Here's another night spent staring into the nests of hydraulics and glittering steel beaks of extrication tools. Every evening I blacken my hands with the greasy winch chains, attach air hoses to the hissing fittings on high-pressure cylinders. I lay a grubby hand against the white doors of the rescue squad's outside compartments and make them invisible; seeing in wavering detail the contents and methodically recounting everything inside. The recitation is performed quietly, one hand still extended to the metal skin of the squad as if trying to heal the crack where the compartment doors open. If I err in naming all I see, I review it again until it's correct. When I'm finsihed I lean back, and as the metal reasserts it opacity I see I've left an oily handprint on the surface.

One night we pull all the various cutting tools off the squad and the Lieutenant says: let's say one end of this is impaled in a person, and you have to free the patient so they can be transported to the hospital. Since we never (except in very specific circumstances) pull out an impaled object, when someone is stuck on a stationary object the squad crew has to figure out the best way to cut the object at minimal risk and discomfort for the patient.

So we pulled out the cutting torch, bolt cutters, reciprocating saw, and circular saw. I fired up the torch and the sparks blew out around me in blinding curtains. Magical, like being at the center of exploding fireworks or the beginning of a new universe. In the dark lenses of my goggles the world around me was black and insubstantial, centered around the bright spot at the end of my welding tool, and lit momentarily in precise detail where sparks fell to earth around me and winked out. The torch sliced through the rebar like wax, and rivulets of liquefied metal rolled down and congealed again in seconds. I let the flare go out and was momentarily blind behind the goggles.

We surveyed the results: the metal got much, much too hot for anyone to tolerate if the other end was embedded in their body. So in turn we attacked the bar with the reciprocating saw. The cut was quick but prone to create vibrations that could be excrutiating for a patient. Same with the circular saw. We moved on to the bolt cutter, which takes a great deal more finesse and has the tendency to snip the bar in one violent jerk that could be painful and damaging.

I went into this training thinking there was a simple, right answer to the problem. Experience would simply teach it to me. All would be revelaed. I'm spending all this time learning the ins and outs of all the tools -- there's supposed to be a tool for every situation. The squad and I should be able to fix everything.