WTC worker losing his breath
By Brian Zanzonico - November 09, 2006
With a nasal cannula supplying his scarred, dying lungs with oxygen, Vito Valenti stops in mid-sentence and starts choking.
He lurches forward, puts one hand on his thigh to brace himself as his body lurches, and covers his mouth with his other balled-up fist. His face reddens, and veins in his neck bulge as he tries to catch his breath. His teenage son hurries from the kitchen with a glass of water. Valenti waves his hand in front of his face to apologize for the coughing fit. When he gets it under control, his body relaxes and he slumps back in his living room chair.
On the wall above him in his Elmont home are numerous citations for his rescue and recovery work at ground zero after Sept. 11, 2001. The one that holds the most meaning is a plaque from his union, Local 372 (Board of Education employees). He received it at a breakfast in November of 2001 that was held for him and a coworker who also helped at ground zero.
Valenti's work came at a price. Months after his time at ground zero, he developed what he initially thought was a cold-related cough. When it persisted, he had it checked, and he was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis -scarring of the lungs - which, without a double lung transplant, is a death sentence. Valenti has no health insurance. It ran out before he completed a series of tests that would have put him on the lung transplant list.
With no money to afford refilling the 25-plus pills he is required to take each day, he is running out. His financial ills, at least in the short term, would be helped by the World Trade Center Disability Pension, which would give him access to the care he needs. In order to meet the qualifications for the pension, public employees must have worked at least 40 hours at ground zero. Valenti said he worked for two straight days, which should make him more than eligible. But union officials told him they could not prove he spent 40 hours there, because he and union Vice President Santos Crespo, the only coworker with him at ground zero, were separated and there is no official documentation of Valenti's service. "I'm not looking for a lawsuit," he said. "All I want is a little disability [insurance] and I'll ride off into the sunset."
Sandra Davis, Valenti's union representative, did not return a call for comment.Valenti, 42, a grievance representative for Local 372, was at union headquarters, at 125 Barclay St., just steps from the World Trade Center, on 9/11. It was primary day in the city, and he was assigned to work the phones at headquarters. He was in his office when he heard a bang."I thought it was the air conditioning ducts clicking on," Valenti recalled. "Who would have dreamt of a plane hitting a building?"He went outside and saw the second plane crash into the south tower. Then, before long, he found himself trying to outrun the debris cloud that chased New Yorkers through Lower Manhattan after the south tower fell. "It was like a monster - it kept coming at us, picking up speed," Valenti said. "I turned around to look and it hit me. Day went to night.
"He was covered head to toe with chalky, pulverized remnants of the tower. He choked on the dust, and a police officer nearby offered Valenti his bottle of water. He washed out his mouth and splashed his face.
With people on the streets in a panic, the second tower collapsed. Now people were running in every direction, and Valenti saw an elderly woman knocked to the ground and nearly trampled in the chaos. "I got on my knees and sheltered her so she wouldn't get hurt," he said. "I told her, 'Everything's going to be OK. I won't leave you.' Then I saw a cop and called him over. We got her over to the sidewalk and out of danger.
"Later in the afternoon, there was an announcement that first responders were looking for volunteers to help with rescue and recovery. He turned to Crespo and asked if they should help. Crespo was hesitant, Valenti said. Valenti was not. "I wasn't about to sit around and do nothing," he said.Valenti went to help, and Crespo followed. Valenti was assigned to one team of rescuers, Crespo to another. Valenti pulled fire hoses, gave water to exhausted firemen, helped unload medical supplies. But he wasn't prepared for what he was going to see.
At one point, a fireman walked over to Valenti with his hand on his neck complaining of bleeding. Valenti told him to take his hand away, and blood began spurting out. Valenti walked him over to the triage at Stuyvesant High School.Near 7 World Trade, a police officer came to him holding what looked like a flattened piece of metal, Valenti said. The officer held it at arm's length and refused to look at it. He handed it to Valenti, who upon closer inspection discovered that it was a baby carriage. Like the officer, he didn't want to look at it, afraid of what might be inside. Valenti walked the carriage over to a nurse at the triage, who also didn't know what it was. Valenti told her and walked away.He saw a woman still alive under a steel beam, her skin fused to the metal. Valenti said he worked around the clock on Sept. 11 and 12. After taking a day to rest, he returned to work on Sept. 14. Headquarters were closed, so he reported to the union's building on 5th Avenue.
Weeks passed and everything seemed fine. Then one morning, he went to work ... and broke down. "I don't remember it, but [coworkers] tell me I was nervous and shaking and picked up a staple gun and flung it against the wall and screamed, 'I can't take it.'"
Valenti was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, and was out of work for eight months. "It wasn't so much the plane hitting the building as it was the bodies falling and what I saw at ground zero," he said. "And those sirens. I heard them all day long."
In late November of 2001, Valenti and Crespo were honored by the members and executive board of Local 372 with a breakfast and plaque in recognition of their work at ground zero. In February 2002, Valenti began to develop a cough. He didn't have the symptoms of a cold, but the cough was persistent and he couldn't shake it. He went to his doctor, who listened to his lungs and said he didn't sound like he had a cold, but his lungs weren't clear.
Valenti's doctor sent him to a pulmonologist, and he had a CAT scan and X-rays were taken. The CAT scan found a spot, and doctors took a biopsy of his lung. They said they thought it was pulmonary fibrosis. He was recommended to Mt. Sinai Hospital, and a doctor there took a quick test and said immediately that Valenti needed oxygen. In March 2004, he was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis, a lung scarring that does not allow the body to oxygenate blood. It has afflicted many firefighters and police officers who worked at ground zero.The condition worsened. Valenti had to stop working, because his job often took him inside old school buildings that don't have elevators. Walking up a few steps taxes him. Climbing three or four flights is impossible. His doctor told him to file for disability. He applied for medical leave with pay, which lasts six months. Once that was exhausted, he applied for leave without pay for another six months. That expired.
Now Valenti has no insurance. He had his oxygen taken away because he couldn't afford it. The oxygen that keeps him alive now is donated by Homecare Concepts in Farmingdale, which has promised him a lifetime supply. Many city workers who got sick after working at ground zero are eligible for three-quarter-pay pensions under the 9/11 pension legislation, which was enacted in 2005. Though the law recognizes that workers' conditions were caused by exposure to the toxic air at ground zero, Valenti failed to meet the criteria. He did not take part in the city retirement system before the World Trade Center attacks, which may leave him ineligible for the 9/11 disability pension. He also can't prove that he served at ground zero for the requisite 40 hours. There is a 9/11 health crisis conference scheduled for Nov. 21 at the New Jersey Expo Center, with physicians, elected officials and ground zero workers expected to attend.
"I work hard with Congress to try to show there are a couple of things out there that can be done for these people, but the government needs to move on it," said the event's organizer, Angela Clemente, a forensic analyst dealing with cold cases of terrorism and government misconduct.
On the local government level, state Sen. Michael Balboni has also gotten involved on Valenti's behalf, writing a letter to the head of the New York State Workers' Compensation Board. "He asked that this be reviewed as quickly as possible," said Kelly Cummings, Balboni's communications director.In addition to dealing with his own illness, Valenti has had his share of heartbreak since developing pulmonary fibrosis. After a brief battle with lung cancer, his mother, Pauline, died Feb. 10. A spot that turned out to be cancer was found on his father's lung seven days after Pauline's death. Neither Valenti, his mother nor Joe, his father, were smokers. But the three visited ground zero after Valenti's breakdown to bring him some closure, and Joe is convinced that he and his wife got sick there.
"When it rains it pours," Joe said, rolling his eyes. "It's no coincidence."As cancer further depleted Pauline's lungs, she also depended on around-the-clock oxygen. "He was on oxygen, she was on oxygen," said Vito's son, who's also named Joe. "They shared the same tank."The average life expectancy of someone with pulmonary fibrosis is five years, Valenti said. His diagnosis is nearly three years old. He knows the clock is ticking. "When I'm by myself, I break down and cry," he said. "Why is this happening to me?"
Despite his struggle to survive, Valenti said he has no regrets about doing his part at ground zero. He insists he'd do it all over again. "In a heartbeat," he said. "Just to see a little old lady thrown to the ground and people just jumped over her. How can I watch something like that? I'd do it again in a heartbeat."Valenti said sometimes the physical pain of pulmonary fibrosis pales in comparison to what he has experienced from Local 372. The plaque that hangs on the wall is a daily reminder. "My job just forgot about me," he said. "To this day, three years later, no one has called me. I could've been dead a year ago and no one would know."
With a nasal cannula supplying his scarred, dying lungs with oxygen, Vito Valenti stops in mid-sentence and starts choking.
He lurches forward, puts one hand on his thigh to brace himself as his body lurches, and covers his mouth with his other balled-up fist. His face reddens, and veins in his neck bulge as he tries to catch his breath. His teenage son hurries from the kitchen with a glass of water. Valenti waves his hand in front of his face to apologize for the coughing fit. When he gets it under control, his body relaxes and he slumps back in his living room chair.
On the wall above him in his Elmont home are numerous citations for his rescue and recovery work at ground zero after Sept. 11, 2001. The one that holds the most meaning is a plaque from his union, Local 372 (Board of Education employees). He received it at a breakfast in November of 2001 that was held for him and a coworker who also helped at ground zero.
Valenti's work came at a price. Months after his time at ground zero, he developed what he initially thought was a cold-related cough. When it persisted, he had it checked, and he was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis -scarring of the lungs - which, without a double lung transplant, is a death sentence. Valenti has no health insurance. It ran out before he completed a series of tests that would have put him on the lung transplant list.
With no money to afford refilling the 25-plus pills he is required to take each day, he is running out. His financial ills, at least in the short term, would be helped by the World Trade Center Disability Pension, which would give him access to the care he needs. In order to meet the qualifications for the pension, public employees must have worked at least 40 hours at ground zero. Valenti said he worked for two straight days, which should make him more than eligible. But union officials told him they could not prove he spent 40 hours there, because he and union Vice President Santos Crespo, the only coworker with him at ground zero, were separated and there is no official documentation of Valenti's service. "I'm not looking for a lawsuit," he said. "All I want is a little disability [insurance] and I'll ride off into the sunset."
Sandra Davis, Valenti's union representative, did not return a call for comment.Valenti, 42, a grievance representative for Local 372, was at union headquarters, at 125 Barclay St., just steps from the World Trade Center, on 9/11. It was primary day in the city, and he was assigned to work the phones at headquarters. He was in his office when he heard a bang."I thought it was the air conditioning ducts clicking on," Valenti recalled. "Who would have dreamt of a plane hitting a building?"He went outside and saw the second plane crash into the south tower. Then, before long, he found himself trying to outrun the debris cloud that chased New Yorkers through Lower Manhattan after the south tower fell. "It was like a monster - it kept coming at us, picking up speed," Valenti said. "I turned around to look and it hit me. Day went to night.
"He was covered head to toe with chalky, pulverized remnants of the tower. He choked on the dust, and a police officer nearby offered Valenti his bottle of water. He washed out his mouth and splashed his face.
With people on the streets in a panic, the second tower collapsed. Now people were running in every direction, and Valenti saw an elderly woman knocked to the ground and nearly trampled in the chaos. "I got on my knees and sheltered her so she wouldn't get hurt," he said. "I told her, 'Everything's going to be OK. I won't leave you.' Then I saw a cop and called him over. We got her over to the sidewalk and out of danger.
"Later in the afternoon, there was an announcement that first responders were looking for volunteers to help with rescue and recovery. He turned to Crespo and asked if they should help. Crespo was hesitant, Valenti said. Valenti was not. "I wasn't about to sit around and do nothing," he said.Valenti went to help, and Crespo followed. Valenti was assigned to one team of rescuers, Crespo to another. Valenti pulled fire hoses, gave water to exhausted firemen, helped unload medical supplies. But he wasn't prepared for what he was going to see.
At one point, a fireman walked over to Valenti with his hand on his neck complaining of bleeding. Valenti told him to take his hand away, and blood began spurting out. Valenti walked him over to the triage at Stuyvesant High School.Near 7 World Trade, a police officer came to him holding what looked like a flattened piece of metal, Valenti said. The officer held it at arm's length and refused to look at it. He handed it to Valenti, who upon closer inspection discovered that it was a baby carriage. Like the officer, he didn't want to look at it, afraid of what might be inside. Valenti walked the carriage over to a nurse at the triage, who also didn't know what it was. Valenti told her and walked away.He saw a woman still alive under a steel beam, her skin fused to the metal. Valenti said he worked around the clock on Sept. 11 and 12. After taking a day to rest, he returned to work on Sept. 14. Headquarters were closed, so he reported to the union's building on 5th Avenue.
Weeks passed and everything seemed fine. Then one morning, he went to work ... and broke down. "I don't remember it, but [coworkers] tell me I was nervous and shaking and picked up a staple gun and flung it against the wall and screamed, 'I can't take it.'"
Valenti was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, and was out of work for eight months. "It wasn't so much the plane hitting the building as it was the bodies falling and what I saw at ground zero," he said. "And those sirens. I heard them all day long."
In late November of 2001, Valenti and Crespo were honored by the members and executive board of Local 372 with a breakfast and plaque in recognition of their work at ground zero. In February 2002, Valenti began to develop a cough. He didn't have the symptoms of a cold, but the cough was persistent and he couldn't shake it. He went to his doctor, who listened to his lungs and said he didn't sound like he had a cold, but his lungs weren't clear.
Valenti's doctor sent him to a pulmonologist, and he had a CAT scan and X-rays were taken. The CAT scan found a spot, and doctors took a biopsy of his lung. They said they thought it was pulmonary fibrosis. He was recommended to Mt. Sinai Hospital, and a doctor there took a quick test and said immediately that Valenti needed oxygen. In March 2004, he was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis, a lung scarring that does not allow the body to oxygenate blood. It has afflicted many firefighters and police officers who worked at ground zero.The condition worsened. Valenti had to stop working, because his job often took him inside old school buildings that don't have elevators. Walking up a few steps taxes him. Climbing three or four flights is impossible. His doctor told him to file for disability. He applied for medical leave with pay, which lasts six months. Once that was exhausted, he applied for leave without pay for another six months. That expired.
Now Valenti has no insurance. He had his oxygen taken away because he couldn't afford it. The oxygen that keeps him alive now is donated by Homecare Concepts in Farmingdale, which has promised him a lifetime supply. Many city workers who got sick after working at ground zero are eligible for three-quarter-pay pensions under the 9/11 pension legislation, which was enacted in 2005. Though the law recognizes that workers' conditions were caused by exposure to the toxic air at ground zero, Valenti failed to meet the criteria. He did not take part in the city retirement system before the World Trade Center attacks, which may leave him ineligible for the 9/11 disability pension. He also can't prove that he served at ground zero for the requisite 40 hours. There is a 9/11 health crisis conference scheduled for Nov. 21 at the New Jersey Expo Center, with physicians, elected officials and ground zero workers expected to attend.
"I work hard with Congress to try to show there are a couple of things out there that can be done for these people, but the government needs to move on it," said the event's organizer, Angela Clemente, a forensic analyst dealing with cold cases of terrorism and government misconduct.
On the local government level, state Sen. Michael Balboni has also gotten involved on Valenti's behalf, writing a letter to the head of the New York State Workers' Compensation Board. "He asked that this be reviewed as quickly as possible," said Kelly Cummings, Balboni's communications director.In addition to dealing with his own illness, Valenti has had his share of heartbreak since developing pulmonary fibrosis. After a brief battle with lung cancer, his mother, Pauline, died Feb. 10. A spot that turned out to be cancer was found on his father's lung seven days after Pauline's death. Neither Valenti, his mother nor Joe, his father, were smokers. But the three visited ground zero after Valenti's breakdown to bring him some closure, and Joe is convinced that he and his wife got sick there.
"When it rains it pours," Joe said, rolling his eyes. "It's no coincidence."As cancer further depleted Pauline's lungs, she also depended on around-the-clock oxygen. "He was on oxygen, she was on oxygen," said Vito's son, who's also named Joe. "They shared the same tank."The average life expectancy of someone with pulmonary fibrosis is five years, Valenti said. His diagnosis is nearly three years old. He knows the clock is ticking. "When I'm by myself, I break down and cry," he said. "Why is this happening to me?"
Despite his struggle to survive, Valenti said he has no regrets about doing his part at ground zero. He insists he'd do it all over again. "In a heartbeat," he said. "Just to see a little old lady thrown to the ground and people just jumped over her. How can I watch something like that? I'd do it again in a heartbeat."Valenti said sometimes the physical pain of pulmonary fibrosis pales in comparison to what he has experienced from Local 372. The plaque that hangs on the wall is a daily reminder. "My job just forgot about me," he said. "To this day, three years later, no one has called me. I could've been dead a year ago and no one would know."
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