The Big City

Chapter One

Scene [2]

The Big City

Londonderry, NH
1995/04/08 07:00-07:30 Saturday [Ferne and Don]
         During a cereal and black coffee breakfast, I said, “We could leave now and be there for the tests.”

         Ferne said, “No.  If I blow off work, I’d have to explain why.”

         “But, this may be serious.  I think it would be justified.”

         “She’s there because of drugs.  God, I don’t want them to know anything about this.”


Derry, NH
1995/04/08 07:30-08:00 Saturday [Ferne and Don]
         I dusted a fine coat of snow off the Sunbird and drove Ferne to her Saturday, half-day, clerking job at Decelles department store in Derry.

         “Don, what does this mean for our family?”

         “You mean relative to Renee?”

         “No, to all of us.  Renee especially, but between you and me, too.”

         “You mean are we going to start the blaming game again about how Renee turned out?”

         “Yeah, that too.  But this sort of thing could either bring families together, or split them apart.”

         “I hope we don’t start that.  Besides, Renee is Renee.  I don’t see the reflection of either one of us in the way she acts.”

         “I wish we ‘could’ see what drives her.”

         “Ferne, long ago I knew we were quite different in our approach to raising the kids.  I’ve always tried to treat them with a little more maturity than their ages.  You’ve been the one to treat them as babies longer than necessary.”

         “See, that’s what I’m worried about.  You’re saying I was too soft.”

         “No, that’s not what I was getting at.  That was just your style.  That’s what a mother does, and I respect you for it.  Even so, it made me sad that I had to be the only one to punish them when they needed it.”

         “There you go again, trying to make me feel guilty for making you the terrible spanking dad.”

         “Ferne, no.  I’m just making an observation of fact.  That’s just the way it was.  I don’t think I’d change a thing in the way we treated the kids.  Somebody needed to hold them and somebody needed to scold them.”

         “You should have held them more.”

         “Oh?  ...I was trying to turn off the argument.”

         We drove on for a mile in silence.

         Just before the Decelles parking lot I said, “I’ve stuck with you during your first gray hair, the pounds that won’t come off and your craziness with menopause.  I don’t feel any different about you now than the day I married you.  We may have made mistakes, but the past is the past.  Renee is hurt and needs us now.”

         Ferne opened her door, leaned over and gave me a kiss, then said, “That’s the most important thing, our daughter.  Any issues between us we might have had in the past are unimportant.  We will need each other.”

         She got out of the car and walked toward the employee door. 

         Light snow and freezing drizzle swirled around her.  She kept her head down protecting her face, but I knew there were tears there too.  She would have a tough time today trying to act normal.


I-93
1995/04/08 12:00-13:30 Saturday [Ferne, Neil and Don]
         I called Neil and he came home early.  We picked up Ferne from work at noon then headed south on I-93 to Boston.  Ferne was in the front seat twisting her pocketbook strap.  Neil was in the back reading.

         We didn't say much on the trip down because we didn't know much.  But, by the time we got to the I-95/128 exit, traffic was getting heavy and I had to slow down.

         “When did she start using drugs?” I said.

         “I knew of some trouble with pot over at Salisbury Beach last summer,” Ferne said.

         Neil concentrated on his book.

         “You didn’t tell me?”

         “It was no big thing.  She was in a car that was stopped on I-495.  They found a bag of Marijuana in the trunk.”

         “What?  One of her stupid friends I suppose.”

         “Look Don, she doesn’t drive.  She has to get rides wherever she goes.  It was just a ride to the beach.”

         “Yeah, some ride.  Now she has a record?  ...Why didn’t you tell me?”

         “Because you’d have blown your stack... like you’re going to now.”

         I stared ahead, concentrated on driving, let it pass, let it pass.  Maybe she’s right.

         After a minute I said, “Neil, do you know anything about Renee’s drugs?”

         Neil kept reading.

         “Neil!”

         “What?”

         “You know anything about Renee using drugs?”

         “No,” and he tried to keep reading.

         “Come on, you were home with her after school all last year.  Did she ever do pot?”

         “I don’t know.  I didn’t keep track of her.”

         “Ferne said, “Leave him alone, Don.”

         “Why?  His room was right next to hers.  Didn’t he know something?”

         “They are brother and sister... not friends.  Besides, it doesn’t matter now.”

         Doesn’t matter?  Of course it matters...  Drop it.

         “I didn’t know you could overdose on pot anyway,” I said.


BCH
1995/04/08 13:30-15:30 Saturday [Ferne, Neil and Don]
         I parked on the street a block or so from Boston City Hospital.  We had to walk around some construction near the main entrance to get in the front door.  The reception desk was adjacent to a large and quite crowded waiting room filled with what had to be the dregs of Boston.  People were coughing, babies crying, and the smell of B.O. almost overpowering.

         Several people were having a rather animated conversation in Spanish (or Haitian or Portuguese or some foreign language I know not), with the receptionist.

         We backed off until the confrontation subsided.  When it did, I said, “We’re here to see Renee Huntemann.  We were told she is in this hospital.”

         The receptionist fussed with her computer a few seconds... then said, “She’s in the CICU on five.  Take the elevators, on your left, to the fifth floor.”

         I asked, “What are the normal visiting hours?”

         She said, “You can go see her anytime because she is in the Intensive Care Unit.  They have their own waiting room and visiting rules.”

         I started for the elevators, but she stopped me, "You will need a pass though!  We can't have people running all around the hospital."

         She stamped "5CICU" on a piece of paper and handed it to me.  "A hall pass, like in school.  Keep it visible."

         I took the hall pass and we rode the elevator up to the fifth floor.  A sign opposite the elevator landing pointed to the right for the CICU.

         A small waiting room with a half dozen overstuffed chairs was around the corner.  There was a desk behind a window that looked like another reception station, but it was not manned.  Across the room were two large doors with a sign next to a call box saying “Call for Admittance.”

         I pushed the button and announced we wanted to see Renee Huntemann.  A disembodied voice came back with, “Just a minute.”

         In a few minutes, a woman came out of the doors and said, “Miss Huntemann is having tests done and is not in her room.  Please have a seat.  She should be coming back soon.”

         The woman went behind the reception desk and started working on some papers.  Ferne and I sat near the doors and Neil took a chair in a corner to continue reading his book.  We thought that it was a good sign she was not in her room.  Maybe she had awakened and was able to walk to where they were doing the test.

         After thirty minutes or so, we noticed a patient, in a bed with a bunch of equipment hung all over it, being pushed up the hall towards us.  We immediately knew it was Renee because her beautiful auburn hair was splayed over the side of the pillow and hanging half way to the floor.

         Ferne and I rushed up to her wanting to comfort her and reassure her we were there.  But the staff stopped us and said, “She is very critical.  You need to wait until we get her into isolation and hooked up to the room facilities.”

         The woman from the desk helped push the bed through the entrance and closed the massive doors behind her leaving us alone in the waiting room again.

         So we waited, and waited... and waited, for what felt like hours, wondering what was happening to our daughter beyond those big doors.

         Finally, after what was really only a few minutes, the woman returned and let us into the unit.  She escorted us past a long nurses’ station and two other patients in the CICU, each in special alcoves.  The alcoves had isolation capable sliding glass doors across the front and a full compliment of monitoring equipment.  At the end of the short hall, she stepped into Renee’s alcove and held apart some curtains for us to enter.

         After we went in, she closed the doors and introduced herself, “I’m Renee primary nurse for this shift.  My name is Heidi.  I’ll stay to answer any questions you might have.”

         The lights were low but adequate to see everything.  Renee’s face was serine.  No expression of discomfort, angst, or pain.  Her eyes were tightly shut like she was profoundly sleeping.  Her hands were limp, soft, and warm and I caressed them like she was a kitten.  Come on, Renee, sweetheart, wake up.  Wake up so we can take you home.

         She needed a ventilator, two IVs, heart and respiration monitors, blood dissolved Oxygen (SpO2) monitor, feeding tube, urine catheter, and several other devices.

         There were three tubes in her mouth, which seemed to be relaxed and open.  She was completely motionless except for her chest.  The ventilator would inflate her lungs rhythmically ten times a minute, “click, swish... burp.”

         Ferne’s face was drawn and worried.  I could see tears waiting impatiently at the corners of her eyes.  Every time an alarm would ring the expression on Ferne’s face deepened.  When Heidi entered the room we all turned anticipating some news.  But there was none.  Several times I had to let go of Renee’s hand so she could adjust something.  There were bags of liquid hanging on I-V trees and Renee had the tubes going to three different needles into her body.  The sounds from the vent and monitors made me think we were on a TV stage.  The room smelled ‘clean.’

         We stood looking at Renee, holding her limp fingers, in complete disbelief of what had happened.  That was when we realized the enormity of her condition.  And the persistent questions came: How could she have done this to herself?  Did she do it to herself?  Why?

         None of which could be addressed by Heidi.


BCH
1995/04/08 15:30-17:45 Saturday [Nina, Ferne, Neil and Don]
         Nina arrived.  Heidi wanted us to keep the number of visitors down to two at a time in her room.  So we took turns.

         We tried to hold her hands but her arms were so full of IVs and lines that it made it difficult to move them around much fearing we would dislodge something.  The SpO2 sensor was on her left middle finger.  They had removed the polish from her nail to get a better signal.  Boy, she will really be pissed if she wakes up to find her manicure was messed up.   Oh, if that could have been her only problem.

* * *

         A doctor came in to talk to us.  The test she was having when we arrived was an electroencephalogram (EEG), brain function test.

         “And what were the results?” I asked.

         “It’s a complicated diagnostic survey with many parameters.  The readings will have to be evaluated by a neurologist in a day or so,” he said.

         “A day or so.  How long will she be here?”

         “That’s undetermined as yet.  She has had a significant assault to her brain tissue.  It could be a while.  In the meantime, she is getting a fever and we are worried about brain swelling.”

         “From a fever?”  I put my hand on Renee’s forehead... it was warm.  “She’s sick too?”

         “Her cardiac arrest gave her a period of anoxia, loss of oxygen to the brain, which caused the cell damage.  Fever and swelling is part of the body’s normal repair mechanism.  But in the head, there’s no room for expansion.  The added pressure can cause more cell damage.”

         “How bad was the damage?”

         “Her heart rhythm is stabilizing, but she needs the vent because she doesn't seem to be able to breathe on her own.  The brain controls breathing... and that part is damaged.  There may be more, that’s why we need the EEG report.”

         “And the fever?”

         “We are trying to control that with medication.”

         Ferne and Nina asked several questions about pain and recovery.  His answers were not reassuring though.

         I thanked him for all his efforts and he left.

         We asked nurse Heidi about the specifics of her admitting.  She hefted a large, mostly empty, 3-ring binder and showed us her Chart1, which started at scene arrival and transport by BCH ambulance to the emergency room.  It had little information about where she was found.

         Heidi said, “The Boston Area ‘D’ police will have more details since it is a drug related case.  You may want to check with them.”

* * *

         We took turns visiting thirty minutes at a time.  Except for the staff switching bottles, refilling bags, monitoring the equipment, and the monotonous clicks and burps from the respirator, nothing changed.

         Ferne ran out of Kleenex.  Neil finished his book out in the waiting room.  Nina appeared more angry than sad.  I just stared at Renee.  Why did I have to work so much?  What could I have done to avoid this?  How did I let her down?  What did I miss?

         There was obviously not much we could do for Renee until she woke up.  After six hours of feeling helpless, rather useless, and in the way of the staff tending her, we voted to go over to the police station to find out more about what happened yesterday and how she got here.


Area "D-4"
1995/04/08 17:45-18:15 Saturday [Nina, Ferne, Neil and Don]
         We left Renee and went to the Boston Area "D" police station.  I had a difficult time finding a parking spot within sight of the station.  Finally did, but we had to walk three blocks.

         The four of us crowded into one of the smallest vestibules I've ever seen, not much bigger than a double phone booth.  A single bench, big enough for three, was the only furnishing.  I stood.

         A receptionist, behind bullet-proof glass, was across from the bench.  I told her, “We’d like to talk to the officer in charge of my daughter, Renee's, case.”

         “Do you know when it happened?”

         “Sometime yesterday, around four in the afternoon,” I said.

         “That’s probably detective Boyle, I’ll contact him.”

         We waited several minutes while all sorts of people passed through that tiny room: A cop dragging a man in handcuffs, blood oozing from a cut under the man’s ear; men in suits carrying briefcases; men in rags.  The receptionist had to buzz each in and out.

         I waited opposite from the door controlled by the receptionist.  Once she buzzed it and two young tattooed ladies in miniskirts came out.  The first looked at me and said, “Hello Sport,” then gave me a broad smile.

         The receptionist said, “Come on, Irene.  You haven’t even left the building.”

         ‘Irene’ said, “Aw, Marybell, I’m just being friendly,” then she smiled at me again.

         The two painted ladies left the front entrance.  Strange thoughts filtered through my head; Was that funny?  Are these people real?  Why do bad things happen?  When will Renee wake up?  Am ‘I’ dreaming?  What day is this?

         The kids looked bewildered too.  Ferne rested her face on her fingers, eyes closed.  Nina, who was sitting on the end of the bench, looked up at me and said, “Daddy, I’m afraid for Renee.”

         I put my arm around her and tried to reassure her.  “We’ll get to the bottom of this.  And get Renee home soon,” I whispered.

         Finally, Detective, Thomas P. Boyle, came out to see us.

         I identified who we were and why we were there.

         He checked our IDs, all four of us.  Neil only had his library card with him.


Inside ‘Area D’
1995/04/08 18:15-19:00 Sat. [Boyle, Nina, Ferne, Neil and Don]
         The receptionist buzzed the door for us and we went into a much larger waiting area.  The man with the cut was inside a large cage.  He was talking to one of the briefcases through the mesh.  Three more miniskirts were sitting in the corner, staring into nowhere, bored.

         Detective Boyle said, “The two of you can come into my office,” and he motioned down the hall.

         We took a few steps, then I asked, “Why just us?”

         “How old are your children?  It might be a little graphic for them."

         I said, “Fourteen and twenty-four, but we have always shared everything together, the good and the bad.  I’d trust them with any news, no matter how graphic.”

         He acquiesced and I motioned Neil and Nina to join us.


Det. Boyle’s Office
1995/04/08 18:15-19:00 Sat. [Boyle, Nina, Ferne, Neil and Don]
         Boyle’s office was small and had two other desks in it.  All were covered with large amounts of paperwork.  He gave us a copy of his Incident Report2.  He explained, “The Boston Fire Department Rescue Squad was called around four-fifteen to 765 Tremont Street.  They found a young girl that had stopped breathing and was in cardiac arrest.

         “Since she is so small, they thought she was very young, so they began aggressive CPR.”

         I said, “How long did it take to revive her?”

         “Well, that’s the thing.  They couldn’t... and had to continue the CPR while she was transported all the way to Boston City Hospital.  Normally they wouldn't spend so much time on an older patient.”

         “If they knew she was almost 21... they would have stopped?”

         Detective Boyle shifted his weight in his chair and said, “That is just the way it is, children get more effort than adults.”

         I swallowed but there was no saliva in my mouth.  Thank goodness Renee is a waif.

         Boyle continued, “However, after she got to the BCH Emergency Room, Doctor Perkins was able to revive her.  The firemen and EMTs believe she was "down" for quite awhile, maybe 20 minutes.  There is no way to tell.”

         “Down?  What is down?”

         “Effectively... dead.  But, we don’t say that.  That’s a doctor’s job.”

         Oh my word!

         Ferne’s eyes released the tears.

         “Who found her?” I asked.

         Detective Boyle said, “We interviewed a man,” glancing at his report, “ah, Sukki Min, who lived in the apartment where she was found.  He said he had taken her to Lynn, the night before where she got several packs of Heroin.”

         Heroin! shot through my mind.  What an ugly name for poison.

         “She must have snorted them during the night or the following morning because when he left the apartment the next afternoon, he thought she was sleeping.  When he returned, she seemed to be having trouble breathing.  So he called 911.”

         Heroin, not pot?

         “I asked, “How much of that story should we believe?”

         “We’re still investigating.”

         “Did he buy the drugs for her?”

         “Don’t know.  He doesn’t have a record.”

         “Did you arrest him?”

         “No, we want his cooperation.  And, we don’t have much on him anyway.  That is, unless your daughter dies.  Then we would treat it as a homicide, and he might be considered an accessory.”

         How about an accessory to an overdose?  Why can’t you arrest the bastard now?  Are you saying Renee has to die before you do your job?  I paused to clear my head then said, “He waited twenty minutes?”

         “Maybe not that long.  It took time for the EMTs to get there, and then to BCH.

         “I’ve heard a lot of drug stories.  This one is not atypical....  How is your daughter doing?”

         I gave him a report as best as I understood.  “Vent, fever, brain swelling, coma.  Don’t know for how long.”

         He grimaced for a second, then said, “We collected some of her personal effects from the scene; coat, keys, pants and shoes.  But it’s locked up and the property officer won't be back until next week.  You can claim her things when he returns.  His name is Harrison.  Call first to be sure he’s here when you come in.”

         Sounds strange to me... nobody able to get property in a police station for a week?

         He escorted us back to the vestibule, wished us luck, “Even though she’s just hanging on by the thinnest of threads.”


I-93
1995/04/08 19:00-20:30 Saturday [Neil, Ferne and Don]
         We left the police station and walked to a nearby subway stop.  Before we said goodbye to Nina, I held her for a long time.  I wished I could hold Renee that way again too, soon.

         Nina took a subway to the hotel where her cousin was staying.  We drove home.  The drive seemed endless.  Drugs—now heroin, cardiac arrest, CPR, ventilator, coma!  All the horrors a parent dreads racing through our heads.  Neil was noticeably silent.


Page count      19
Word count    3556

Footnotes
1  [Page 1 of BCH chart (transcribed from hand-written report)]
  Date: 4/7/95,  Scene arrival: 16:29,  Scene departure: 16:39,
  Dispatched to: 765 Tremont St., SE,  Hospital arrival: 16:41,
 
    Physical Exam:
      Neuro Status -  Eye opening      checked none,
                        Verbal Response  checked none,
                        Motor Response    checked none,
      Skin Condition - checked cool and pale
      Vital Signs - BP 0, Pulse 0, Capil Return 0, Resp Rate 0
      Suspected Diagnosis - checked Cardiac Arrest
      Emergency Care - checked CPR, Extrication and O2/Vent Rate
      "Assist"
                        Route "BUM"
                        Airway: checked Cleared, Oral and Size 5
 
    Comments:
      (HRT) 21 y.o. female pt found in Cardiac Arrest.  Pts "friend"
      reports to EMTs pt with hard drug abuse problem took her to get
      "White powder" ~ 10 = 11 p.m. last night.  Spent night with her in
      bed ~ 11 a.m. heard her "Snoring loudly."  ~ 4 p.m. tried to wake
      her got no response and summoned amb.
 
      (PE) O.A. BFD on scene performing CPR.  Report 3 no shock advised
      on SAED pt presents Apneic pulseless cool dry Pale skin. 0 evidence
      ini/trauma 1 rocre NO SHOCK Advised CPR continue.  Pt extricated
      from 4th floor to amb.
 
      (PMH) QNK 841???  In CPR fins BCH  OA pt ???vomit ng.  Airway
      suctioned Rol to gatt
 
      Hospital notified enroute via C-MED radio.


2  [Summary: Police Incident Report]
      Complaint No. 5015-3420,  Report dest. D-4              Page 1 of 2
      Type of Incident: Sick Assist - Overdose              Date: 4-7-95
      Location: 765 Tremont St., Apt. 4, Disp time 4:17 pm, Occur 4:00 pm
      Victim: Huntemann, Renee      Phone: Unk,  Sex: F,  Race: W
      Addr: (Poss.) 15 Ferry St., Everett - 15 Parkvale St., Alston,
      Age: 21, DOB: Unk, Person reporting: P.O. Thomas P. Boyle, Area D-4
      Witness: Sukki Min,  Age: 26,  Loc.: Scene,  Apt: 4,
      Addr: 765 Tremont St.,  Apt 4, phone [phone]
      Additional Information:  R/C to 765 Tremont St. for possible
      overdose.  On arrival found the members of Eng 20 Boston Fire
      giving CPR to the victim.  Capt Sullivan stated they found the
      victim on the bed with no sign of life.  CPR was continued until
      B.C.H. Amb #15 arrived on scene and rushed the victim to Boston
      City Hosp.
 

        At the hosp the victim was treated by Dr Perkins who was able to
      revive the victim.  Dr Perkins stated the victim is in Critical
      Condition and was on life support.
 
        Sgt Daley 931 responded to the scene along with Det's Blair
 
      Dist D-4,  Complaint No.: 5015342                      Page 2 of 2
      & Colman.  Recovered at the scene by Sgt Daley was 2 white pills -
      1 marijuana cigarette - 2 straws - 1 Trans Glassine bag with
      residue. These items were logged in drug book #14 page 1470.  Also
      recovered by Sgt Daley was 1 Rabbit Coat - 1 pair blk pants - 1
      pair blk shoes - 1 set of keys all belonging to victim.  Sgt Daley
      rec'd items in overnight Evidence Locker.