This personal account delves into the author's six-month experience as an ambulance call-taker for Triple Zero Victoria. It explores the practical skills learned, the emotional toll of witnessing humanity's darkest aspects, and the constant pressure of handling a high volume of emergencies.
I spent six months working as an ambulance call-taker for Triple Zero Victoria, formerly known as the Emergency Services Telecommunications Authority. Having always been intrigued by the role, my personal experience s taught me the profound impact a single voice can have on how someone processes traumatic events. I anticipated the job would instill in me a heightened sense of purpose and worldly understanding, perhaps even sharpening my perspective on life's priorities.
While the lessons were undeniably impactful, they weren't of a philosophical nature. Instead, I learned practical, life-saving information: recognizing the sound of labored breathing when someone's oxygen levels are critically low, administering first aid instructions over the phone during a suspected heart attack, or guiding a parent through the terrifying moments of a newborn baby not breathing. These practical skills now serve as a strange comfort when I experience unsettling symptoms. I instinctively run through my old triple zero medical protocols, rationally assessing if I'd qualify for an ambulance. The answer is invariably no, and this calculated detachment helps quell my anxieties. The most significant changes, however, were less obvious and more unsettling. My progressive ideals began to waver, and my heart hardened against the constant exposure to the worst aspects of society – addiction, crime, and mental illness. Witnessing these tragedies day after day eroded my idealistic worldview. It's far easier to maintain a compassionate outlook on humanity when you're not bombarded by its darkest realities for ten hours straight. During my training, a police dispatcher who was cross-training in ambulance operations shared some sobering advice. He warned, 'You can't do this job for too long, or you'll wind up an absolute husk.' His observation highlighted the toll this role takes on a person's emotional well-being. The call-taker's protective shell, essential for survival, often comes at the expense of vulnerability and empathy. Triple zero call-takers are unique in the sheer volume of emergencies they handle compared to other frontline workers. Unlike doctors, nurses, or paramedics who typically manage one patient at a time, a call-taker can resolve multiple emergencies within minutes. As a new recruit, I was placed at the top of the call queue, meaning there was no time to catch my breath between calls. Within a half-hour, I might handle a stroke, a suicide attempt, an overdose, and an allergic reaction. This relentless pace demanded a thick emotional armor, and the line between self-preservation and dissociation became increasingly blurred. To mitigate burnout risks, we were given a generous 30-minute break every hour and a half. Initially, it seemed excessive, but after enduring a relentless onslaught of calls, the respite became a lifeline. During my breaks, I walked briskly around the artificial lake near the building, occasionally fending off territorial birds. One brazen myna even snatched a protein bar from my hand, while another delivered a sharp peck to the back of my head. It felt like a fitting metaphor for the demanding nature of the job. The physical demands of the role were surprising. Call-taking, while sedentary, was incredibly draining. Early on, every call sent a surge of adrenaline through my system, and even as my nerves calmed, a high-priority emergency would spike my cortisol levels again. I felt the weight of every call in my body – abusive calls churning my stomach and bowels, unresponsive patients pounding in my heart. One night, exhausted by eye strain, adrenaline, and the late hour, I experienced a severe vertigo attack. A team leader promptly summoned a mobile intensive care ambulance paramedic – the most highly skilled of the lot – to check me over. This over-the-top intervention, while reassuring to my hypochondriac tendencies, underscored the toll the job took on even the call-takers. There were aspects of the job I loved – the satisfaction of quickly prioritizing a call and seeing the ambulance en route, the relief in my caller's voice as I guided them through first aid. But for every positive, there were five negatives. The constant scrutiny and criticism, the heavy weight of responsibility, and the desperate need for levity that often felt like a chemical craving, constantly pushing me to swivel my chair towards laughing colleagues. Then there were the pest callers, who could dial in as many as 300 times a day, their endless stream of nonsensical cries and demands adding another layer of stress to an already intense environment
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