing lights and sirens.
First responders see people on the worst day of their lives. They rush into burning buildings, pull mangled bodies from car wrecks, and try to bring back patients who are already too far gone.
But what happens when the weight of those moments becomes too much?
It's a dark reality; the ones who save us are far too often struggling to save themselves. According to SAMHSA, a third of all first responders are suffering from depression, and suicide is the leading cause of death for EMTs. And according to the National Library of Medicine, EMTs are 1.39 times more likely to take their own lives than the general public.
The job is relentless. There are no commercial breaks and no timeouts. Calls blur together—an overdose at 2 a.m., a child drowning at sunrise, a cardiac arrest in the morning and a highway collision all before lunch. Sometimes, they don’t get the luxury of processing one tragedy before another takes place, but there’s the dinner table between the chaos. A simple, unspoken tradition that acts as an emotional life raft. It’s not formal therapy, but it’s something.
Standing beside the patient, victim or suspect, first responders are a beacon of strength–almost unbreakable. The field is still predominantly occupied by men, and we need to learn that it’s okay to feel. Unfortunately, cultural barriers remain—many fear that seeking help will make them appear weak or unfit for duty. A flawed ideology must be broken: the idea that men don't cry.
As South Miami Police Officer Richard James explains, "Officers often lack formal avenues to express the challenges they face. Opening up about feelings can be particularly difficult, as many officers tend to suppress their emotions, hoping they will resolve themselves."
Despite the stigma, mental health resources for first responders are improving. Peer support programs, crisis intervention teams and organizations like the Code Green Campaign advocate for awareness and accessibility to mental health care.
Daniel Fernandez, Coral Gables Division Chief of Logistics and a peer support team member, says, “We are more aware than we ever have been. People tend to be closed off when you return to the station, but we are conditioning ourselves to talk more openly now.”
Though headed in the right direction, it has been a slow track.
So, who saves the heroes when they can’t save themselves?
The answer must be all of us. It starts with breaking the silence, prioritizing mental health just as much as physical well-being and ensuring that every EMT, firefighter, and paramedic knows they don’t have to carry the weight alone.
Because in a world where they answer every call, we must make sure they have someone to call.
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