Crash - Finale

.........I went home and showered. I'd washed up at Mary's house pretty thoroughly. I still though felt as if I had 'it' on me and was trying to wash that feeling of dread and death off. I stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out.I called in to 'work' and told them what I'd been involved in and that I wouldn't be in today. I grabbed a bite to eat and went down to headquarters. There I picked up the phone and called dispatch. I knew the county would be running some debrief's of the incident as well as putting together field based PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) support teams. I wanted to make sure we got those services to my quarters. Dispatch said they'd had some small teams in the area visiting individuals, but nothing for us as a department yet. There was though a debrief group site available at North Shore University Hospital and they had current availability. I told dispatch to put a notice out to all of our members that they should call immediately if they wished to attend.I received responses from 16 of our members and a couple hours later we headed to the hospital. It turned out to be an 8 hour session. Included in our group were fireman, nurses and the general public, all with varying degress of involvement in the crash. After awhile of talking things through as one large gathering, they broke us down into smaller groups, segregated by the level of involvement in the crash. Some of the lay people had had issues with hearing the plane go down. Some saw the plane go down. Some walked over and tried to help but were confronted with the walking wounded and couldn't handle that sight. Others were firemen who were putting fires out and were stressing over seeing a plane on the ground with the thoughts of the unseen victims playing in their heads. Finally, others like me, had been involved over our heads. This is not to say anyone's feelings were any more or less powerful than anyone else's. Its just that we were made up of different groupings of people with differing needs. The medically trained people who'd been involved in care of the crash victims had (supposed) training for this type of thing. They therefore were able to process this incident in a totally different fashion than the non-trained, etc.We talked, and talked, and talked. That day ended, I tried to get on with my life. I was finding that I had the slightest of tremors in my left hand. I knew I was also facing other issues, less physical. I'd found my reasoning capabilities were slightly slower on the uptake. Snap processes, which had always been spot on, were delayed a bit and being replaced with the need for consciously guided thoughts and internal proddings. I hadn't felt this way since I was 14 years old and it was upsetting.I went to the memorial services held at St. Dominick's Church. I met the head father of the church and he blessed me and layed his hand on m y shoulder, effectively the hand of god if you will. After the service I was interviewed by every TV station covering the event. By the conclusion of the 3rd interview the savage nature of the news service had become apparent. They'd invariably end up asking the same probing questions in order to get that 'good' footage. They wanted emotion, they wanted you to ball your eyes out or they wanted to see that stark unrelenting stoicism on you face when compared to one of the other 'rescuers' as the final counter-point shot to sum up the media event. Anything that would keep the viewers tuned in so they could make more money in ad sales. It turned my stomach. I'd made it through 7 interviews before one of the crews from News 7 asked a very horrible off color question about blood and gore, I looked stright into the camera (they don't like that) raised my right hand and flipped them the bird. Over the next week I spent any available time I had going for counseling. I was typically joined by 6 of my brethren. Each time, the psychologists would help put pieces together on why I was feeling this way, why WE were feeling this way. It took a great deal of effort by the physchologists to get me personally to realize I was not alone in my feelings or reactions. Further, that my 'ailment' wasn't unique to anyone or any group of people. These were typical of many people who experienced traumatic issues daily.This fact was a hook for me. I was finally able to feel a part of something and that I wasn't going 'nuts' as they say. (who the hell is 'they' anyway, I've always wanted to meet the "they's"). This feeling of being part of a group was important. It allowed me to re-build empathy for people and understand that these feelings were every day feelings many many people experienced. In our case, they all hinged on a single, very traumatic incident. My issues began, as I would later learn from introspection, with that first phone call to Mike at my headquarters earlier in the evening. I had somehow processed that simple task of picking up the phone and getting people together to dive into this horrible incident as guilt and feelings of responsibility for everyone who was with me that night. More so that their feelings of pain, loss and emotion were on my shoulders. It took me many weeks to get passed those feelings. I was programmed to help. I couldn't help but try and provide services and support in a time of need. This time the tables were turned 180 degrees and I needed the help from the community.My second patient of that horrible night had been the bruised and battered little girl, with nothing wrong with her other than scrapes. It was my interaction with her that was found to be my 'trigger' event. Her simple statement of 'Daddy?' had smashed through any mental preparation barriers I'd erected in the short drive to the crash site. The event then became personal for me. I 'knew' someone, a victim no less, who had been hurt and their family was most likely hurt, or killed, in this crash.This single interaction with my 'patient' might not have been a trigger at all if it wasn't for the fact that I'd gone through two (2) previous incidents in the very near past. I'd had no time to dwell on those events, reflect and retrospectively decide what I'd done right and wrong and how to do better the next time. I didn't have the needed mental processing complete which would allow me to add those direly needed mental shields. The night of the crash I was still, vulnerable.Then there was how the bodies were being handled. With little emotion, with little reverence, without the guidance of a higher power (who ever that might be). In one fashion, stacked ontop of one another just like the images captured in a far away land the result of those death squads.Finally, there was the ultimate of short circuits. All of my training and throughout my career a 'call' always had a beginning, middle, and end to our contact with our patient. A call started with our pagers going off, or radio blaring, then responding to the ambulance, getting on, arriving at the patient, stablizing them, then taking them to the hospital where we would transfer them to doctors and nurses. I'd always been very empathetic to my patients. Always tried to express that I understood their pain and discomfort. Tried to go the extra mile or two to help make them more comfortable, to check in on them later on, to provide whatever guidance I could to them. In this case though, there wasn't a middle or an end. In some cases I did nothing more than carry them from one point to another and place them gingerly on a colored tarp. No one was around to receive them or take a report. In most cases I had no names, and a very limited understanding of their plight. I'd always transferred care to someone as qualified or more qualified than myself. This night was different. This night all of my conditioning and very structured training broke apart at the seams. This small, very tiny, incidental almost, factor litterally brought me down and consumed me. It changed my life forever. To this day I'll occassionaly wake up to the images of that night. Sometimes heroic, others definitive and brutal. I'll probably still carry them 'til the day I die.Years later now and I've learned to be proud of my actions that night. Proud of the hurdles I overcame and comfort in the knowledge that I helped to save lives. I also know it made me a more complete person, worldly in some ways.And, I'd do it again tomorrow.---------------------------------------------------------------------------It was a funny incident that occurred a few months after that fateful night in January. My fiance's family put together a trip to Disney World for all in the family to experience. A great gathering for a great family. I had the honor of being invited with the plans made well in advance. I was still very apprehensive about life in general and the happenings around me due to what I was fighting internally.The day of our depature arrived. We we went to the airport. Flying out of LaGuardia. The day was brisk and a front had blown through. We checked our baggage and cued for the flight. I started to sweat. Our seat assignments were called, we boarded the plane. I sat next to my lovely counterpart and immediately buckled up. I didn't settle in, didn't look around to catch the eyes of everyone sitting near me as I always had while offering a brief smile. Didn't try and crack the typical joke or make light of whatever the situation. I was white knuckling every second. The poor armrests were taking a beating. I stared ahead.Mary touched my wrist and asked if I was okay. Curtly, I replied...Sure and stared straight ahead. She gave me her heand to hold, knowing inside her what I was going through. We'd spoken about what might come of this day in advance. She was caring, responsive, compasionate, understanding. She'd helped me through my issues with as much love and attention as I'd let through. She broke the bond of our hands only once, when my grip became over-bearing. She then slipped her index finger to my pulse point to see what my heart was doing. 160. They announced we'd be pulling from the gate. 180. We taxied to the runway. 186. We sat behind a couple of planes, their engines idling. The pilot made an announcement. We'd be here for a while, weather delays down south...200. They put Regis and Kathy Lee on the in-plane video system. I was dying inside. (Not only was my mind racing through all sorts of bad flying scenarios, but I disliked Rege and KathyLee) Nearly 2 hours later we tookoff.....226. We landed in Orlando with me at 110. I've flown many times since then, now my heart rate never reaches 100.