The calls
change you.
Write them down
before they blur.
A whole career of firsts, and nowhere to put them. Sixty-some prompts, seven chapters, and a lot of blank lines — for the first arrest, the first save, the first meal you never finished.
Beginnings through the last tone. It follows a career in the order it actually happens.
First arrest. First ROSC. The dog that was definitely not friendly. Written by someone who ran the calls.
Ruled, heavy paper that takes a pen. Nothing in here is filled in for you.
They're not going
to tell you about it.
You’ve watched them come in at seven in the morning and say it was a quiet night. You know it wasn’t. Twenty years from now the details go soft — the names, the addresses, the ones they got back.
This is somewhere to put it that isn’t you, and isn’t a therapist, and isn’t the truck at three in the morning. There are pages in the back for you to sign too — most people write theirs before they hand it over.
Seven chapters,
in career order
uniform, the day the patch came.
“The dog is friendly.”
save. Why you still show up.
you’ll carry out.
The hard one, too.
finished. The thing you backed into.
and why the dumb stuff matters.
the calls you hope you never get.
Every spread works the same way
Left page asks. Right page is yours. No dates to keep up with, no wrong answers, and nothing to fall behind on.
A portion of every copy funds AEDs and CPR training for communities through Bond's Path, Inc. Somebody's first arrest is somebody else's worst day — this puts a machine on the wall before the tones ever drop.