The female firefighter featured in two earlier stories continues to come to the hospital for daily occupational and physical therapy.
She is still working at the local fire station, but she is now manning the phones, and she is depressed about not being able to go out into the field with her fellow co-workers; she misses the "action and adventure" that firefighting so often brings.
The story is told in her own words, the first time she has had a chance to speak and tell her side of the story.
Brooklyn Marie Harrington is my name, and I am still recovering from injuries sustained earlier this year from a structural fire. A house had caught on fire, and I was in the midst of trying to rescue a trapped child--a little boy--when the ceiling fell on top of me. As a result, I was severely burned on my upper back, shoulders, and arms, and I sustained nerve damage. I am still undergoing ongoing physical and occupational therapy on an outpatient basis at the hospital, and I still can't really move my arms or my shoulders that well.
The little boy I rescued has since died; his name was JaVon Demetrius Jackson, and he was only three years old. He had way too much in the way of brain damage, and he never really recovered from his injuries. I have really been depressed about that because I keep thinking that I am somehow responsible, and I keep thinking that if only I had found him sooner, he would still be alive or have a chance. I wonder if his family is mad at me for causing his death; I know it sounds silly, but it is something I can't help thinking about from time to time. I worry if they are going to end up suing me or the fire department; and it is a worry that is constantly on my mind.
I have worked for the Nashville Fire Department for nearly two years; prior to that, though, I worked for the New York City Fire Department. I would have stayed in New York--New York City has always been my home; I was born and raised in Manhattan, and I have always had a great affinity for the city I would call home--, but then September 11, 2001 happened, and I saw and heard far too much, and I knew in my heart that I had to get away. I lost too many of my firefighter friends in the terror attacks, and it is something I would rather not talk about--let alone, remember.
I have long, blonde, curly hair and blue eyes, and I am fairly tall, and am kinda' skinny (but not overly so; I am no beanpole, if that is what you mean). I have two older brothers, Randy and Michael, and two younger sisters, Gloria and Rebecca; I am in the middle. My mother, Tina, is still alive; and she lives in Nashville. I live near her, and she comes over to help me out whenever I need it (and I am afraid it is often). Our dad, Arthur, died six years ago from a massive heart attack and stroke. He would have been 75 tomorrow. He was only 66 when he died. I still miss him so much, especially on his birthdate and on Christmas, so, as you can imagine, tomorrow is going to be pretty rough on me.
Before I was injured and when I wasn't spending my time fighting fires or rescuing people, I was a very active woman. I loved to go jogging on my days off work, and I loved spending my time outdoors as much as possible. I loved going to Central Park back in New York--that or catching a Broadway play; I've seen just about all of them; my favorite was and always WILL be "The Lion King: The Musical"--, and when I came to Nashville, I loved going downtown and going shopping on my days off. I also loved going to the gym two times a week to keep myself in shape, and I loved hanging out with the guys at the firehouse when we weren't on call. I also loved to play cards and games like penochle or Monopoly.
Now my once active lifestyle has come to a screeching halt, and I am quite disabled. I still can't move that well, and I need help with so much. My mom is always coming over to help me out, or one of my neighbors. Or my nurse friend who took care of me at the hospital where I still go to for therapy, Louisiana Sandusky, comes over, and she brings me stuff to eat or books to read whenever I am bored or depressed; or we just sit and talk about "things". She tells me what is going on in her family- or work-oriented world, and I tell her about my boring life of being stuck at home or going to therapy and having to put up with the physical terrorists (as I call them!). She knows I am unhappy, so she will offer me some words of hope and encouragement, and even though I am not a very religious person, I DO let her pray for me, and I think that is nice that she wants to include me in her prayers.
I have known Louisiana for nearly two years now (from when we would have to go to her house for a medical emergency involving one of her children; she and her husband, Bill, have adopted a whole passel of special-needs kids, and sometimes one or more of them get sick unexpectedly), and she is very nice. She has never said one unkind thing about me, and she has really never pressured me to talk about what I saw on 9-11-01. I think that is very respectful of her because right now 9-11-01 is nothing but a big sore spot for me, and it still gives me ongoing nightmares two years later.
Well, there you have it. The boring life and update on me, Brooklyn Marie Harrington. SOME exciting, glamorous life I have, huh? Spending time at the torture clinic at the hospital with those g-d terrorists or manning the phones while MY guys are out, making the rescues and fighting fires because MY fucking arms don't want to work well any more!
I will be writing from time to time. (I am doing this with a pointer stuck in my mouth; it takes me up to four hours to type one g-d letter!) I am sorry if I haven't written; but at least Louisiana has been kind enough to keep everyone updated on me and what I have had to endure since being injured!
and whoaaaaaaaaaa let me wipe the sweat from my brow. U r awesome and filled with so much , keep this up I'm gonna have to have a special collection just for u ;)(like thats a bad idea) LOL
heartbreaking, heartbreaking read...to be cut down in the prime of life, and to learn to live with a sudden disability would make ANYONE angry. *tears*
enjoyed reading brooklyn's story, in her own words.
*congrats on # 700...karen, you're the den's star story writer*
A poignant story about letting go of a narcissist in your life. Have you ever been attacked FULL force by a narcissist? It's the closest thing to being stabbed over and over in the back.
A poignant story about letting go of a narcissist in your life. Have you ever been attacked FULL force by a narcissist? It's the closest thing to being stabbed over and over in the back.
