By Traci Watson

I got to sleep in my own bed last night. It was difficult … I couldn’t shut out the screams, the desperate cries for help. I couldn’t tune out the events of the last seven days.

Over the past seven days I have witnessed tragedy, pain, heartache and heroism. Tragedy is not prejudiced. It strikes people of all races and nationality. It has no barriers. Tragedy doesn’t care if you live in a trailer or a million-dollar beach house. We are all the same—we are equal.

This past week, call after call of desperate people reaching out for help, and sometimes, just hope. I have taken hundreds of calls from the elderly, crying in panic as they watch their loved one struggle to breath because they have no power and their oxygen tanks were running out. Screams of fear as people stand in houses watching the waters rise and have no way out. People trying to find a loved one that they haven’t heard from in days, not knowing if they were dead or alive. One man had to have his leg amputated on site after hours of trying to save him from the tree that had fallen on his home, not knowing if his wife and child are even alive in the rubble. Eventually he was freed, his family found; they did not survive.

Officers call out that they themselves are sinking in floodwaters or tossed around by a tornado while they are trying to desperately save another life. I watched as responders went to one call after another: thousands of them each day—each and every one just as important as the next.

I would say these past seven days have been an emotional roller-coaster filled with passion, fear, hope and compassion.

The worst night we endured was when we just laid down from a 12-hour shift and right as we drift off we were abruptly awakened and told to leave our bunks and get back to the center. I watched as our teams stumbled into the hall, wide eyed and dazed.

No one said a word. We didn’t have to. The looks on each face told the story. We were scared! We knew it was bad. People tried to reach out to families and small tears formed on all the mothers’ eyes. We knew that this was not good. We knew we had to step up. Within minutes we were told what our position would be and we all jumped in. Not one person hesitated. Not one said they were too exhausted, or just too plain scared. Not one. Truth is we all were, but that didn’t stop us. We worked through the night as phones went down, computers systems out and radios were hit or miss. We worked while one tornado after another formed and touched down. We worked to save lives. That is what we do.

These past seven days I listened to the screaming and cries in my ears until I just wanted to take off the headset and walk away. I listened as people lost all hope. And just when I thought I couldn’t take another call … that person would call just to say thank you. A firefighter would come in and pat you on the back. A supervisor would send a message around the room letting you know what an awesome job we are all doing. Then you would take a deep breath and take more calls. They never stopped.

When I first became a 9-1-1 dispatcher I honestly didn’t think I could do it. The first two weeks I went home almost every day crying. The stress was intense and the responsibility and stakes were just too high. Today I can say I need this job just as much as it needs me. I cannot imagine myself doing anything else.

As a dispatcher we are the first point of contact to those in the direst of situations. We are the first voice, the first hope. We are the first responder. We are 9-1-1 strong!

Traci Watson is a 9-1-1 Public Safety Telecommunicator in Wilmington, North Carolina.