'Thank you for running towards the storm': A letter to Hunter Valley first responders.

"I've never been back there."

I was sitting in the ambulance as we completed paperwork. I was a fresh green (new) paramedic asking, in what hindsight would teach me, are invasive questions about a job my trainer didn't want to discuss.

My trainer was an Intensive Care Paramedic who attended the Thredbo Landslide.

I was only a kid when it happened, but now as a paramedic in training, it was his comments on this day that taught me the everlasting ripples and impact a job of that magnitude had on first responders.

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He turned to me calmly and said, "I love my job, but there are some things I can't talk about. Even to my colleagues. Sometimes we just don't want to remember. If we did, we wouldn't keep doing this job."

To this day, I don't know if he was still talking about Thredbo, or he was vaguely referencing the other tragic events he’d witnessed in his almost 30-year paramedic career.

***

When I woke on Monday and heard the news of the Hunter Valley bus crash, my heart sank.

10 dead.

It's only been days but already, I know, this will be one of those jobs.

There are less than 5000 paramedics in NSW. It might sound like a big number but with a population of over eight million, it's not.

And when a big job goes down, it's our blue family that reaches out.

Watch: Hunter Valley bus crash first responders tell of the extraordinary rescue operation. Post continues after video.

Our phones light up, our social media pages reflect duplicate content of our colleagues expressing grief, our messenger chat groups ping constantly.

"Did you hear?"

"Who went?"

"Six helicopters."

"Ten code 4s."

"Do you know any more?"

The ambulance grapevine in full swing.

Some will argue it's because we're all trauma fanatics. People think we have this obsessive "need to know." 

Truthfully, we're the opposite. We're well aware of the impact vicarious trauma can have. 

Ask a paramedic what happened on their days off and they'll shrug.

"No idea. Wasn't working."

But when a job like this happens, it isn't our curiosity kicking in, it's our connection.

Our colleagues responded. Our colleagues treated. Our colleagues will live with this forever.

They're our family. 

Now, I'll be honest, before joining Ambulance I wasn't big on the whole "work is family" notion.

But that was before I saw how preciously fragile life was.

Before I attended a job on a remote property away from civilisation with my colleague as my only safety net.

Before I trusted my life with my colleague speeding through traffic so we can get to that priority job.

Before I glanced at my colleague and we silently agree the mother we pull from the car wreck is beyond saving.

Before I cried in the arms of a colleague after seeing a child in cardiac arrest.

Yes, they are my colleagues, but the connection we form in the course of our job, is that of a family.

***

This week my blue family have been in my thoughts.

Hearing the report from the scene and knowing the Inspector ensured he remained calm and composed so the right emergency response was initiated, when in reality, what he was faced with was, in fact, chaos.

There were 60 paramedics who showed up to work on Sunday, or signed in on-call, unaware of what the night had in store for them.

And not just us, our emergency services colleagues.

NSW Police, NSW Fire and Rescue, CFRs, and of course all those behind the scenes on 000 calls and dispatch who worked diligently to ensure the right resources were allocated.

The impact of this event cannot, and will not, truly be understood for many days, weeks, and even years.

It is a conflicting reality attending an event of this scale as a first responder.

There are 10 people who never returned from this incident. 10 lots of families and friends not hearing stories of drunken shenanigans of a day filled with love and laughter. 10 families not hugging loved ones today.

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While our first responders got to head home, they head home changed people.

They head home with images of pain, and chaos etched in their brains. The eerie fog and dimly lit scene with the echoing sound of painful cries.

Those images and sounds engrained in their heads, forever.

To my family in blue, and the extended first responder world.

Thank you.

Thank you for remaining calm in a scene of chaos.

Thank you for running towards the storm.

Thank you for putting on the uniform and showing up every day to help.

This may be that job, the one where, in years to come, you'll look to your trainee and say quietly "I don't want to talk about that one."

There is no right way to deal with a job like this but know if you want to talk, we will always listen.

And if you don't, we understand why.

Feature Image: Getty.