However, there are other people - not my close friends, and not particularly nice, mature, or understanding people - who don't have the sense to know that being depressed or traumatized isn't necessarily a 24/7 condition. To them, me having fun - or posting happy photos, or silly videos, is somehow indicative of the fact that all is wonderful in my world - and I should be back at work and not off IOD. I suppose I could post pics of me crying, or drinking the day away in a darkened house, or sitting in my therapists office, or taking my PTSD meds and anti depressants - but then, that's not really my style. People don't need to see the bad....because it serves no purpose other than to cause worry and concern. The truth is, I'm doing much better - and I'm feeling happy again. And THAT is what I choose to show people.
So, here it goes. The story. It's horrific, it's heartbreaking, it's depressing, and I won't ever tell it or speak of it again. (And almost immediately - here I am crying again.) UGH.
May 31, 2014.
I took the first half of the day off - to throw my good friend Andrea (Rookie Blue) a promotion pool party. It was a GREAT day, full of fun, friends, and family. I went in to work at 1900 hrs., ready to go. My first call was some nothing 415 in a parking lot - and I was the backing officer. By the time I got there it was already resolved by the first Officer on scene (Aaron) and I didn't even need to get out of my car. So I start driving back to my service area in Old Town....west on Walnut St. and through the green light at Hill Ave. I was there when the call came out..."respond code 3 to Colorado Blvd and Hill Ave. for a traffic collision - vehicle vs. pedestrian." I had already made the u-turn and started that way (it was perhaps 1/2 mile from me) when the second broadcast came out: "victim is a child, numerous callers stating child is still trapped under the vehicle." It was then that my stomach dropped, and the sick feeling began.
This wasn't the first time I've dealt with a child killed in a t/c - Christmas 2012 was another horrific day - that I will never forget. It was a police pursuit, which ended when the suspect vehicle ran a red light and hit the SUV carrying the Ng family. Kendrick Ng, 10 years old, was trapped in the backseat. The vehicle was so crumpled we didn't even realize he was in there initially. We pulled him out of the car where his family was still trapped, his aunt clearly deceased and partially ejected from the vehicle, his sister sitting stunned on the side of the road with multiple broken bones, and his parents in the front seats in shock at the whole horrible scene. We gave Kendrick CPR for what seemed like forever....until a paramedic walked over and immediately declared him dead. Another Officer had to physically pull me away from him - because I didn't want to leave him there, a child on christmas, lying dead in the street. This was the first call of the night - we hadn't even left roll call barely when the pursuit started and we all went running out of the station - eager to catch the bad guy. The collision was only a block from the station and I was there within the first minute. And now here I was, maybe 2 hours after I had left my own children after Christmas dinner, kneeling beside this dead child, holding his head, with his father looking at us from a distance....his face pleading for us to save his son. I will never forget those moments and the overwhelming sorrow and helplessness that I felt. I kissed Kendrick Ng on his forehead and said a brief prayer before the other officer pulled me away. And then I lost it. Sobbing hysterically while crowds of people stood by on the corners watching the whole grim scene. As I walked away I saw the the driver of the suspect vehicle (who was now handcuffed and in custody) watching US - and realizing (at maybe 21 or 22 years old) that he was responsible for the death and mayhem of this child and his family. It was unbelievably surreal. An experience I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. And after 3 or 4 minutes of sobbing off to the side, and composing myself - I was back to work. Helping to set up the crime scene log and logistics - because I seem to have a knack for organization and attention to detail when it comes to these things. It wasn't long before some supervisor relieved me and ordered me to go back to the station. I couldn't tell you who it was. And I couldn't tell you HOW I got back to the station, though I know I drove around aimlessly for several minutes before making it there. And then I went home. The next day when I reported to work the department therapist was there to do the "critical incident debrief" for all those who were on scene. I listened as everyone went around the room sharing their stories and their perspectives, and I remained silent when it came to me. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to relive it. I didn't want to THINK about it. It was enough that my partners saw me crying, that they saw me kiss the little boy, that they saw me HUMAN and as a mother instead of as a police officer. I didn't speak about Kendrick Ng to anyone after that. Not that I recall. But I did think about him. Daily. For weeks. I followed every newspaper article about the collision, I inquired as to his exact cause of death (blunt force trauma - broken neck) - and whether or not we could have saved him (no - he was dead on impact), I even located a fundraising website on GOFUNDME that had been set up by his elementary school in Northern California (his family was only here visiting for the Holiday). I circulated the fundraising site via Facebook and helped raise funds for his family - but that was all I could do. And it was never enough. After a while I had to just let go of Kendrick Ng and move on.....to my own life.
I was the first Officer on scene for two more fatal collisions following Kendrick Ng. Both with witnesses and family members present to witness the death of their loved one, both tragic and heartbreaking, but I handled them as a professional. I did my job, I was empathetic and comforting, and I did not break down in tears as I had with Kendrick. I thought I was ok at last. But I was wrong.
As I drove south on Hill Ave. approaching Colorado Blvd., I saw the stopped black truck facing north in the number 2 lane (nearest to the curb). It was a full size truck, like a Silverado or a Tundra with four doors. I saw at least 20 people along the curb - looking in the direction of the truck. And as I got closer, I saw Aidan Tran. A small boy, lying face down underneath the truck, his face turned outwards (in my direction) with one eye that I could see staring blankly in a fixed stare. No movement, awkwardly positioned arms and legs, and I knew immediately - he was already gone. I positioned my vehicle behind the truck to prevent it from being rear ended - and to contain the crime scene, and then immediately radio'd for motor officers to respond code 3 (motor units are responsible for all fatal collision investigations). As I exited my vehicle I saw his mother and his uncle kneeling beside him. His mothers arms were covered in blood, and there was more blood on the ground than I have ever seen as a police officer in the past 19 years. I don't know how there was so much blood from a 7 year old child....but it was the thick kind of blood from serious injury, nothing superficial about it. His mother was crying and in shock - but amazingly lucid and composed. She was a pediatrician she told me. She told me we couldn't move his neck, we needed an ambulance, all of which I already knew and had requested. But she was in survival mode, doing whatever she could to help her son. And as I assured her the ambulance was coming, and we would help him, and that she needed to remain calm for his sake, there passed a look between us that is engrained in my memory as though it has been burned into me with a searing hot blade. The look of utter despair and helplessness. Of the unspoken knowledge that this little boy - HER little boy - was not going to be ok. As a mother you never want to acknowledge such a devastating loss - and so you go through the motions hoping that a miracle will happen. I saw all these emotions playing out on her face in the span of 2-3 minutes.....and it absolutely gutted me. Aidan Tran was gone....and his parents were caught in the midst of hoping, willing, and fighting against that reality. For me, that was the worst part of the incident. His mother and father. Watching their lives crumble around them in the blink of an eye - and being unable to offer and solace, or comfort, or explanation as to why this happened. As soon as the paramedics got there - I ushered the parents into my police car and drove them code 3 to the hospital.
In these instances, once someone is at the hospital - it's no longer the Officers responsibility to make a formal death notification. The hospital social worker does that. Still, I felt an obligation to stay and see it through. I conducted an interview with the parents for the investigation (the whole family had been crossing the street in the crosswalk after dinner when Aidan and his 4 year old brother bolted out ahead - and Aidan was struck by the truck as is made a right hand turn). I helped his mother clean the blood off herself. I coordinated a room for family members to gather when they arrived. Inquired about clergy and counseling for them...etc. I continued to perform my job and do what needed to be done. When Aidan got there a team of doctors worked on him for 20-30 minutes - trying everything to save him. Being a pediatrician, they allowed his mother to enter the ER trauma room and stand at his side while they worked on him. Myself and other officers and paramedics waited in the hallway outside the room - watching and hoping for a miracle. But it never came. As much as we wanted to believe otherwise - we all knew what the ending would be. And as the doctors and technicians all filed out of the room with solemn and saddened looks on their face - I fixated again on Aidans mother. Standing beside the ER table, with her arms draped over his little body, stroking his hair and holding him one last time. I stood there frozen for a long minute watching this scene. And then someone (fire department? police department? I don't know) asked me "are you ok Shannon?" I believe my response was something to the effect of "fuck no - I'm NOT ok." Everyone was leaving the hospital now - going back to whatever they had to do. I had to write the parents statements and go back to the scene. Business as usual. Only I didn't want to leave without saying something to his parents. There is nothing really to say in such an instance - but just leaving without saying something felt wrong. As I walked into the trauma room Aidan's father was on the phone sobbing - telling someone that Aidan was dead, that he had been hit by a car and was gone. His mother was now away from his bedside and standing numbly next to her husband. I offered my condolences and apologies and told her how very sorry I was.....and then I left. And that was the end - or so I thought.
Many things happened in the next few weeks, I took the next day off. I stayed in bed a lot. I drank a lot. I tried to numb myself from the images of that little boy with the fixed blank stare - and his mother covered in blood and trying to hold on to her hopes. But I couldn't shake it. Of course I called the department therapist that same night - from the hospital no less. Because I knew this was going to affect me deeply. I think I talked to or saw the therapist for the next 4 days in a row. I was given a week off work on "admin leave" to deal with the stress and decompress. Only all I wanted to do was drink myself to sleep, cry, and look at pictures of his family that I saw online. I wanted to go to his funeral, but thought better of it. I didn't want to remind his parents of that night we met - and their lives were forever changed for the worse. Either I had horrible nightmares, or I couldn't sleep at all. When I went back to work I pretty much hid in the substation rather than drive around and find myself back at the scene, staring at the memorial that had been set up for him. I was afraid of the next call I would get. The next TC or the next dead kid. I've just seen too many - and my skin is growing thinner and thinner. On my second day back to work I was so exhausted I asked my boss if I could deduct out an hour so I could sleep an extra hour on my lunch break. I was told "if you need to go home - go home, otherwise get back to work." At which point I basically said FUCK THIS - and walked out. I've been around long enough to know that a patrol cop who is exhausted, is distracted, and is having emotional issues is NOT a safe patrol cop.
And there you have it. I saw the therapist again the following day and after explaining everything to her she placed me off on stress-leave to deal with the issues I'm having. I've seen her every week now for 2 months, and after the initial month of drinking and self-destructive behavior - I'm finally on the right track. I'm not stupid (most of the time), I know that drinking as no way to handle depression, but I didn't want to deal with the incident - and the emotions surrounding it - so it was just easier to avoid it by getting sloshed. But I HATE feeling hungover and lethargic, and I HATE getting fatter just sitting around eating crappy food (I AM still a narcissist you know). So after my pity party ended, I hired a personal trainer, got back into the gym and fixed my diet, and started reconnecting with positive people around me. I rescued Lucky kitty from the freeway - and now I have a kitten, and honestly - there is no better cure for depression than a kitten! I highly recommend it. I also saw a Psychiatrist who prescribed me a PTSD medication that helps with nightmares and inability to sleep (Prazosin) - which I also highly recommend. So now, my sleep is better than it's ever been, my fitness is getting better, and I've made some healthy changes to my relationship with Bobby - that have alleviated extra stress from my life. All in all, I feel good. The only time I get emotional now is when I have to explain the incident to someone (namely a doctor, or a workers comp person). When I have to talk about it - those images and feelings come rushing back and I'm overwhelmed with sadness and helplessness and uncontrollable tears. I hope that goes away eventually.
As for going back to work - well, I'm hoping that's sooner than later. I have this "need to nurture" the therapist says (which makes me LOL - but it's true). So I don't feel very satisfied unless I'm helping someone or doing something for someone else. So going back to work would be awesome. Sadly, I'm far more worried about the stress of dealing with other police officers vs. the stress of critical incidents. I can usually maintain my professionalism and do my job under pressure - but let some asshole coworker pop off to me or talk shit about my "IOD vacation" and I'm liable to lose my shit. God, cops can be such assholes. Makes me happy everytime some citizen or arrestee tells me I'm the nicest cop they've ever met. If only all cops were as compassionate and real - maybe we wouldn't get such a bad rap.
OK. There you have it. If I've left anything out - or anyone has any questions, I'd be more than happy to answer them candidly. As you know - I deleted all my coworkers from my Facebook page (except Rookie Blue and Joe Allard) - because quite frankly - I can't trust them to not talk shit. Which is sad. But I guess I should know better. Here's to hoping I'm back to work on my target date of August 12th and back to doing the Lords work!
Thank you all for your support and kind messages during the past few months - I truly have appreciated all of them.
Your friend -
Shannon
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