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Most of what I did lived in code repositories no one outside the building would ever see. I spent late nights scrolling through call logs and sensor feeds, looking for weird patterns that could slow a crew down. When the system worked, there were no headlines and no speeches.
A dispatcher’s screen lit up with a clean recommendation. A crew reached the right door sooner and life kept moving. The first person who treated that work like more than background noise was Dr.
And she said out loud that my need to understand every detail was a strength. Under her, our project started as a quiet pilot in one part of the city. After the software went live, numbers inside the department began to shift.
Average response times dipped. Fewer calls bounced between stations. Dispatchers sent short notes after rough weekends saying they felt less helpless.
We read every message, fixed what was broken, and rolled the system out a little farther each quarter until our maps covered the whole valley. The nomination for the award came from outside our office. A regional coordinator pulled data from the past year, built charts showing how many people had reached Care Faster, and sent the whole packet to a national committee that tracked public safety innovations.
I did not know my name was even in the conversation until Selma asked me to step into a conference room one afternoon and closed the door. She told me the committee wanted to talk to the person who had designed the core of the routing engine and that every arrow in their documents pointed to me. There would be interviews, she said, and a long review process I would mostly hear about secondhand.
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