There are two Rescue Squads. The first is the Rescue Squad where I volunteer as an EMT. The Squad has three ambulances, three medic units, two heavy rescue trucks, an air truck for fire ground operations, and a few other ancillary vehicles. Those rescue trucks are also called "Rescue Squads," which leads to surprisingly little confusion until I start talking about them to someone who isn't affiliated with the Squad. When a volunteer at the Squad (institution) goes through the process of becoming accredited to staff the Squad (vehicle) they are said to be "Squad qualified."

The Rescue Squads are used for fire search & rescue, extrication, high & low angle rescue, and support for fire suppression. They don't carry hoses, but are stuffed to the lid with other typical fire fighting equipment. Volunteers who staff the units must complete "Essentials of Firefighting" class and check out on various stations to demonstrate knowledge of the various pieces of equipment. They are equipped and trained as firefighters, although their primary function is rescue.

Anyone who grew up with me would be astonished to learn that I -- a skinny, geeky little urchin -- would now be considering becoming Squad qualified. And most everyone who knows me now is astonished to learn that I -- a smart guy who is averse to disabling burn injuries -- am considering becoming Squad qualified. But here's the thing: when there is a fire, and people are believed to be trapped inside, the Squad goes in and finds them. They do it ahead of the hoses, ahead of what most people would consider reasonable. It sends a weird kind of shiver through me, and I don't even fully understand why. Someone is trapped inside the flaming shell of their own home, caught inside the immolation of what has been their shelter and protection, and another human being crawls into the impenetrable smoke to get them.

It's like everything a child thinks about while falling asleep in a dark room -- destruction, and the sudden appearance of a stranger who will take care of everything.

In the past, I haven't paid much heed to others' concerns for my welfare when it came time to make the next jump. Decisions that took me to Senegal and later to Nigeria were met with some anxiety by those who cared about me, but that made little impact on my choices. This time this decision feels different. Fire leaves scars that are unique among wounds. The suffering of burns extends exponentially beyond the moment when flame hits skin. Is it the nature of fire that is changes what must be considered, or is it the nature of my life?