I am a 48-year-old female who, during the time of the following story, was married for the first time. To give him a name for the story, I’ll call him Mike. This story takes place on September 3rd, 2005. I had a 14-year-old stepdaughter at the time who I am going to call Justine for the sake of ease of storytelling, and sadly, she was a very troubled young girl. At the time of this story, I was still a certified EMT, although not long before the story takes place, I injured my back on the job and lost my ability to work on the ambulance anymore, and I was crushed. I did my best to be a source of support, discipline, and love for Justine, but I was dealing with a lot of emotional pain at the loss of my dream career. Her biological mother was a raging drug addict, and even though her father, Mike, was clean from drugs and had been for many years, he was still extremely self-absorbed and had a habit of dismissing Justine's emotional difficulties, so she really hadn't experienced a lot of guidance and support to deal with the pain her parents' behaviors. 

On the day this story takes place Justine was spending the day in her room. She was anemic and often tired, so I didn't think much of it. Around noon I bought her an ice cream from the ice cream man and brought it to her room. This will come up later. I heard her stereo turn on upstairs as I sat with my husband on the living room couch, and we began to have a serious talk about Justine's well-being. During this time we had voluntary DHHS services in place because Justine had started to sneak out at night, she nearly failed to advance to the next grade, and she had actually spent some time in a pediatric psychiatric hospital a year prior for a very serious suicide attempt (although her father liked to refer to it as "just" a cry for help). During the time of the story, Justine was still in DHHS custody even though she was back at home with us. Our worker had told us that if at any time we felt like we couldn't keep her safe we were to call the hotline, and someone would help us. 

The more Mike and I talked, the more we worried that we couldn't keep her safe because of some of the behaviors that she was exhibiting, and we made the decision to call the hotline. I placed the call, spoke to the person on the other end of the line, and explained everything in great detail. They assured me that they were going to get in touch with a supervisor and that someone would be in touch with us in an hour. It was a Saturday, so I was not surprised by this. We decided to just let her spend the time in her room until we knew what was going to come of the call. We lost track of time and decided to watch some TV while we waited. After a while, I needed to use the restroom and got up to head upstairs where our bathroom was located. 

I got to the foot of the stairs where I was able to hear her stereo playing but what I heard made me feel afraid. It was a CD that was skipping over and over, and she wasn't fixing it. I told Mike that we needed to check on Justine. We started up the stairs and as we approached the top the nervous energy in the air was palpable. My intuition told me something was not right, but I didn't know what, yet. We walked into her room, and it appeared to be empty. Mike even said, "Yep, she snuck out again". He walked across the room to her stereo and turned it off. We both turned to leave her room, with me turning toward the empty room and Mike turning toward the closet which had its sliding doors halfway open. I then heard Mike make a noise that I can't quite describe. A yelp, maybe, I don't know. I turned to look at him and then followed his gaze to the closet. At first, my mind couldn't wrap itself around what I was seeing. 

It was Justine, she had hung herself in her closet. From this point it was as if a switch had flipped in my brain. I was no longer a person with emotions. I was on auto pilot. I told Mike to lift her up to remove her weight off her neck. I briefly tried to untie the scarf she had used but to no avail, so I ran to get my trauma sheers out of my bag that I always used to take to work. I had to run downstairs to get them. I grabbed the cordless phone and began to dial 911 as I ran upstairs. I handed it to Mike to talk to them while I cut her down. I directed him to repeat everything to the operator that I said. It was not the first time I dealt with a suicide or even a hanging but never someone who I loved. If it was not for the fact my veins were pumping adrenaline, I might not have been as calm as I was. If I’m being honest, I think I would have handled it the same regardless. I was a soldier in the Army before I was an EMT and an EMT before I was a wife and stepmother. The reason I was so good at the former two and not so good at the latter one is because of the significant history of personal trauma I have experienced. Without thinking that switch I described earlier would flip when I was amid traumatic experiences, allowing me to think clearly and act without hesitation. 

I quickly took the scarf off her neck and did a brief assessment. I felt for a carotid pulse while I looked for the rise and fall of her chest. I observed neither were present. At this time I noticed that her fists were balled up, which is referred to as posturing and it is indicative of significant brain damage. Her jaw was tightly clenched with her tongue protruding from in between her front teeth. Her eyes were slightly open but were dull and lifeless. I knew that she had passed away and in the state I was in, I was able to calmly tell Mike that she was gone. He was hysterical and rightfully so. He begged me to “save” her over and over so I made the decision to go to what we often referred to as “heroic measures”. I decided I was going to do CPR despite knowing she was gone. In retrospect I’m glad I did because that would have been one more thing for me to feel terrible about.  

This all happened in a matter of a few seconds. I told Mike to inform the dispatcher that I was an EMT and that I was initiating CPR and to please send Fire and a second truck which is protocol when CPR was in progress. I looked down at her face and attempted to secure an airway but, as I said, her jaw was clamped shut like a vice. I looked around and saw a fork on the floor. I used it to pry her jaws open, I gently put her tongue back in place as I was going to have to do mouth to mouth. I wiped some foam off her lips, took a deep breath and did my first series of 2 breaths. At this time the protocol was 2 breaths to 15 compressions.  

I could taste the ice cream that I had bought her a few hours earlier. When I breathed into her her chest rose as it was supposed to do but I can’t begin to tell you how eerie it was when I began compressions the air was forced out of her lungs that sounded just like a breath. I had done CPR a few times at this point, but it was the one and only time I did mouth to mouth. Even though I knew what would happen when I began compressions my heart still skipped a beat and I briefly thought that she was breathing. But I knew that she wasn’t. Regardless of my training, my wishful thinking caused even me to really think it was so. I quickly got into a rhythm and began to wonder who was going to come to my house that day. I worked with the people that would be coming. Even though I didn’t know exactly who was working our rescue truck that day it didn’t matter, I knew them all. I used to work close to 100 hours a week and I loved every minute of it. I then began to wonder about the 2nd truck, and I hoped they weren’t too green. I felt bad for whoever was on their way to my house with their adrenaline now pumping, knowing what sort of call was ahead of them. 

When I saw who it was, I was relieved. I did some ride time with them when I was doing the ride time required by the company I worked for a few years prior as a new hire. I won’t say which company but for those of you in EMS it is a large, nationwide private ambulance company. I remember feeling really bad for the people who were coming. Nobody likes to do a call like that one. They came in and we briefly locked eyes. They didn’t show any hint of faltering or anything other than the strong, confident professionals that I knew them to be. They gently pulled me off of her and I suddenly was back in my normal, emotional, human state of being. I crawled out of the room on my hands and knees and just screamed “JUSTINE, NOOOO!!!!”. I was absolutely beside myself. I sat at the top of the stairs where 2 police officers were sitting, and I began frantically taking my hands and wiping at my eyes as though I was trying to wipe the images off my eyes.  

All these years later, not a day goes by that I don’t see the images of that day. They are always there, rolling over the backs of my eyes like a movie playing in the background of everything I see and do. A couple of years after Justine died my husband and I got a divorce. I got remarried on March 20th, 2010. In May of 2010 we discovered we had a baby on the way. Our son was born in January of 2011. We are still married and happier now than we were the day we married. Our son is amazing. He just turned 13 and is a very happy and well behaved boy. He is autistic and minimally verbal, but he is always laughing and smiling. As he gets closer to Justine’s age some people ask me if I am worried. I worry about plenty, but his happiness is so evident that it is infectious. Besides, we make our whole lives all about what is best for him. I only wish Justine would have had 2 parents that treated her like that. Every kid deserves that.