The call came in at 3:18 pm. The roommate was calling
because she hadn’t heard from her roommate since Monday. It was now Wednesday
of the Spring Break week. I’ve responded to at least a hundred welfare calls
over the years, with the majority occurring in Student Housing. I phoned the
roommate’s parents and asked them if they had spoken to their child in the last
couple of days. Her mother didn’t answer so I called her father who answered
the home phone. He said his daughter should be in a nearby city participating
in an activity but since he hadn’t spoken to her, he would appreciate it if I
did go and do a quick check. I told him I’d call him back in about 5-10 minutes
and hung up.
I always take someone with me, usually a police officer,
especially if it is after business hours, but many times a Maintenance
Supervisor goes, too, instead of an officer. The girls’ apartment was dark, no sound. I walked in
calling for her and not hearing any response turned to the Maintenance Supervisor
and walked down the hallway, turning on the hall light as I went. All the doors
were closed. An odd feeling came over me. Since we had no idea whose room was
whose, I took one door, opened it, no one there, and went to the next. While
the MS opened his, he said, “No one is here.” I opened my door.
I immediately saw in the dim light of the hallway, there was
someone in the bed, so I called her name very loudly. I expected her to jump up
and tell me to get the heck out. I pushed open the door and turned on the
light. I could see immediately that I was too late. The MS walked quickly to
the apartment door as I dialed 911.
It was too late. I could do nothing for her. At that moment
all I could think of was that this vibrant, lovely girl was gone and no matter
how awful this day was for me, it did not compare to how awful it will be for
her mother and father, brothers and sisters, her roommate … the survivors. I
know, too, that I will remember every single detail of this event and how I
whispered to the 911 Operator who told me to get her on the floor and start CPR
that "I can’t."
“Why not?” she asked. "Because. Because she is not alive any more," I whispered. Then I started
crying.
Obviously, this is a traumatic event. Playing it over and
over in my mind, I have to believe that if we implemented a Red Dot Policy,
perhaps we could be more prepared that this type of medical emergency could be
prevented from becoming life threatening. After all, as on site professionals,
what do we really know about our residents? Would it not make sense to initiate
something as simple as adding a form to the move in process asking residents/Guarantors
for permission to know if there is any known health condition that could become
life threatening? Couldn’t that Red Dot could be placed on the file and added
to the property management software in some way? Would it not make sense for onsite
personnel to know whether or not those on the Red Dot List will be staying home
alone during break periods when the campus closes? I can’t help thinking that
had I known she had a medical condition and was staying behind alone for an
entire week, our community could have checked in with her each day simple as a safety procedure.
Can accidents like this ever be prevented?
