Saskatchewan Professional Firefighters And Paramedics Association

Saskatchewan Professional Firefighters And Paramedics Association Welcome to the Official page for the Saskatchewan Professional Firefighters and Paramedic Association.

02/28/2026

“I answer 911 calls. If you call 911 for an ambulance, chances are you talk to me. I’m with you when you are alone in your emergency, I make sense of the chaos that I hear happening on your end of the phone. I’ve heard you scream for your loved one that has hung themself. I’ve been the voice for you to cling to when you’ve lost your baby. I’ve been with you when you wake in the night, alone and afraid with crushing chest pain. And let me assure you, it’s my privilege to be there with you. Taking your calls is the best part of my job, because I know that I am helping people in what is often the worst days of their lives. And I don’t need thanks or recognition - I just need time. I need more time on the phone with you, waiting with you for the ambulance to arrive, to provide the guidance you need in your emergency, to help calm your fears. Instead, I have to hang up as quickly as possible, because there are more calls coming in, more calls holding than ever before. I just need time - time to sit a moment and process the pain I heard in your voice, to find an appropriate place in my memories for the screams at the accident that I’ll never forget. But there isn’t time anymore. There are too many calls and too few of us. Many of my coworkers have left over the last few years, simply unable to carry this mental load any longer, the stress of watching calls have to hold for longer and longer, having to call back to those people who are waiting for help and try to explain to them why their emergency isn’t quite important enough. We are here to help; we want to help. It’s just getting harder and harder with less and less support. I watch my coworkers leave broken, and I no longer wonder IF it will happen to me. I wonder WHEN it will happen to me.”

02/27/2026

(1/2) “I have proudly served as an Advanced Care Paramedic in Saskatchewan for over a decade. Throughout my career, I have responded to thousands of emergencies, cared for critically ill patients, supported families on their worst days, and worked alongside some of the most dedicated healthcare professionals in this province.

Paramedicine is not just a job — it is a calling. We show up in blizzards, in the middle of the night, in moments of trauma and crisis. We are expected to be calm, clinically
sharp, and emotionally steady, no matter the circumstances. But the system we are working in is not sustainable.

Over the past several years, we have experienced increasing call volumes, staffing shortages, delayed response times, extended off-load delays at hospitals, and overtime. These pressures do not just affect paramedics — they directly impact patient care and community safety.

I am currently off work on mental health leave. This was not an easy decision. Like many in this profession, I pushed through exhaustion, stress, and operational strain for as long as I could. Eventually, the cumulative impact became too much.

I am also juggling family life alongside this profession. My spouse works shift work as well, and together we have worked hard to balance unpredictable schedules, childcare, and the emotional demands of two healthcare careers. There have been birthdays, school events, evenings, and milestones that I have missed because I was on shift, on overtime, or too exhausted to be fully present. That is a reality many paramedics and their families live with every day.

There have been numerous times where I have seriously contemplated leaving this profession in search of a better work-life balance for myself and my family. That is not something I ever imagined I would consider when I first chose this career.“

02/26/2026

(2/2) “These are human beings performing CPR in living rooms at sunrise while families scream and collapse around them. They see horrible deaths. They revive overdoses. They hold hands. They deliver babies. They absorb shock, grief, panic and then they are immediately dispatched to the next crisis.

And we expect them to just keep going.

They are not asking for luxury.
They are asking for 20-30 minutes after a traumatic call to debrief.
To breathe.
To regulate.
To talk to their partner about what they just witnessed.
To eat a meal in a 12-hour shift.
To be paid appropriately for their work.

This career changes how they see their own city. A park isn’t a park, it’s where a child died. A street corner isn’t just an intersection, it’s where CPR didn’t work. The weight follows them everywhere all the time.

We cannot keep celebrating first responders publicly while privately running them into the ground.

If we want compassionate, sharp, capable paramedics showing up when we dial 911, then we must protect them before they break.

This job action is not selfish.
It is not dramatic.
It is not entitled.

It is survival.
It is dignity.
It is saying, you cannot continue to demand that people save lives while ignoring the cost to theirs.

I love a man who would give everything to help someone else.
I will not stay quiet while a system slowly takes everything from him in return.

They deserve better.

And I will stand beside them until they get it.”

02/22/2026

“When people ask me what my husband does for a living I feel a sense of pride saying “he’s a paramedic” But what most people don’t see is the hidden cost that comes with that title - the toll it takes on a marriage and every day family life.

My husband and I met at 18 years old. He was always drawn to medicine but was unsure of the path. Im the one that encouraged him to apply to paramedic school, never imagining how deeply this would affect our lives and future children’s.

Paramedics not only sacrifice at work but also in their family life. Missed time with family and friends, holidays, birthdays, and lost moments of their kids childhoods. I have watched my husband change into a different person over the years and at times he dislikes the way the job has changed him. Sleep deprivation, repeated trauma and too often lack of real support at work it all adds up.

Our boys idolize him and my oldest often comments how he will grow up to be a paramedic “just like Dad”. We smile and nod but inside we hope he never does. This isn’t a life we’d choose for our children. People say “someone’s gotta do it” and thats true but at what point does the cost become too much.”

02/22/2026

“It takes a special kind of person to choose a career as a paramedic or EMS dispatcher. Not everyone can walk into or answer the phone for someone who is living through the worst moment of their life. No one calls 911 because they’re having a good day. We step into chaos with calm voices, steady hands, and compassion. Every call asks us to give a small piece of ourselves to help someone else make it through.

You would think that kind of work would come with strong support from the people we work for. Instead, as call volumes continue to rise, the support behind the scenes seems to shrink just as quickly. Short staffing has been a constant since I started. Rather than focusing on retaining experienced staff, the system feels built around continuously hiring new people some of whom never make it through training, and those who do often find themselves with minimal support once they’re on the floor.

The “solution” to short staffing has become overtime. Full-time staff feel pressured to pick it up, because none of us wants to be the reason someone doesn’t get help when they call. The system counts on that dedication. Breaks during 12-hour shifts are already short, yet they’re often missed entirely because stepping away simply isn’t possible. Paramedics and dispatchers alike are given less and less time to pause after difficult calls —no time to breathe, process, or reset before the next emergency comes in.

Most people don’t think about who answers when they dial 911 they just trust that someone will be there. And we are. Many of us feel like we’re being treated the same way people fear being treated when they need help the most: like numbers instead of humans. That’s something everyone can understand.

We’re not asking for the world. We’re asking for meaningful mental health support, fair wages, and the time and breaks needed to do this job safely and sustainably. It’s hard to take care of others when we aren’t allowed to take care of ourselves.

The hardest part isn’t that these issues exist it’s that they’re well known, yet rarely acknowledged out loud.

We will always be here when you call. We’re just asking for the support we need to keep showing up for you.”

02/17/2026

“I love you. Be safe. Five small words. So simple yet carry the weight of everything I can’t say out loud. They are the words I cling to every time you reach for the door. Every. Single. Time.
 
After over twenty years, I have learned one truth: every time you leave, a piece of you doesn’t return. Over the years you have given so much of yourself to the job and to the people our community, that you have slowly lost parts of who you once were. The man who used to be full of light, laughter, and ease now lives behind a quiet shadow.
 
You’re guarded in ways you never used to be. You get quiet when we pass that street. You don’t talk about it, but I know the darkness lingers. It’s there when we pass that building. That house. That person…
 
You’ve missed another meal. You’re depleting the supply of school snacks because sit down meals are no longer reliable. You’ve missed  another holiday. Another appointment.  I’ve tucked the kids into bed alone—again. The little one acts out like I’m the worst—the truth is, they just miss you.  You’ve missed their first day of school, their 3-way conferences, Christmas concert, and that meeting—it was important. I feel the teacher’s eyes on me like she’s already decided I’m a single parent. Sometimes I feel like one. It’s lonely here without you.
 
The worry settles into my bones, heavy and cold. It’s 6 a.m. You should have been home 45 minutes ago. The house is too quiet, the kind of quiet that presses on my chest. My phone sits beside me like a whisper I don’t want to hear. It gets louder and louder—is today the day you don’t come home?
 
My mind spirals into places I beg it not to go. The deepest, darkest corners where sirens fade out, radios go silent. Is today the day I find you a casualty of the job you gave so much to?
 
I love you. Be Safe.“

02/16/2026

(2/2) “The whole point of him moving from a rural service to Saskatoon was so he could be home and not miss so much time with our toddler but it hasn’t added much time that he gets to spend with her because he just needs to not be needed for a while.

As for us dispatchers, we love our jobs, we aren’t just in it for the paycheques, we’re there because we’re passionate about the work we do, from being the calm voice on the phone to keeping our paramedics safe and making sure they have backup when they need it. But we’re getting burnt out from running short staffed most of the time and feeling unsupported by our employer when we give so much of ourselves. We need support, we need staff and we need something to change or the system will collapse completely in on itself.

Your friendly dispatcher”

02/15/2026

“I’ve been a Critical Care Paramedic since 2018, an Advanced Care Paramedic since 1999, and a Primary Care Paramedic before that. Working the streets of Saskatoon, I’ve seen firsthand how skilled, compassionate care can make a real difference in people’s lives.

The job is challenging — long hours, high-stress calls, and constant demands — but the professionalism, dedication, and teamwork of my colleagues make it meaningful. After more than two decades on the streets, I’m proud to serve and grateful for the opportunity to make an impact every day.”

02/13/2026

“I love being a paramedic. I chose this career to help my community, and after more than 10 years, I’m proud of the difference I’ve made. But the conditions we’re working under are no longer sustainable.

Understaffing means moving from call to call without time to eat, drink, or even use the bathroom. It means finishing a traumatic call and being sent straight to another with no time to process it. Burnout doesn’t look dramatic—it looks like driving home so exhausted you don’t remember the drive, or being short with your family because there’s nothing left to give.

This job has pushed my mental health to some very dark places, and I’ve needed more support than the system currently provides. Even after so many years, I find myself wondering how long I can keep doing this—and honestly, I still consider switching to police or fire, where mental health support, wages, and work-life balance appear stronger.

We’ve been without a contract for two years while the cost of living rises. Overtime isn’t a choice anymore—it’s a necessity.

We continue to show up for our communities every day. We’re asking for conditions that let us do this work safely, sustainably, and with dignity.”

02/11/2026

“I was about six, the first time I realized my dad had a job different from other dads. My friends and I liked talking at school about the dinner we had the night before. I’d share what my mum and I ate, they would share what their family ate, mentioning their mum and dad at the table. Though I noticed the difference, I never thought all that much of why my dad didn’t always eat with us, why he would have to catch up on sleep throughout the day or why sometimes he’d spend a few nights in other cities at work. It wasn’t until a few years later that I heard for the first time that dad might not come home from work one day.

Then it hit me.

I always knew that dad worked extra hard to help other people, I always thought that was so exciting, but then I realized it wasn’t all about driving fast and sharing funny stories. I learnt from a fairly young age that my dad is one of many people that decided to put their life on the line for others. My dad is one of thousands of medics across our country risking his life every shift he works, simply because he feels it’s right. He loves his job, he loves helping others and he’s been doing exactly that my whole life, but there’s also been this risk my whole life. The risk that one day, the kindness my dad possesses could get him injured by those who he helps and the risk that one day all of the horrors he sees will catch up to him. There is no limit to what could happen to our medics and there should be no limit to what we could do to support those who spend their lives protecting and supporting us.”

02/11/2026

Members of the Saskatoon Paramedic Association Local 3270 have unanimously voted to initiate strike actions after exhausting all available options with their

02/09/2026

“I chose to become a paramedic for one reason: to be the calm in the chaos.

When I was young, my grandmother was heavily reliant on the emergency medical system due to medical challenges.

What I remember most is that once the paramedics arrived, the mood started to shift shift. My family began to feel safe and as if things were going to be okay.

That’s exactly what I want my patients to feel when I walk into a room. I want them to feel heard, valued, and assured that things might just be okay.

When I first began my career, it was everything I hoped for. I felt like I was making a difference. But over the years, things started to change. I was told early on that the average career in EMS lasts only a few years, but I refused to believe that.

I’ve watched colleagues leave this profession for the fire department, police service, nursing, or leave the career entirely. At first, I didn’t understand why. Most of them still loved patient care. They still believed in emergency medicine. But they couldn’t continue to carry the physical, mental, emotional, and financial toll that EMS currently places on individuals and their families.

The working conditions are better in other services. The support systems are stronger. And too often, management refuses to make meaningful changes within EMS. Employees don’t feel valued. They feel easily replaceable, like, “just a number.” The current focus seems to be on hiring new staff. But what about retention? What about the experienced, senior paramedics who know the job inside and out. The ones who need support financially, mentally, and physically to continue doing it well? Are we truly that replaceable?

I love my career. I love being able to make a difference in someone’s life on what may be their worst day, but how much longer can I stay in a profession that would rather hire a replacement than invest in fixing me when i’m broken?“

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Saskatoon, SK

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