What do people think about death investigation?

I’ll never forget the weekend that almost broke me. It was either Memorial Day or Labor Day - whenever it was, most people were celebrating a three day weekend and the weather was fresh. My neighbors were hosting a BBQ and I was on call. The work phone would not stop ringing. And when I say WOULD NOT STOP, I mean that thing would not stop. Funeral homes, families, police with new cases, police about old cases, hospice doctors with questions, hospitals with new cases, hospitals about old cases, my own office staff.

In my office, we staffed the space from 8am to midnight Monday through Friday and then took call from home overnight and on weekends. Holidays too. We did a good job rotating around the extra holidays and tried to give our people a break where we could. But sometimes, the cases just pile up on your weekend. Your lucky day! Sometimes, long party weekends in resort regions are vicious. And that weekend was a vicious bear with barbed wire boxing gloves.

Our satellite office’s morgue was under renovations so we were taking our cases to the main office almost 3hours north for exams. I had already driven the round trip tour twice that day. And handled four scenes in one call out. I hadn’t really slept in three days and I was running on adrenaline and caffeine. All I wanted was a little break to eat some potato salad and maybe some ribs and then I’d go have a nap. But then the phone rang again - tissue donation folks. I love the donation people (most of the time) but he called at the wrong time. I almost reached through the phone and removed the poor guy’s bones and eyes. Then I tossed my phone into the bushes, almost breaking it, and stormed off home. I probably looked like a lunatic to my neighbors. After responding to another call that evening (I think I got a 30min nap) and then driving cases to the main office, I headed in for my normal shift. My vision was streaky; my breathing was shallow; my head felt like it was floating above my body. Since we weren’t doing any exams in my office, I made a few phone calls and then passed out at my desk. Thank goodness for good coworkers; they handled some of my follow ups and let me sleep. I clocked 49hours of work from Friday night to Tuesday morning - from countless released cases to 9 deaths investigated, photographed, rolled into body bags, lifted onto stretchers, hauled into my truck, weighed, put into the fridge. 2 suicides, 3 drug ODs, 2 MVAs, a drowning, and a decomp.

It took me a good week to recover - I regaled my story to coworkers, but no one was impressed. They’d all done it too. I tried to focus on the good; I’d helped a ton of families and other community members that weekend! They came to me for good customer service, I was the total package from the start of the case to the decedent’s release to the funeral home, death scenes R us. I earned a ton of OT for my kitchen renovation fund! I still loved my job, right??

Around this time, I started wondering if there were any tricks I could use to help my sleeping. I wasn’t really able to stay asleep at night - every little sound made me jump up and go for my phone, even when I wasn’t on call. I don’t know if it was the hell weekend that caused or exacerbated the problem. I googled shiftwork and sleep but couldn’t find much. I signed up for the EAP to see if there were any folks there who could help but the therapist I worked with was horrified to hear even the title of my job. She didn’t want to understand why I was having trouble sleeping because she couldn’t get past the fact that I had to physically lift dead people onto stretchers and then into a truck. She even cried when I talked about all of the dead children I’ve held in my arms.

Do people think we’re making this stuff up?!

Do people think the dead just roll into body bags if you ask them nicely?!

Do they think that we are made of stone?

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Over time, I learned to manage my symptoms on my own. I never found a good therapist that understood my job. I still haven’t but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop looking. It wasn't easy, but I was determined to heal myself. I refuse to let the PTSD define me. I started looking forward to journaling and yoga more than that “happy” hour and dropped alcohol from my life. I started speaking out about what I’d gone through - both internally and on the job. The story above didn’t give me PTSD but is just one example of chronic and constant stress from death investigations that set me up for PTSD.

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Just last month, I sat in my car, staring at the conference center full of folks I’d worked with since 2010. It has been four years since I’d left the medical examiners office to work on cold cases full time, but the memories were still fresh in my mind. The sharpness of the PTSD had dulled, but the memory of the anger, the stress, and the disappointment is easy to conjure back, freshen up. Unlike that cute summer dress I wore pre-COVID, my anxiety still fits just fine.

As I sat in my car, I realized that I had come a long way. Yes, I was still angry about how my career had treated me, after I’d loved it so much. But I was proud of how I had grown and healed myself. I was becoming a last responder’s advocate, sharing my story with others to help them understand that PTSD for death investigators is a real thing.

After the presentation, several folks from my community came up and thanked me for sharing my story. They told me that they had never thought about mental health concerns for forensic professionals, but now they had a better understanding of what their colleagues might be going through. My anger towards my career has decreased but I don’t think it will ever go away. And it don’t want it to. I feel like we are set up to fail - like the job is too big for just one of us. That anger is driving me to change the system. To build resilient responders who don’t have to do it all alone. Who can prepare for those tough weekends on call or hard scenes, recognize when they’re struggling, and ask for help. This is not our fault, but we damn sure can take responsibility and action. We are powerful.

Cheers,

Kat