A special rescue firefighter’s battle with a silent killer
Alan Bruce was deemed medically unfit in January 2014 and forced to retire from Fire and Rescue NSW. This was only the beginning of his problems as debilitating PTSD set in. Periods in mental health facilities, hundreds of psychiatric appointments and a lengthy compensation battle ensued.
The following article contains confronting matter including themes of mental health, alcoholism and suicide. Please contact Lifeline on 131114 if you find the content distressing.
On a bright, clear night in March 2017, Alan poured himself a glass of wine and made arrangements in his backyard to carry out his suicide plans. Inside, his wife Kim went unknowingly about the house. Only one thing didn’t go to plan. He drank too much, and later woke up in bed. His decade-long battle with PTSD, depression and anxiety had finally become too much when news came that his insurance company had hired private investigators to carry out surveillance on him, to prove he "lived a normal life" and wasn't entitled to worker's compensation.
Growing up in the rural village of Letham, Scotland, Alan spent his days like most children. “Warm fires, music and porridge… the smells of homemade jam," he writes; “I recall open fields behind our house where sheep roamed freely.”
His father Wallace (a WW2 veteran), mother Betty and older sister Jenny were part of the "Ten Pound Pom" era – some of over one million migrants encouraged by a government scheme to relocate to Australia between 1945 and 1972. In 1962, they boarded the Castel Felice to Sydney, a ship Alan recalls being petrified of. “Jenny and I had never seen a pool.”
They were settled in a migrant hostel and had their first run-ins with Australian wildlife – spiders and snakes - before finding permanent residency in the housing commission estate of Green Valley, one of Sydney’s most troubled suburbs. Alan went on to attend Miller High School (despite a few schoolyard bust-ups), where he fostered a love of music. He met fellow migrant Timo Tolvanen, who became a life long friend and fellow band member. He recalls his first concert, seeing Led Zeppelin live in 1972, as an experience that changed his life.
“For the first time I had felt what music sounded like, I was inside it. It was the start of a recurring theme for me… I wanted to participate rather than spectate. To be in the boxing ring, not screaming from the cheap seats, being the pilot, not the passenger, driving the firetruck, not watching it race by. It’s about squeezing the most out of life.” - The Firefighter Blues
Alan also met Kim at age 15, with their first date being a romantic outing to “Garry’s party”. You guessed it - they married and later had two children - Robert and Sarah. Alan worked various jobs in factories as a fitter and machinist before discovering a love of flying. After his first solo flight, he remembers driving home “punching the air and screaming YEAHHHH!” Unfortunately, the fees for professional pilot school were out of reach.
When Alan joined the firefighters in 1990, the NSW Fire Brigade (now known as Fire and Rescue NSW) was full of “hard nose firies, Vietnam vets. It was very much a boy’s club,” he says. “I think there were five girls in all of New South Wales. It was almost a military establishment.” But Alan loved the diverse training and old school "routine" it brought.
The Castel Felice - the ship Alan and his family sailed to Australia on in 1962 (Image: Supplied)
The Castel Felice - the ship Alan and his family sailed to Australia on in 1962 (Image: Supplied)
Alan and Kim, mid 1970's (Image: Supplied)
Alan and Kim, mid 1970's (Image: Supplied)
Training College, Alexandria, NSW. Alan is third left, back row, 1990 (Image: Supplied)
Training College, Alexandria, NSW. Alan is third left, back row, 1990 (Image: Supplied)
A rescue Alan was involved in, published in The Telegraph Mirror, 1991 (Image: Supplied)
A rescue Alan was involved in, published in The Telegraph Mirror, 1991 (Image: Supplied)
Alan (rear) and his son Robert (foreground) at a rescue (Image: Supplied)
Alan (rear) and his son Robert (foreground) at a rescue (Image: Supplied)
His career was more than just your average house fires, in fact he prayed for the days where he would be called to one. In the depths of his PTSD, he notes feeling a horrible sense of "relief" when the victim was confirmed deceased as they arrived, meaning less pressure on him to "get it right". Alan recalls receiving multiple calls to retrieve bodies from under trains - including a 15-year-who had suffered with depression from bullying. At a car accident, Alan looked up to see his own son Robert (also a firefighter) working on the scene. He had no other choice but to hand "a dead body over to my son." Riot control, gruesome farm machinery accidents, retrieving abandoned children from homes with DOCS, the 1993/94 notorious bushfire season - were all some of the tales of Alan’s career. One Saturday, he asked to visit hospital after being exposed to HIV positive blood. His boss asked indifferently, “are you sure? It’s probably nothing to worry about.”
“No one ever asked ‘are you okay,'" Alan says, “but even if they had… I probably would’ve lied. It would’ve been seen as a sign of weakness. That was the first thing that was instilled in us, you know ‘suck it up sweetheart.”
When I asked Alan about the culture at the time, he seems forgiving. “They could’ve done more but they didn’t really know about PTSD, they just thought we’ll go to the pub and drink it out. It wasn’t until probably late 1990’s that they saw signs of it, and they implemented things.” These "things" included a peer support guide in each district – usually qualified with one week’s training. As Alan notes, “they were firies too…it didn’t really work.”
Alan has held music as a constant in his life, playing in many bands from rock to country pop, the successful "WildSeed", and my personal favourite – "Radio Adz" a group that wrote catchy jingles for radio. “Music is part of my DNA,” he notes, “I’ve never been in it for money. I’m in it for the love of music and that’s enough.” Geoff Zenner (fellow band member) met Alan in his early 20’s. “There came a time where we noticed,” he says. “There were a couple of incidents, a few arguments, that we ordinarily wouldn’t have had. We had never, ever fought.”
“One time, we met up for breakfast. We were still in the band, and he looked like,” Geoff pauses, “he was a shell. We kept asking ‘what is it? Do you want to leave the band?’ and then it all came out."
Encouraged by his psychiatrist and psychologist, Alan leaned into music and continued writing, rehearsing and even managed to play a handful of small local gigs. “There was a gig in particular where he had this panic attack and just had to go outside during the break, and apparently he was almost in tears, you know, in a really bad way," Geoff recalls.
“And none of us were any the wiser. That’s the thing about people with depression, PTSD, anxiety- I think they hide it fairly well.”
Taryn Henry is a provisional psychologist who has completed specialist study in veterans with PTSD. “Post-traumatic stress disorder affects between five and ten per cent of the population…flashbacks, nightmares and intrusive thoughts,” she says, “it’s like living in constant ‘fight or flight' mode.”
Like Alan, she notes, “patients are usually apprehensive to therapy. There is a lot of guilt involved.” Research shows that first responders are more than three times as likely to have a suicide plan.
Perhaps more alarmingly - every month in Australia, a firefighter, paramedic or police officer dies by suicide.
Alan retiring from Fire and Rescue NSW after 23 years and 7 months service, 2014 (Image: Supplied)
Alan retiring from Fire and Rescue NSW after 23 years and 7 months service, 2014 (Image: Supplied)
A selection of the bands Alan has been in, image from his book - The Firefighter Blues.
Alan's most recent band performing in 2018, The Riff Doctors (Images: Georgia Emily)
One of the major turning points in Alan's life occurred in February 2012 – three years after first being diagnosed with PTSD. He suffered a major breakdown at home, but would continue showing up for work for another two years. His dependence on alcohol and medication grew, along with outbursts of rage. He was attending weekly therapy sessions, practicing meditation and deep breathing, while also undergoing eye movement desensitization reprocessing therapy (EMDR) and cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT), but nothing seemed to be working.
He was retired from Fire and Rescue NSW, on the 24th January 2014, after 24 years of service. In March 2016, Alan suffered another major breakdown and physically harmed himself.
“I hate being awake and I am terrified of going to sleep."
At the same time, Alan was in the process of applying for workers compensation from FRNSW. He was required to complete assessments on his mental health, which involved an endless circle of telling and re-telling his experiences to his own doctors and doctors assigned by the insurance company. The process went back and forth, and continued for years. “I would be physically sick days before a session,” he says. On one occasion, the company had 28 days to appeal the assessment - his solicitor reassured him that it would rarely happen. But on the 25th day, the appeal came.
To make matters worse, Alan and Kim received a package in the mail. The solicitor had called to warn them that the insurance company had been carrying out surveillance. Video and photo recordings were taken of Alan in his home, in his yard, going to the bins, sitting on his porch, visiting the local shops (chemist), and playing his guitar in a small pub close to home. The photos were accompanied with commentary such as “he is being humorous on this occasion" or "he seems to be relaxed." This exacerbated Alan’s paranoia, panic and anxiety, sending him into a deep depression.
“I’d never experienced hopelessness like it."
Alan and Kim standing outside his childhood home in Letham, Scotland, 2019 (Image: Supplied)
Alan and Kim standing outside his childhood home in Letham, Scotland, 2019 (Image: Supplied)
Alan sits on his back deck, looking out over Kincumber Bay with its diverse bird life and sleeping staffy Zoe at his feet. After a five-year battle, the insurance claim was finalised later in 2019. “I’ve distanced myself, moving up to the Central Coast away from Sydney - that helped. I still have regular therapy and I’m still on medication. Writing the book was fantastic for me, I got it out of my head. The insurance company… I’m finished with that. And It took a little while, but I am starting to feel better. I’m not scared to talk about it anymore.”
Last year, he went back to Letham in Scotland with Kim; he visited his family home and shared stories in the local pub with relatives. He drove the rolling hills of the Scottish Highlands hand-in-hand with his childhood sweetheart. And there were moments of peace.
But some days are not so easy. He doesn’t sleep, he can’t eat. He’ll hold his family, friends and music a little closer.
“Once a firefighter, always a firefighter," he says. "We may stop wearing the uniform. But some of us never stop hearing the sirens and bells.”
You can find Alan’s book ‘The Firefighter Blues’ in bookstores and online - where a percentage of profits are donated to the Black Dog Institute.
Please contact Beyond Blue on 1800RESPECT or Lifeline on 13114 if you find any of the above content distressing.
