The road to Pritchard, B.C. stretches like a ribbon along the South Thompson River, its banks lined with cottonwoods that shake their pale green leaves in the breeze. It was here, on a crisp morning last April, that I met Sam Erickson, a 12-year veteran paramedic whose hands still trembled slightly as he described the call that nearly ended his career.
“It was a multi-vehicle pileup on the Coquihalla,” he said, gazing at the water. “Three fatalities, including a child. We did everything right, but I couldn’t let it go. For months afterward, I’d wake up hearing phantom sirens.”
Erickson isn’t alone. According to alarming new data from the Ambulance Paramedics and Emergency Dispatchers of BC, nearly 30 percent of the province’s paramedics are currently struggling with symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder—three times the rate of the general population.
The union representing B.C.’s 4,500 paramedics has recently sounded the alarm about what they’re calling a mental health crisis within their ranks, one exacerbated by staff shortages, unprecedented call volumes, and the lingering effects of both the COVID-19 pandemic and the toxic drug emergency.
“We’re seeing paramedics who’ve been on the job for twenty years suddenly unable to function,” explains Troy Clifford, president of the paramedics union. “The human mind can only witness so much suffering before it starts to break down.”
When I visited the union’s headquarters in Vancouver last week, a wall of memorial photos served as a somber reminder of what’s at stake. Since 2018, B.C. Emergency Health Services has lost six paramedics to suicide—each one leaving behind colleagues who wonder if they could have done more.
The province’s paramedics respond to approximately 1,700 calls daily across British Columbia’s vast geography. From dense urban centers to remote Indigenous communities, these first responders navigate complex terrain both physical and emotional.
“People see us in our uniforms and think we’re invincible,” says Mariana Lopez, a paramedic in Prince George who requested I use a pseudonym to protect her privacy. “But we’re just regular people who’ve trained to handle extraordinary circumstances. The problem is, the circumstances keep getting more extraordinary, and we’re not getting the support we need.”
Lopez describes responding to three overdose calls in a single shift last month, including one involving a teenager. “You stabilize them, get them to the hospital, and then you’re immediately dispatched to the next emergency. There’s no time to process what you’ve just witnessed.”
The COVID-19 pandemic introduced new stressors for paramedics already operating in high-pressure environments. A study published in the Canadian Journal of Emergency Medicine documented significant increases in anxiety, depression, and burnout among emergency medical services personnel during the pandemic’s peak.
Dr. Megan McElheran, a clinical psychologist specializing in trauma among first responders, explains that the cumulative nature of exposure is particularly damaging. “Unlike a singular traumatic event, repeated trauma exposure creates what we call ‘moral injury’—when someone is repeatedly exposed to situations that violate their moral code or where they feel powerless to help.”
This phenomenon is precisely what the paramedics union is trying to address through their recent advocacy efforts. They’re calling for the province to implement several urgent measures, including:
• Immediate access to trauma-informed counseling without administrative barriers
• Mandatory time between high-stress calls to allow for psychological recovery
• Improved staffing levels to reduce individual workload and pressure
• Specialized training for paramedics to recognize mental health distress in themselves and colleagues
The B.C. Ministry of Health responded to my inquiry with a statement acknowledging the concerns and pointing to recent investments in mental health resources for first responders. However, paramedics on the ground report that these resources often remain difficult to access, particularly for those working in rural communities.
In Williams Lake, paramedic Jordan Chang described driving two hours to attend his only therapy appointment of the month. “By the time I got there, I was already anxious about the drive home and whether my crew would be short-staffed in my absence.”
The geographical challenges facing rural paramedics extend beyond mental health care access. These professionals often cover vast territories with minimal backup, creating additional stress and responsibility.
Walking along the shore of Kamloops Lake with Sam Erickson, I asked what kept him in the profession despite everything. He stopped to skip a stone across the water.
“It’s the moments where you know you made a difference,” he said after a long pause. “Last summer, a woman brought her toddler to our station—the same child I’d resuscitated after a near-drowning the year before. She was running around, laughing like nothing had ever happened.” His eyes brightened momentarily before clouding again. “Those moments sustain you, but they’re getting harder to hold onto.”
The union’s recent mental health survey revealed another troubling statistic: 62 percent of paramedics have considered leaving the profession entirely due to mental health concerns, creating the potential for a dangerous feedback loop where diminished staffing increases pressure on those who remain.
Adrian Dix, B.C.’s Minister of Health, recently announced plans to add 250 new paramedic positions across the province, but critics argue this addresses only the staffing shortage, not the underlying mental health crisis.
Some solutions may lie in models adopted elsewhere. Australia’s paramedic services have implemented mandatory “downtime” after traumatic calls, while several European countries rotate paramedics between high and low-stress postings to prevent burnout.
As dusk fell over the Thompson River, Erickson explained that he’s finally receiving effective treatment through a specialized program for first responders. “I’m learning that processing trauma isn’t weakness—it’s necessary maintenance, like checking the equipment on our ambulances.”
For B.C.’s paramedics, that maintenance has been deferred too long, creating a mental health debt that continues to compound. The question now is whether the system can change quickly enough to prevent losing more dedicated professionals like Erickson to the invisible wounds they acquire while saving others.
As I left Pritchard, an ambulance rushed past, lights flashing against the darkening sky—a moving reminder of the people inside, responding to someone else’s worst day while navigating their own complex internal landscapes, one emergency at a time.
