Never Forget
Almost a year and a half after the Sept. 11 attacks, burn nurse continues to pay tribute to victims and their families

By Phil McPeck
February 14, 2003

On Sept. 11, 2001, the staff of the University of California, San Diego Medical Center’s Regional Burn Center watched the unfolding tragedy at the World Trade Center on television and, along with the rest of the world, felt shock and dismay. But as medical professionals familiar with the suffering of burn victims, they had a uniquely and horrifically vivid idea of exactly what was happening to the people trapped in the twin towers.

In particular, they knew that firefighters would be among the injured and killed. Leann Cortimiglia, a 17-year veteran of burn nursing, remembers that it was the thought of those firefighters that got to her most. “Burn nurses and firefighters are part of the same community and, over the years, I have made a lot of firefighter friends.”

Like people around the nation and the globe, Cortimiglia and her colleagues wanted to do something to help. Daniel Lozano, MD, director of the UCSD Burn Center, immediately called the American Burn Association to volunteer himself and his staff to go to New York and support medical workers there. “We were ready to mobilize ourselves to help the survivors,” Cortimiglia said. However, as the extent of the disaster unfolded, it rapidly became apparent that she and her colleagues would not be needed in New York.

Although burn nurses like Cortimiglia were told by FEMA officials that their presence in San Diego was crucial, given the possibility of further terrorist attacks, they felt frustrated and unable to give aid to the New York burn specialists and firefighters with whom they felt strong bonds of fellowship. Cortimiglia was so distressed that she didn’t even have the heart to participate in her church’s annual Christmas tea—a fund-raising event she had always enjoyed before.

Then one night, she woke up with a flash of inspiration: She would set up her tea table as a memorial to the firefighters who died Sept. 11. For the occasion, she had the names of 343 of the fallen firefighters inscribed on the tags of chocolate kisses that she distributed to guests. For herself, she kept one of these tags in memory of a firefighter named Martin McWilliams from Fire House 22 in New York City, stuck to her cell phone so that each time she used it, she could say a prayer for him and his family.

Little did she predict that, within a year, she would become closer than she could have imagined to the people McWilliams had left behind—his fiancée, who is a paramedic, and their baby daughter, only 9 months old at the time of the WTC attacks. But after leaving a short message on www.legacy.com, she received an e-mail from McWilliams’ fiancée, thanking her for her prayers. From that e-mail, their correspondence snowballed and, soon, they were making regular phone calls.

Last summer, Cortimiglia finally had her opportunity to “do something” for New Yorkers affected by Sept. 11, although not in her professional capacity, as she had originally imagined. The two pastors of her church, Horizon Christian Fellowship, were members of the Spiritual Care in Aviation Response Team and had been called to New York immediately after the attacks to set up chaplaincy programs. Now, they were organizing a group of church members to conduct a summer ministry for the survivors and the families of the dead. Cortimiglia was going along.

Then a second flash of inspiration struck. She could combine her spiritual mission with a professional one. She collected letters of support and thanks from Lozano and from UCSD Medical Center Director Sumi Kastelic, and created a series of commemorative banners for the firefighters and burn professionals of New York City. The banners bore the signatures of hundreds of San Diego nurses, burn specialists and community members. Included were the signatures of participants and spectators at San Diego’s annual Burn Run fund-raiser, sponsored by the Burn Institute and the San Diego Fire Department.

Once in New York, Cortimiglia had the chance to connect professionally and personally with people whose lives were deeply affected by Sept. 11. She stayed as a houseguest of her new friend, the firefighter’s fiancée, rounding up fellow church members to help out around the house, painting the living room and cleaning the gutters. One day, the two women simply sat together, looked at photo albums and wept for McWilliams and his fallen comrades.

At New York-Presbyterian/Columbia/Cornell Medical Center’s William Randolph Hearst Burn Center, where most of the Sept. 11 burn victims were treated, Cortimiglia was part of an embassy of San Diego burn professionals who conveyed the gratitude and admiration of their community to their colleagues. They toured the state-of-the-art facilities and met the nurses and other staff who had more or less lived around-the-clock at the center for the three weeks following the attacks.

Although Cortimiglia heard many moving stories from her New York colleagues, that which left the greatest impression on her was told by the burn center’s chaplain, the Rev. Carolyn Yard. Yard had been at a meeting in the south tower of the World Trade Center when American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the north tower. Hearing the impact and seeing smoke, flames and flying debris outside the window, Yard knew something was seriously wrong. She distrusted the message being broadcast over the building’s public address system telling people to remain calm and stay put. According to Cortimiglia, “She just heard a loud voice in her head telling her to get out, and get everyone else out.” And that’s what she did, although it took time. Her group escaped to safety just seconds before the collapse of the south tower.

What impressed Cortimiglia most, however, was what Yard did next. She went down to the waterfront and persuaded the captain of one of the fireboats to take her uptown so she could report to work. She knew that the burn center would be inundated and that she would be needed. As soon as she reached her office, she was called into action, pausing only to change from her debris-and-gore-spattered shoes into a clean pair she kept under her desk. It was three days before anyone noticed the grimy shoes and asked her about them—that was the first time any of her co-workers learned that Yard had been at Ground Zero when the attacks happened.

“For many people, the attacks have faded into the past,” Cortimiglia said. “But for the people who treated the victims and for the families of the victims, it doesn’t end. You don’t see the people who aren’t coping so well on television, the widow who still hasn’t opened the door of her husband’s car, the ones who cry every time they hear a fire engine go by.”

In her view, the most important thing for the rest of us is to keep remembering that there are still those who are hurting and those whose heroism went unsung. She knew she had finally found a way to help when she recently told McWilliams’ fiancée that this year, once again, her tea table had served as a memorial to the firefighter and the others from his company who died; her friend said, “Thank you for not forgetting us.”