Yesterday morning at about 7 AM, I was in that vaunted half-awake-half-asleep phase where one is semi-aware of oustide stimuli, but doesn't necessarily react the way one would if he or she were completely alert. Whilst I was lying there in the aforementioned state, I picked up on what could be described as a slapping sound. Of course since I was still mostly asleep, I paid it no heed. I didn't know what it was, and didn't care; I was catatonic and buried under half a dozen toasty blankets. Gradually though, the sound increased in intensity and eventually reached a point where, combined with that other great sleep thief (need to pee), it forced me to rise. As I opened my bedroom door, I was startled to find my roommate's boyfriend on the other side -- his face normally red with weeks worth of sunburn -- now a sickly white.
"Man, you have to help me....Tiffany's not moving -- I tried smacking her, throwing water in her face -- but she won't wake up! I don't know what to do." I followed him into her bedroom where he grabbed her shoulders and started shaking her violently -- "Tiffany, WAKE UP!" I reached for her wrist to check for a pulse.
Cold as ice. And no heartbeat.
"I've been trying to wake her up for half an hour now, but nothing is working" he said. This guy is borderline retarded -- and at the time absolutely coked out of his mind.
I called 911 -- a call that should have been made hours ago but wasn't -- and told them what was happening. The dispatcher asked if I knew CPR, which I don't. He told us to put her on a flat surface. The boyfriend and I dragged her into the living room where the dispatcher then walked me through the steps. So I started with chest thrusts to get air moving into her lungs. Not more than 2 minutes later, the paramedics arrived -- probably eight of them and started working on her. Idiot boyfriend started off what would become a marathon session of throwing up in my toliet. I just stood back and watched.
Fifteen minutes later they told us she was dead -- most likely from a cocaine overdose.
How does this happen? I think I've asked myself that question a thousand times in the last 24 hours.
Because of her age, her death was considered to be "suspicious". So the police came. Then the homicide unit. Then the medical examiner. My apartment had become a "crime scene". For six hours, my other roommate, my visiting friend, the moronic boyfriend, and I had to sit in the hallway of my apartment building without moving for six hours. We couldn't go inside and we couldn't leave. They didn't let us use the bathroom or get anything to eat. We were asked the same questions at least 3 different times. Listening to the police relay information to each other was like watching a game of "telephone" go horribly, horribly wrong. Pros. All of 'em.
Once the crowd had dispersed, boyfriend went into her room, grabbed a pile of her CDs and left, saying "Ugh, I feel like fucking shit. Man, I wish I was dead. Oops. Probably shouldn't have....(trailed off)."
People. The World. What is happening here? My roommate DIED yesterday.
Christ, she was 22.
"Man, you have to help me....Tiffany's not moving -- I tried smacking her, throwing water in her face -- but she won't wake up! I don't know what to do." I followed him into her bedroom where he grabbed her shoulders and started shaking her violently -- "Tiffany, WAKE UP!" I reached for her wrist to check for a pulse.
Cold as ice. And no heartbeat.
"I've been trying to wake her up for half an hour now, but nothing is working" he said. This guy is borderline retarded -- and at the time absolutely coked out of his mind.
I called 911 -- a call that should have been made hours ago but wasn't -- and told them what was happening. The dispatcher asked if I knew CPR, which I don't. He told us to put her on a flat surface. The boyfriend and I dragged her into the living room where the dispatcher then walked me through the steps. So I started with chest thrusts to get air moving into her lungs. Not more than 2 minutes later, the paramedics arrived -- probably eight of them and started working on her. Idiot boyfriend started off what would become a marathon session of throwing up in my toliet. I just stood back and watched.
Fifteen minutes later they told us she was dead -- most likely from a cocaine overdose.
How does this happen? I think I've asked myself that question a thousand times in the last 24 hours.
Because of her age, her death was considered to be "suspicious". So the police came. Then the homicide unit. Then the medical examiner. My apartment had become a "crime scene". For six hours, my other roommate, my visiting friend, the moronic boyfriend, and I had to sit in the hallway of my apartment building without moving for six hours. We couldn't go inside and we couldn't leave. They didn't let us use the bathroom or get anything to eat. We were asked the same questions at least 3 different times. Listening to the police relay information to each other was like watching a game of "telephone" go horribly, horribly wrong. Pros. All of 'em.
Once the crowd had dispersed, boyfriend went into her room, grabbed a pile of her CDs and left, saying "Ugh, I feel like fucking shit. Man, I wish I was dead. Oops. Probably shouldn't have....(trailed off)."
People. The World. What is happening here? My roommate DIED yesterday.
Christ, she was 22.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
Wow shit, I just read your journal entry. That supremely stinks. I don't know what else to say and really, nothing I could say would be adequate anyway.
[Edited on Nov 05, 2004 5:58PM]