The Day We Can't Forget

by Vincent M. Crear, BSRT(R)

As I strode into the front entrance of Bellevue Hospital Center on September 11^th, little could I have expected or fathomed that we, along with the City of New York, as well as the country, were about to be faced with one of the most horrific, ideological cataclysms to be waged against a nation; how such a bright sunny morning would transform into a dark and dreadful mourning. Though I briefly noted a cluster of officers and security personnel discussing some matter with intense concentration it did not register with me as overtly unusual. But upon arriving upstairs, when Anthony Biberica informed me that an airplane had hit the World Trade Center, following which Jimmy Louisi ran up to say that a second aircraft had crashed into the other tower, the innocence of the day and our nation was broken.

In the emergency room radiology satellite area, my anxiety was assuaged by the congregation and unity of fellow employees, people I have worked , agreed, disagreed, learned, and lived with for almost twelve years of technical training in Bellevue's Radiology Department. At that moment, I found a new and higher respect for our department, as well as all the departments that stood on the frontline together. But when word came that the Pentagon was also a target, and that a fourth aircraft that had crashed in Pennsylvania, the gloom of the circumstances lingered heavily in the faces of us all.

The Emergency Room soon resembled a military operation; everyone was clarifying their individual role, and dressing in protective apparel from head to toe. (There was a concern that the destruction of the Twin Towers potentially involved nuclear elements.) Stretchers were patterned in lines along walls and open areas, interspersed with respiratory ventilators, portable x-ray units, etc. Physicians outnumbered hospital personnel, as all non-emergent care was put on hold and even first and second year medical students were summoned.

When the first ambulance arrived, healthcare personnel lined a path to the designated triage area and the action began. "Get his clothes off!...Someone start an IV!"

"Sir, can you hear me?" "Are you having pain anywhere?" "Do you have any allergies?" "What's his pressure?" "Somebody get x-ray in here....Where's x-ray?". Portable x-ray units were in every corner of the Emergency Room being utilized by the constant flow of technologists exiting and entering the small partitioned spaces sheltering patients while other radiographers combed the area shouting if there was anyone who needed x-ray.

The supervisors on location, Anthony Biberica, Jenine Ferrer, Jesus Rosado, and Thomas Tortorici provided highly structured procedures to maximize efficiency of workflow: transporting and documenting films as they were exposed, in order that they could be processed and read quickly by the newly appointed Emergency Room Attending Radiologist, Dr. Philip Jeffries. Instrumental in this process was the Bellevue School of Radiology (Class of 2000) who transported and labeled films as they were produced by the radiographers. (Later it would be especially commendable of the radiology school and students to initiate and steer a Fireman's Rescue Fund collecting non-perishable items and funds totalling over $3000.) The students were also enlisted to answer phones on the emergency help lines, as it was predicted that the phones would be overburdened by people searching for loved ones. These unfortunately include our own co-workers, as Michael Lynch, the husband of Michele McGorty, and brother-in-law of Kelly McGorty (both MRI technologists), and Simon Dedvukaj, cousin of Tommy Dedvukaj, a Bellevue Radiology student, would later be confirmed lost to the unfolding tragedy. But at the time, everyone kept an eye out for the arrival of Michael or Simon at the Emergency Room.

Traumatized victims with ailments ranging from smoke inhalation to skin burns, lacerations, and broken bones filtered in steadily. Later in the day the Medical Examiner’s Office sought the services of Bellevue Radiology, and its director, Dr. Nancy Genieser, just months into her newly appointed role, provided portable units, cassette grids, and lead shielding. In addition, BHC radiographers were asked if they would lend their talents to the MEO for the process of victim identification, which many agreed to, including: Anthony Alfieri, Lisa Bradshaw, Louis Colon, Marshall Head, Laura Keller, Eric Larsen, Lisa Nord, Arkady Sandoval, Vilma Slinger, Philip Sorge, and Thomas Tortorici, as well as radiology students, Susan Antoniewicz, Myrna Arias, William Javier, Maxi Lizardo, Peggy Anne McCann, and Robert Roman. Their assistance was graciously welcomed by the MEO, especially by the radiology supervisor, Ron D'Ambra who was overwhelmed by the quantity of human remains. Mr. D’Ambra’s department has been using dental records, congenital anomalies, identifiying skeletal features and post surgical changes for the identification process. Two radiographers, Lisa Bradshaw and Arkady Sandoval, stayed on for several weeks to aid his efforts.

By evening, arrivals to the Emergency Room started to slow down. Ambulances became more scant, and yet all departments were still on standby, having anticipated that far more victims would have arrived. The reality of the death toll was beginning to dawn. But the only thing that kept growing now, were the numbers of faces of the missing, plastered on walls and streets all over the city, over which fighter jets patrolled, reminding us that this nightmare was real. Within days a "Wall of Sorrow" was created along the blue construction barricade that paralleled the walkway from the Bellevue Arch to the front of the hospital. It was a sight that can not be forgotten, and will be reinstalled elsewhere by the City of New York in the future for exhibition.

Bellevue Radiology witnessed firsthand what both shook our nation and brought many households and even nations together, if only momentarily. I'd never before considered trauma as anything much more than physical; I'd disregarded probably the most critical trauma in existence: emotional trauma. While it is hard in trials such as these to accept that everything has a reason for happening, even if it seems unthinkably cruel, it gives comfort to believe that the joys that follow....and they will follow....will be made unimaginably sweeter. And the promise of tomorrow will always exists.