The Gap by Benjamin Gilmour

Author:Benjamin Gilmour
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781760890216
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia

It’s dark by the time we reverse into the plant room of the ambulance station. We’ve worked nearly thirteen hours straight and both of us are spent.

‘It’s depressing, all these depressed people, don’t you think?’ John says as he mops out the back of the ambulance. I recognise the feeling. I too have worked shifts in the shadow of the black dog while comforting others in similar states.

As he tips out the mop bucket he says, ‘When I started in this game it was car crashes, heart attacks, drownings, real shit. Not people feeling sorry for themselves, crying and carrying on. Tell me, have you ever called an ambulance because you felt depressed?’

In my twenties I suffered a bout of depression, for less than twelve months. Relationship problems before I met Kaspia and too many overtime shifts were to blame. I guess a year is not long to be feeling depressed, but a doctor was worried enough to prescribe medication. After ten months I stopped it. Am I depressed now? I don’t think so. I’m sad, and feel lonely at home, but I’m also optimistic. The breakup with Kaspia is temporary; we still have feelings for each other.

I say, ‘Depression is a sickness. I had it once too.’

John looks up, surprised. Then he turns and puts the mop in the bucket. ‘Sorry, didn’t know. But still, tell me, did you ever call an ambulance for it?’

‘No, I didn’t.’ Although it’s fair to say that, like many paramedics, there isn’t much I’d call an ambulance for. It runs in the family. I recall a story about my father’s grandfather, who fell into the harbour from a Sydney ferry at Circular Quay on a rainy winter’s day. He suffered a nasty laceration to his leg on the way down. Once he fished himself out with his umbrella and briefcase, the ferry master offered to call him an ambulance, but he refused. Instead, he bought a copy of the Sydney Morning Herald and laid it out on the back seat of a taxi, which he took to Sydney Hospital to have himself stitched up. My grandmother Murial was equally resilient, with a no-fuss attitude. She was hit by a bus in her eighties and got to her feet, brushed herself down and carried on walking. She wouldn’t have been able to do that had she had a serious injury, of course. But it shows what we’re made of.

‘If you or I called an ambulance, we’d just be worried about who they’d send us. What if we got a pair of dickhead paramedics?’ says John.

‘Luckily there aren’t many of those,’ I reply.

But the real issue is our colleagues finding out about our breakdowns. There’s a learned mindset in this line of work that vulnerability is a liability. It may be the same for other professionals, but for them privacy can be maintained when emotional cracks appear. I’ve treated politicians, CEOs and celebrities with mental health disorders and drug addictions, some of them after suicide attempts.

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