The career archive of a NYC paramedic

Category: paramedic school

Exact Words (part one)

Every three years, EMTs and paramedics in New York state need to renew their certifications. This involves attending a refresher course and then taking a written and a practical exam. Refresher set up has changed several times over the years, but in it’s best incarnation it involved three weeks at the Bureau of Training. During that time we would review for the state exam, practice skills, and go over new policies that may have changed since the last refresher. It was also a great time to meet coworkers from other parts of the service and share stories.

One refresher year, I was reunited with a friend I had gone through paramedic school with. At that time he was working in the Office of Medical Affairs [OMA]. Among other things, the people who work in OMA review random pre-hospital care reports. They generate statistics and monitor the quality of care patients are getting.

The call report has also gone through many changes over the years. Although now they are completely digital, for my entire career in the streets they were paper. They changed tiny spaces for the narrative into larger spaces, sections were added for billing purposes, the refusal area has seen it’s language changed, and other sections have been moved and changed over time. Even the report itself has gone from being an ACR [Ambulance Call Report] to being a PCR [Pre-Hospital Care Report] to now having that little ‘e’ in front of PCR [ePCR] to emphasize our jump to digital.

At the time I was taking refresher with my colleague from OMA, call reports started being scanned into a computer, as opposed to being stuffed into an envelope and mailed to OMA. I was under the assumption that they spent less time reading them now and more time analyzing the statistics generated by the computer, which were based on the filled in boxes.

Despite thinking that I had no audience, I still took great pride in writing my call reports. I tended to go beyond the dull narratives and a one-size-fits-all approach to writing them by adding details that would help me remember a specific call if I were ever questioned about it, either in an OMA review or in court. My favorite, and the favorite part of everyone who worked on my unit, was the “Chief Complaint”, which in those days, was a long, wide box on the top of the paper. It’s purpose was to explain why the ambulance had been called. I regarded it as the title of everything else that followed.

From the very first day we learned how to fill out the form, it had been reiterated to us over and over again that we are instructed to use the patient’s exact words. Most people ignored this directive, given the prevalence of foul language and extraneous sentences people tended to use when telling the story behind their phone call to 911. The majority of EMTs and paramedics made an effort to summarize the words that patients actually used, to gear it more toward what was actually going on, but not us. While others were editing those exact words to something more concise (“I have diarrhea”), my partners and I would delight in waiting for the patient to utter just the right sentence that described things the way he felt them (“My ass is like a fountain.”)

You have to take your joy where you can find it. If our service wanted exact words, then damn it, that’s what we were going to give them.

As I was sitting next to my friend in refresher, his department-issued cell phone rang while we were on a short break. Not long into the call, I heard my friend say, “…Oh yeah, she’s sitting next to me right now. Sure I’ll put her on.”

I reluctantly took the phone thinking, of course, that I was in trouble. No one from OMA just wants to say hello.

“Hello, is Nancy on 37V?” I said yes. “Hello, this is Dr. Andrews, in charge of OMA.” I knew Dr. Andrews as one of our doctors who took our telemetry phone calls and did some of our CME [Continuing Medical Education] classes. I didn’t know he had become the MD in charge of OMA. Despite the friendly tone in his voice,I was leery. It couldn’t be good if they knew your unit.

“I just wanted to let you know how much we enjoy reading your pre-hospital care reports over here.”

“You do?” I asked cautiously. I still wasn’t sure if this was a trap of some kind.

His voice remained friendly, “Oh yes! Not just yours but everyone on your unit. Reading these forms gets pretty tedious because they’re usually boring which is why we look forward to the ones from your unit. “

“Really?” I answered. “We were kind of under the impression that no one really reads them. It’s nice to know someone appreciates them as much as we enjoy writing them.”

“Oh you have no idea!” gushed Dr. Andrews. “We love them. We have a board where we write down the latest chief complaints from your unit. We put a star next to the ones where we recommend reading the comments as well.”

“No way!” I was flattered.

“Oh yes,” he told me. “It’s the 37V board. No one uses the chief complaint section the way you guys do. My personal favorite is ‘They sent two hot ones straight to my juice, yo!’ ” He was talking about the chief complaint for a man who had been shot twice in the testicles. It was a personal favorite of mine, as well. That one probably had one of those stars next to it.

He ran through a list of a few others they had enjoyed and told me to let my partners know that their pre-hospital care reports were appreciated as well. He said to keep up the good work and I thanked him again. As I handed the phone back to my friend I still couldn’t shake the thought that I had been set up in some way. But our PCRs did make for a fun read. He hadn’t been the first person to tell us.

Over the years we had written many of our best chief complaints down, to share with our coworkers and friends, and also for ourselves, to make us smile when there seemed to be little to smile about. My list includes:

“God wants me to suffer.”

“People tell me I smell bad so I want to make sure it’s not a disease before I take a shower I don’t need.”

“They beat me like a pinata.”

“I didn’t think I needed to read the directions that came with my new saw.”

“My foot is a new shade of green.”

“Cheap vodka makes me drive like an asshole.”

“I broke my arm on this shampoo bottle.”

“I’m just a loser. Take me to the hospital.”

“I am the great Mephistopheles of legend and lore. I inhabit this body now. Take me to your governing elders.”

“The aliens gave me an implant and I want it removed.”

“I’m just in it for the lawsuit.”

“You can’t brainwash someone who doesn’t understand and yet here I am.”

“He planted it in my rear end so hard, now my neck is crooked.” (this call concerned a car accident where the the driver of the front car claimed whiplash.)

“I just found out about ass cancer and I don’t want it.”

“When you’re a playa, penicillin is just part of the regimen.”

“A demon told me to stab myself but all I had was a pen.”

“My girl tried to give me a salmon named Ella with her warm-ass soup”

“My brother is in the hospital having a heart attack so I must be having one too because we’re twins.”

“I used to love eggs but now I don’t anymore.”

“My new girlfriend’s mother told me she didn’t like the way I looked. Do you think I look sick too? I don’t really feel sick.”

“I’m pretty sure I have a sexually transmitted disease. I deserve to have a sexually transmitted disease.”

“My goldfish gave me gonorrhea.”

“My asthma boy had a seizure.”

“There ain’t no kind of juice that ain’t coming out of that man’s leg.”

“WebMD says I have cancer.”

“That bish put a curse on me and I need it removed.”

“I went on a bender I don’t remember and now it hurts when I pee.”

“The hairs growing out of my mole are turning gray, like my beard.”

“My love juice is looking kinda green these days.”

“I got mascara in my eye.”

“My ex is a demon and I’m scarred by her love.”

“I made my boyfriend break my nose so I could get free plastic surgery.”

“My scalp is peeling off! I got these white scalp flakes on my shoulders!”

“I’m running out of reasons to go. You just write down anything you want.”

“Prostate cancer runs in my family.” (this was from a young woman who was very concerned over information discovered at a family BBQ)

“I can’t reach my toenails to cut them and they keep getting caught up in my socks.”

“I made a pact with tequila and now it’s coming to collect.”

“The peoples in the commercials for eczema medications looks so happy and I want to be like them. Tell them I have eczema.”

“This might look like a mosquito bite but it was from the government.”

“No one can touch me, I’m made of fruit.”

“My skin is dry but when I drink a lot of water all I do is pee, it completely bypasses my skin.”

“I know now that I can’t trust my dealer’s idea of a ‘good time’. “

“The roaches have it in for me. I see them watching. And plotting.”

“My face looked very puffy in this picture my mom took.”

“Take me to any hospital with a microwave that I can use on this food someone gave me that was cold.”

“I spilled orange juice on this paper cut and it must be seriously infected because it hurt like hell.”

“The bread machine sliced off my finger and it got lost in the dough.”

“The evil voice in my head learned how to play the drums.”

“It all started with a bad banana.”

“I got beat with a Slim Jim. The snack not the car opener.”

“There’s a bug in my ear and he talks too much.”

“I think I’ve got a disease.” (this guy would not elaborate as to what disease or why he thought he had one).

“I broke my tooth eating pudding.”

“I’m really into that hot nurse at Bellevue. I’m just going to get her attention.”

“The drugs they prescribed make me pee a lot.” (he’d been prescribed a diuretic, which tends to do that).

“I think I’m smelling too many things. This needs to be stopped.”

“I want the doctors to stop me from sweating.”

“The things I do in the bathroom ain’t right.”

“On my planet, eating paper doesn’t make your stomach hurt.”

“He been falling since the sugar ate his toes.”

“I wanna vomit so bad I could cry.”

“Every time I take tequila I wake up and everything is spinning.”

“I got a itch that makes me less of a man.”

“My cred got busted.”

“My eyes need to switch places. It’s gotta be done by Monday.”

“I don’t think crack is good for my heart.”

“He can’t stop wheazaling.”

“The gremlin I met when I was on mushrooms said I was going to die if I didn’t go to Methodist hospital and see someone called Dr. Joseph.” (strangely enough a Dr. Joseph was on duty that night)

“I need a bed and a woman.”

“There’s a smelly, yellow glue coming out of a hole in his head.”

“I was shot in the leg six years ago and today its thumping like a drum.”

“Someone needs to change my diaper.” (60 year old man)

“My hand smells. The left one.”

“I can’t reach this itch in the middle of my back.”

“I need a shrink to tell me why I attract crazy women.”

“I went to heaven in my dream but I know I’m going to the other place.”

“I gassed my face with roach spray trying to kill a mosquito.”

“The man on TV says I might have carbon monoxide in my home.”

“Women just don’t find me attractive.”

“My husband smells like pee, he must have sugar.”

“My big toenail is the same shade of yellow as my teeth.”

“I need a clean bathroom.”

“None of the doctors believe me when I tell them I’m pregnant.”

“My heart used to go ‘rum tum tum’, now it goes ‘boom boom boom'”

“I thought I could fly.”

“This tumor has it’s own zip code.” (this was for a large pimple, not an actual tumor)

“I want a doctor to prescribe me those new blue pills that will make me a hit with the ladies again.”

“I think I ate my tooth.”

“I beat the s**t out of someone, now my hand hurts.”

“Ny Quil made me have some scary dreams.”

“He beat me with my own [prosthetic] leg.”

“The old lady I tried to rob sprayed oven cleaner in my eyes.”

“God told me to cut off my hand because I didn’t need it anymore. But now I think it was probably the devil.”

“The pencil got stuck when I used it to stab the bug that lives in my ear.”

“This mole needs to come off. It’s the reason I can’t have babies.”

“God is the landlord who shut off the spigot.” (he had problems urinating)

“When they say not to put a fork in an electric outlet, they’re right.”

“That whiskey didn’t smell right but I drank it anyway.”

“My psychiatric drugs are making me crazy.”

“There’s a party going on in my ass.”

“My boy baby daddy stabbed my girl baby daddy in the ear with a skewer.”

“I don’t know man, I’ve been tired for like 30 years.”

“My stomach hurts when I eat a lot.”

“My driving instructor was right. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I took the Tylenol like they said but nothing happened and it’s been almost a half an hour.”


A Dead Man Walking (and Arguing)

Every paramedic gets the same types of medical scenarios in their certifying course or refresher class. There’s the grassy field where a bee will have been involved, causing an anaphylactic reaction. Another one will involve an elderly person at home in the summer with closed windows where your detective skills will surmise that a heat stroke has most likely led to his change in consciousness. And if there’s heart attack scenario it will usually involve someone shoveling snow.

Shoveling snow is considered to be such a cardiac risk specific mention of it is made in many cardiac journals and as a warning to patients who have had myocardial infarction (MI), or heart attacks, in the past or are at risk for it. The combination of sudden strenuous labor and the cold air that is already constricting your blood vessels make it especially dangerous for someone who is already compromised.

When you’re being tested on these scenarios, either acting them out with mannequins or describing what you’d do to an instructor one on one, there are rarely curve balls thrown in to confuse you. The instructors aren’t interested in your clever abilities in finding a hidden medication bottle or poking holes through the family’s story about how the event happened. They just want to know that you can remember the protocol and apply it properly.

Rarely in real life are scenarios this cut and dry. Real patients lie to get out of going to the hospital or exaggerate to get seen faster. Sometimes medication bottles, or a drug habit, are well hidden and require real sleuthing skills. Or sometimes the patients list of symptoms is so long it’s difficult to figure out what the real problem is. But once in a while everything is exactly the way it is in the textbooks, probably the reason why they’re used as examples.

It was a snowy, winter day that my partner and I had made our way to the far off corners of Brooklyn thanks to limited unit availability and the far away hospital requests of several patients. We enjoyed leaving the confines of our assigned area which gave us opportunities to eat better and deal with completely different hospital staffs. We now found ourselves assigned to a predominantly Russian-speaking area of the borough where my partner had worked as an EMT. He knew the streets well so we didn’t have to spend large amounts of time flipping pages in our paper map book trying to find the address.

When we got to the apartment our patient, a large dark haired man with a Russian accent, was exhibiting the classic ‘Levine sign’. It’s a sometimes subconscious act of holding a fist on the chest near the heart. If this were part of a training scenario it would be the first thing that would alert the paramedic to think ‘heart attack’ or ‘myocardial infarction’ (MI). The man seemed a bit preoccupied, one could describe it as anxious (#2 for sign and symptoms), and he said he had no patience for us. He was a busy man and would not be going to any hospital. His wife had been foolish to call.

The wife appeared annoyed but was also clearly worried. “Just let them check you. Please. If it’s nothing they can go,” she said. The man grew more irritated but he decided to appease the wife and get checked out, possibly just so he could show her what a waste of time this all was. He rolled up his sleeve and demanded that we take his blood pressure so his wife would see how healthy he was.

His skin was pale (#3), cool (#4), and very sweaty (#5). When I took his blood pressure it was high, very high (#6). Impatiently, he demanded that we should take it again, we must have gotten it wrong. But it was still high the second time. He rolled up his other sleeve. He now told us that his left arm was numb (#7) so the pressure couldn’t be accurate in that arm. A try with the right arm was really no different. The wife gave a smug nod that infuriated the patient.

He insisted that he was a strong person, physically and mentally. As the building manager, he had a very active schedule and many things were left to be done. He couldn’t rely on anyone else. The people of the building had become accustomed to things being fixed correctly and they knew he was the only man for the job. That morning, when other building managers would have slept in, waiting for the impending snow to actually fall, our man was out there salting the roadways ahead of time. Once we heard that he had done all the shoveling (#8), with an actual shovel and not even a snowblower, when the snow had finally came, we didn’t even need an EKG. This guy was having an MI.

But we put our patient on the monitor anyway, of course, and it showed a rapidly evolving, life threatening MI. When we presumptively diagnose a heart attack we are usually only looking for tiny incremental changes in the EKG. It’s often only a small, two millimeter height difference on the graph paper. But his were so high they didn’t even need to measured. We could see them from across the room. The shapes of his complexes are even called “tombstones”.

None of this convinced the patient however. He was fine, he told us. He wasn’t one of these “sissy-boys” who needed to see a doctor for every ache and pain. He would lay down for a few minutes and then, when his chest pain subsided, he would get back to work. More snow was coming. He had heard it on the news.

We told him in every way possible that he was having a heart attack and it was progressing. One or more of the vessels supplying his heart was clogged, which was depriving more and more areas of his heart of oxygen. With current treatments available this problem could very potentially be reversed if we got him to a STEMI center quickly. They would quickly put in a stent and blood flow could be restored. His heart would most likely function the way it had before. But he had already waited some time and it looked as if it was going to take even longer to convince him.

We explained about cardiac death and the whole ‘time equals muscle’ philosophy, meaning that the longer the heart goes without oxygen the more muscle mass that dies. He would not hear any of it. His chest hurt because he was sore from shoveling snow. We were stupid to not see that. Didn’t we know how strenuous it is to shovel snow? He had shoveled around the whole building, down pathways and parts of the parking lot. Of course he was sore, he had exerted himself the way he always does, giving 110% to his residents. Couldn’t we see how strong he was to be able to accomplish all he did today? We had probably never shoveled snow or we would have understood the muscle soreness.

He thought that we had taken his wife’s side in this argument. He would need to placate us, he felt, in order to get rid of us. So when he was offered a spray of nitroglycerine under his tongue he accepted. He also took the aspirin we gave him. We continued to watch his EKG and continued to take vital signs.

Shortly after the nitroglycerine his face lit up. “The pain. It’s gone. All gone,” he told us happily. “See? You cured me. Now you can leave.” It was hard to know if the pain was actually gone but saying that our spray had worked bolstered our argument that his pain was cardiac. Nitroglycerine wouldn’t have worked for regular muscle soreness. The building manager was frustrated that he had been tricked.

We spent a considerable amount of time trying to break through his wall of defensiveness. The internet existed back then and the couple had a computer so we had the man look up his signs and symptoms. We asked him to look up the EKGs of people having heart attacks and compare them to his. The best example we were able to Google had much smaller tombstone complexes. “Look,” he told us. “Mine are better!” The larger complexes, he explained, were due to his superior physical conditioning. The person with the EKG on the internet probably wouldn’t be able to shovel miles of snow the way he had.

Everything short of shadow puppets had been used to try and convince our patient to seek help at the hospital for an ongoing event that could very likely kill him. We tried to understand his fear of the hospital which he denied was the reason. We even offered to take him to a different hospital, one of his choice, but he was not interested. And he had every right to refuse. If he didn’t consent to go we couldn’t force him. The patient knew that we couldn’t force him.

“This is America. Not Communist Russia. No one can just come and force me to gulag. You understand gulag, correct?”

Yes we understood. But because he had an evolving, life-threatening event going on he would be required to speak to our doctor on our taped line and tell him that he was refusing. Perhaps even, our MD could convince him to go. We called up our telemetry number and told the physician what was going on. He initially thought we were doing a routine STEMI presentation so that he could notify the hospital. By going through this procedure the patient pretty much goes directly upstairs to the catherization lab, saving time and muscle. “OK, I’ll contact them immediately. What’s your ETA?” he asked.

“He doesn’t want to go,” we told him.

“Doesn’t want to go? That’s crazy. He will die.”

“Yup.”

We put the patient on the phone and heard him get defensive less than a minute into the call. We could hear the doctor patiently explain the entire thing, going into great detail about the heart and how it was being damaged and what would happen if he didn’t go. But none of it mattered. He wasn’t going. No one could make him. He was not having a heart attack. OK you think it’s a heart attack, big deal. I don’t care if it is, he told him. He was fine. He understood the risks. He told the doctor about the gulags of communist Russia. If anything changes he understood he could call back. He handed the phone back to us.

“Well, we did our best. Take the RMA (refusal of medical assistance)”

The patient breathed a big sigh of relief. Finally we were leaving. His personality did a complete turnabout now that the pressure was off. He was gracious and friendly as he signed our paper. He hoped we hadn’t been greatly inconvenienced. He was happy we could finally go out and help all the people who really needed us.

It’s so surreal to look at someone who is dying and know what is happening. You try to look for something different, maybe an aura. Or you try to feel something, to perhaps boost your intuitive powers so that the next time you get someone like this, but without the telltale signs, you’d know, you’d recognize that feeling. But there was nothing, no aura, no unusual sensation. On the outside, he was just a regular guy with elevated vitals who was turning a little gray. It makes you feel more helpless than ever. You can’t even learn from the experience. The one big thing that helps EMTs and paramedics to cross over a psychological hurdle, when you’ve got someone critical, is the knowledge that you can actively do something to help. Even if it doesn’t work in the end, you tried and you can console yourself with that. Knowing that you have it in your power to help stop the cascade of medical disasters occurring in that person but are unable to provide it makes you feel useless and small.

We asked again before leaving to please reconsider. His wife was crying and begging him to go. But he just happily opened the door and bid us good-bye.

After the call we went to the nearby station my partner had done his EMT years at. He said hello to some people he knew and used to work with and introduced me. Our radios were tuned to a different frequency because we belonged to a different section of the city, so we normally would not have heard the call go out for a cardiac arrest at the address we had just left from. But because we were talking to people who did work in that section we heard it come over on their radios. We just looked at each other sadly and shook our heads. It had been less than an hour. Shortly after that we heard the crews that responded give a signal indicating that resuscitative efforts had failed and that the patient had been pronounced on scene.

“You guys RMA’d that guy?” someone asked. “I guess you guys are in trouble now.” They looked at us as if we had happily taken his signature as soon as we walked in.

“No,” explained my partner to the young EMTs. “We tried. But this isn’t communist Russia where we can just haul you off to the gulag.”

The Crying Woman

I don’t get too many opportunities to brag about this so here it is: I got the highest score to get into my paramedic class. The competition was fierce because they hadn’t held a class in over six years. FDNY had just merged with EMS and they felt it was a worthwhile endeavour to start the training program up again.

So I went into the first FDNY paramedic class. The class consisted of several former BLS (EMT) instructors from our Bureau of Training, along with EMTs representing all areas of the service from every borough, communications and operatains. We also had some lieutenants and a captain.

Not long after school started and study groups were being formed two former Marines announced that they would be running around Fort Totten before class and were hoping others would join them. Feeling the need to brush up on my repetoire of filthy military cadences I joined them.

We met in the parking lot by our building and took a beautiful tour around the historic grounds. Fort Totten was built in 1892.*more about ft totten, civil war * In the early hours of the morning, just after the sun comes up, its almost like stepping back in time running past abandoned barracks, officers quarters and other interesting structures that were part of army life back in the early 20th century and forward. Its a stunning place now run by the Parks Department. Many of the buildings have been restored and are used by outlets of other city agencies.

When made our way back to the parking lot everyone but me would indulge in a post work out cigarette. After a brief time talking about the day ahead or gossiping about various union situations or classmates we’d go in and get cleaned up.

At that hour the building was mostly empty and sometimes we would have to wait for one of the instructors to show up to let us in. It’s an oddly designed building consisting of long maze-like corridors that open up into larger areas. We utilized the downstairs bathrooms which were the only ones that had locker rooms and showers. They were considered to be in the basement where the corridors leading to storage areas and the lunch room. As the only female of the running group I had the whole place to myself. Most of the students didn’t take a locker and the classrooms were on the second and third floors which had their own bathrooms.

One morning after the crisp morning air had sufficiently opened up their lungs to better enjoy their smoke the break topic evolved to the rumor that, Erica, one of the prettiest students in our class, was having relationship issues. The rigors of paramedic school are notorious for causing domestic strife so it was only a matter of times before someone entered the dating pool again as a result of the intensive nine month course. How did our friend discover the news?

“I saw her being consoled by Kara. She was offering Erica a place to stay and told her she’d help her move out.” one of the runners said.

It was certainly a tasty snippet of gossip. “Oooh,” I remarked, “Points to Kara for jumping right in to fill the void right away.”

The men all looked incredulous and surprised, as if I had taken away their cigarettes. “What?” I asked. “Erica is into women. You guys really didn’t know?”

Defeated, my running partners lamented their imaginary loss. “That’s too bad.” said Roy, acting as if there would have been an actual possibility even if she weren’t a lesbian. “I would have been first in line.”

It became apparent to the rest of the class that the rumors were true as Erica spent long bathroom breaks returning with red puffy eyes. We all tried to give her space and many of us turned our attention to Kara to see what her game plan was. It provided some momentary distraction from the bombardment of drug charts, medical scenarios, and mathematical calculations.

One morning as I was in the shower after running I heard some sounds nearby. I was getting used to this room being my own personal spa zone so it peaked my interest a little. As I turned the water off I could make out the sobbing cries of a woman. I knew it must be Erica, as she sometimes found respite in this bathroom down here recently for privacy reasons. This one was far away from our classroom, much bigger, and since I took a lot of time scrubbing it down, smelled like my lavender cleaning products. She must have been aware of my presence but since she didn’t say anything I did my best to avoid her by staying hidden in the little changing area where I got dressed anyway. I flattered myself thinking that she trusted me enough not to be one of the many pushy, nosey people who flocked to her now. She seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable with the overwhelming abundance of shoulders to lean on and probably just wanted to be alone to work things out in her head. I know that’s what I wanted when I was in similar situations.

I didn’t have to extend my time putting on my uniform as she left long before I was finished. When I went upstairs to our classroom I found her reading on of our textbooks and acting casually. She gave me a slight nod and a smile as I walked in. No worries, Erica, I won’t be smothering you like some of the others.

There were two or three other times in the upcoming weeks when I’d hear her crying during my post work-out ritual. I started to wonder if I should come out and offer my condolences but decided against it. She never brought it up and seemed to like to pretend nothing happened afterwards. I felt that we seem to have developed a routine and I wasn’t going to change it.

I didn’t hear the door slam when she left but one day I did. I was later than usual and almost time for class to start. I made a run for the door quickly afterwards. When I got on the side the only other person I saw was Roy, who was holding open the door to the men’s room. Their door was directly across from my door and he was waiting for the others. He smiles and waved at me and I smiled and waved back.

“You’re running a little late aren’t you?” he asked. “You’re usually upstairs by now while I’m usually trying to move these guys along.”

I told him I had waited for Erica to leave, making a sympathetic face. Roy looked at me with confusion. I told her how sometimes she had been coming down here when I was taking my shower and how I had heard her crying. I explained how I liked to leave her alone with her thoughts. Roy continued to stare at me with his facial expression changing to studious and intrigued but he still didn’t say anything. “What?” I asked. “Didn’t you see her just leave?”

He shook his head. “Erica left the class a few days ago, remember? She had dropped out so she could take care of her mother in Pennsylvania when she had the stroke.” I suddenly remembered that she had left the class. With all the field rotations we had been doing it was difficult to keep track of people’s schedules. I had some of my own distractions at the time and hadn’t kept up on the updates to the Erica story. The poor girl, I thought. Now her mother’s health problems on top of everything else. How much would she have to bear?

I turned to Roy and gave him a suspicious look. “How did you find out about her mother?” He didn’t seem to be part of the information loop that involved the other cliques in our class.

“I offered to help her move.” he said sheepishly with a smile.

I laughed, shaking my head while the other men came out of the locker room. “He still thinks he can get her to think of him as something other than a kindly old man.” one of them said. Roy was older than most of the class and thinking about him creeping about with pretty young girls was more comical than disturbing, thankfully.

Most of the time when I arrived in the Bureau of Training parking lot I was one of the first ones there. The next day, however, Roy was there before me and he jumped out of his car when I got there. He looked at me very seriously when he said “I’d like to hear more about the crying in the locker room. You definitely heard a woman crying?”

“Yes.” I answered. I admit I had been trying to figure out who else had been using my personal spa as a hideout.

“You know this place is haunted.” he told me.

I had heard it said before that Fort Totten was haunted. Though I was open to the idea that there were strange things that we didn’t understand I tended to try and debunk every example. People always say old places are haunted. I figured that Fort Totten used the notoriety to sell ghost tours around Halloween.

“Did you hear crying too?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “But I saw doors open and close by themselves. There’s no breeze in that basement.” He asked me to tell him all about my experiences hearing the crying woman so I told him when and where it happened. He went through some of the dates I had narrowed down and told me that Erica had been on rotations for at least one, probably two, of those days. He was sure I heard a ghost.

“I didn’t realize you were such a stalker.” I noted.

“I’m just interested in the paranormal.” he told me.

“I was talking about your familiarity with Erica’s schedule.”

“Well she is a pretty girl…” he pointed out. “Anyway, I can tell you most of the time, outside of our little run club and that one lieutenant who gets here early to open the building, there’s no one else here. I get finished in the locker room quickly and while these guys are using their fancy hair gels and smelly after shaves I go to my car and put my dirty clothes in my truck. The parking lot is empty except for us, until about ten minutes before the day starts over here. But don’t believe me. Ask around. Everyone that works here has a story. You’ll see.”

Without mentioning my experience I did casually inquire with people that spend a lot of time in the building. I asked my former instructor classmates, current instructors, and one of the maintenance men. Not one of them thought the place wasn’t haunted. Each person I asked had felt strange feelings, heard sounds or experienced strange sighting. One man smelled tobacco and heard it being spit out. “Disgusting dip…” he told me, more bothered by chewing tobacco than a ghost presence. Everyone seemed to just accept that they shared the facility with some apparitions and no one seemed to be particularly frightened, at least not anymore, after they got used to it.

I heard the crying at least two more times. Despite telling myself that if I heard it again I would investigate it, I stayed frozen in my little changing area. At first, I’ll admit, there was an initial fear. I did try to discern what the noise could be if it wasn’t crying but I really couldn’t come up with any other explanations. Roy was right about there not being much airflow to to the basement. The pipes were old but the sound was completely different than anything they would produce, I felt. It was very distinctively female crying. But even when my supposed rational mind kicked in I decided to keep the unwritten agreement I had with who I thought was Erica. She probably wanted her privacy and I was happy to give it to her.

 

For more information about the paranormal at Fort Totten check out this link:http://www.liparanormalinvestigators.com/our-recent-investigations/fort-totten/

 

 

  

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