Medical personnel work outside the medical tent after the Boston Marathon bombing on April 15, 2013. (Elise Amendola/AP)
Last April 15 at about 2:45, Dr. Aaron Baggish was enjoying the sunny spring day and, in his role as medical director of the Boston Marathon, marveling at the low volume of runners who needed his care. Then the first bomb exploded, about 15 feet away from him. It blew out his right eardrum but the crowd blocked much of the force of the blast, and within seconds he was over the barrier and starting to work on the injured.
After the bombing, Dr. Baggish, who heads the Cardiovascular Performance Program at Massachusetts General Hospital, declined requests for interviews, feeling unable to speak publicly about what happened. But as Boston gears up for its next marathon on April 21 and he prepares to help oversee the race’s medical staff once again, he agreed to share some of his thoughts.
As you reflect back on what happened at last year’s marathon, what are you thinking, what lessons do you see?
Basically, I gave up very early on trying to make sense of any of this. There’s no way to make sense of a senseless, horrible act. We’ll never be able to put it into a neat compartment and say, ‘Oh, yes, that’s why this happened.’ No sense can be made of it. So the next step is, what was the impact on me personally? How do I go about some form of healing process? And how do you reconcile the personal trauma with ‘I have a job I have to do’? And we have a job now that we have to do this year, which is as important if not more important than ever: To run the safest, most medically comprehensive race we possibly can.
Are you medical director again?
Of course. You’d better believe it. Nowhere I’d rather be.
Dr. Aaron Baggish at work (MGH)
To ask you your own questions, what was the impact on you personally? How do you go about some form of healing process?
It’s been a series of phases, if you will. There was an immediate, necessary phase of blocking everything out and dealing with the professional aftermath: the meetings and debriefings and making sure the volunteers were okay. That lasted for about a month and was more of a business-as-usual sort of feel than anyone could imagine.
But once the media coverage slowed down and Boylston Street was cleared, that’s when the real, hard personal work started. That’s when the concept of PTSD became a reality.
For example, I was participating in a Triathlon on Lake Winnepesaukee in August. It’s a race I do every year, a half Iron Man, it’s a special day for me, and I was standing on the beach and watching the professional athletes get going, and they fired a cannon for the men’s start. I knew it was coming. What I didn’t realize was that they would fire a second cannon for the women. So three minutes later, they fired a second cannon and I just disintegrated. I had an unbelievable physiological response. I became nauseous, shaking, and it was then I realized that this was a real, deep scar that would be left for a long time. That was a turning point for me; it made me aware I needed to talk about things more, not publicly but with family and friends and colleagues. That was a good step, and over the fall I very actively engaged with people I trust and feel emotionally safe with, to make certain I could start processing some of this. That took some time, and there were some dark moments there. Continue reading