“She wasn’t supposed to come to our unit. Someone marked her down as 20 years old.”
Jaycie Zimmerman has been a registered nurse for nearly four years.
“Turns out she was only 17. Gunshot wound to the face. And she wasn’t even his intended target; she was babysitting for his kid’s mom. He just opened fire through the window of the apartment.”
Jaycie graduated with a degree in public health in 2019. When the COVID pandemic hit, she was working in a nursing home.
“I realized how much I enjoy taking care of people during vulnerable times. I did an accelerated program, and after I passed the boards, I started working on the Neuromedical ICU at Strong Memorial in Rochester, New York. Then in January 2023, I did some travel nursing. I’ve worked on a Bone Marrow Transplant ICU in Denver, and did general ICU work in California. Finally, I ended up back in Colorado, this time in Aurora, where I worked on a Neurosurgical ICU.”
I ask what causes the most stress for her at work.
“It’s weird, you handle a dozen patients with all kinds of injuries; gunshots, burns, you name it. You’re empathetic, but you maintain a professional detachment. Then something relatively simple will set me off, maybe a broken arm. I’ve learned that sometimes it’s something in the patient’s family dynamic that resonates with something from my childhood or personal life, and it haunts me the rest of the day, sometimes into the following week.”
She pauses.
“When a patient is declared brain-dead, you have to let the family have some time to let it sink in. But you can see it in the faces of the doctors, the senior nurses; they’ve learned that hope can be a dangerous thing.”
I ask what she does to decompress, to maintain her sanity.
“I try to run, do yoga. Sometimes I’ll write out what I’m feeling.Now, in the Neuro ICU, I see a lot of stroke victims. With both my parents approaching 60, that’s an immediate trigger.”
Knowing her dad is a cop, I ask if he inspired her to go into nursing.
“My mom was a nursing assistant in an Emergency Department; that’s how they first met. Later, when I was in middle school, she became an EMT. I don’t think there was a direct inspiration, but watching both my parents work as first responders, helping people in need, it had to have influenced me. And they tell me I played nurse a lot when I was very young,” she says with a laugh.
I spoke with Jaycie’s father via video conference; CJ Zimmerman is a highly decorated veteran of the Monroe County Sheriff’s Office (MCSO) in New York.
“I started out in the county jail in 1990; did that for nearly eight years. From 1998 to 2011, I was on the road as a deputy. Then I worked on a task force with the US Marshals until I was promoted to investigator. In 2017, I made sergeant. Now I’m out of uniform and spend most of my time in an office,” he says with a sigh. “I perform crime analysis for the Criminal Investigation Section. It’s fine, but I do miss the road.”
CJ told me he was proud to enter law enforcement because he saw it as a career path where he could help people, a profession that engendered camaraderie and respect.
“I know it sounds corny, but seeing ‘Hill Street Blues’ as a kid made me want to be a cop. I wanted to be Captain Frank Furillo,” he says with a smile.
“If I’m being totally honest, I also think I was drawn to law enforcement because I wanted to be a hero. It may come across as selfish, but it’s true.”
Despite a slew of citations, the career achievement of which CJ is most proud is helping to establish a peer-supported health and wellness program for the MCSO.
“The program was started by Dr Kimberly Butler in 2022,” he says. “She’s a truly amazing person, and I’m lucky to count her as a friend. My part in helping develop the program — and being able to continue to contribute — has been the most fulfilling part of my career.”
Knowing how difficult it can be to get cops to talk about what may be bothering them, I asked him how he came to be so open about his emotions.
“When I was a senior in college, my brother came out to me. I was shocked as he always seemed to be a so-called ‘ladies’ man,’ always bringing home these amazing women for us to meet.
“I had no problem with it, and I’m still proud of how my whole family handled it, even my parents. But as time went on, I realized I was hurt that I was literally the last to know. I’m the youngest of eight siblings; they thought they were protecting me, the baby. And to make matters worse, in that very first conversation, he also told me he was HIV positive.”
He pauses, takes a deep breath.
“Later that semester, I attended an HIV/AIDS seminar on campus. During a question-and-answer period, I raised my hand. I opened my mouth and just started to cry. The moderator suggested I seek counseling. From the beginning, I felt the catharsis of opening up to someone, unburdening myself.”
CJ’s brother Robert passed away from complications of the AIDS virus in 1992.
“It was a difficult time, but in therapy I’d learned how to deal with any resentments I’d felt, and I was able to be there for him right up till the end.”
I congratulate him for not only the courage to seek therapy, but also to speak openly about it.
“Yeah, man, I’ve learned we’ve got to talk. To each other, to professionals, we got to let it out. And I’ve learned how symptoms of PTSD can be wide-ranging and sometimes not so obvious. I never thought I was suffering from it, nor did I think I’d ever experienced anything worthy of PTSD. ‘That’s for combat vets,’ I thought, or cops who’ve survived shootings. But your mind and body record every experience, and if trauma is not processed correctly, it can result in inappropriate behavior, compulsions, addictions and anxiety or depression, among other things. In my case, it manifested in anger issues, compulsive eating, smoking, and obsessive social media use. I used all of that and more to build a wall between me and my wife, my kids.
“It’s a process, not a quick fix. Even after being in therapy, I’d still come home from work and sit alone, sullen, not wanting to talk to my family. And there are two reasons: you feel they won’t understand, but you also want to protect them. Eventually, in therapy and being part of Dr. Butler’s efforts, I began to see that my behavior was a symptom of my PTSD, the sum total of everything I’d witnessed, all the violence, abuse and death.”
I ask if he has experienced the benefits of counseling apart from police work.
“Oh, most definitely,” he begins. “I went to college with a bunch of guys from New York City. We remained tight for years. I probably went down to Manhattan more than a dozen times over a decade. We’d hang out, go to bars, see the Rangers.”
He looks away from the camera.
“We lost two guys from our crew on 9/11; I knew a few of them worked in Finance, but I didn’t know which guys worked where or for which firm. I worked all day and through the night of 9/11, glued to the all-news station. On the morning of the 12th, I called a guy from our group, Michael Gay, and asked him if he had heard from Jimmy Grismer, who was with the FDNY. Mike said Jimmy was safe, but that Rich and Mike were missing, that they’d worked in the Towers.”
Richard Caproni and Michael Hannon worked for Marsh McLennan on the 98th floor of the North Tower.
“It was tough, but over time I really thought I processed it. Then, probably ten years later, I started going down the rabbit hole; watching videos from that day, taking books out of the library. I became obsessed with whether Rich and Mike had died immediately, or if they’d suffered. Eventually I took it into therapy. There I realized I had survivor’s guilt; why did my two friends, civilians, have to die? I’m the one out on the road dealing with violence every day. Why do I get to keep going? I know it doesn’t make sense; I was 8 hours away that morning; what could I have done? But there it is.”
I ask about his relationship with Jaycie, and if self-awareness has changed how he relates to her.
“Oh, man, being a dad is 10 times tougher than being a cop. For Jaycie and my other three kids’ sake, my wife, I wish I’d learned to open up to them sooner,” he says, shaking his head.
“Jaycie is in the trenches now; she’s seen it all in a short time. I’m always stressing how important it is for her to talk about anything that’s bothering her, whether to colleagues and friends, our family, even professional counselors. Nurses and cops share a common language. So, it’s helped us communicate. There’s a common respect that informs our relationship.
“She recently told me a story about a patient on life support. The family was fighting to keep him on, but the doctors were trying to explain there was no hope, as he was declared brain dead. His daughter ran down the hallway crying. Jaycie held her, consoled her. I’m proud of all my kids, but this is the kind of thing I can relate to. That kind of empathy is rare,” he says. “Most people can’t begin to comprehend what we see daily.
“Jaycie also told me about the honor walk they do at hospitals, when a person is being taken to the OR to have their organs removed for donation. All available staff -- doctors, nurses, orderlies, line the hallway as the gurney passes, just like we do at cops’ funerals, the military. That blew me away.”
Knowing that this piece will drop in time for Father’s Day, I call Jaycie and relay to her some of the things her dad has said.
“Yes, I agree with him. Nursing has definitely helped me understand him better, the things he’s witnessed and endured. We butted heads pretty bad in my teen years and my early 20s. Typical rebellious stuff,” she says with a laugh. “Now I think back and wonder, ‘Did he catch a homicide that day? A vehicular death? Child abuse case?’ Of course, he would never talk about that stuff. Not with us. He’s different now, more willing to share. And not just with me, with my mom and siblings, too.”
As he can retire at any time, I ask CJ what keeps him coming to work.
“I’ve stayed because I can still help,” he says with a shrug. “Throughout my career, I’ve witnessed so many changes in policing; the videotaping of interviews and interrogations, body cams, a diminishing respect for law enforcement. But as they say, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I hope that by sharing my experiences, I can help younger cops.
Thanking CJ for his time, I ask him to try to sum up his hard-earned knowledge in just a few words.
“I believe that police work — and life in general — are about trying to meet pain with love and balancing the tension between fear and courage. But the main message I try to convey to the younger deputies is that 99% of the job is helping people. To protect, yes; but also to serve. It took me a while to learn that.”
