June 2025 Honoree
Zach Jagello, RN
The night of my birthday, my 17-year-old daughter was on her way home, trying to make curfew. It was raining and foggy that night. She lost control of her vehicle on I-85. Her vehicle traveled into the woods, hitting several trees, twisting and turning, until it came to rest on its left side.
She realized the vehicle was on fire, and she knew she had to escape. She couldn't move her right arm. She wasn't sure if it was even there, so she had to feel for it and pull it out from under debris and dirt. She had so much wet dirt on her face and in her eyes that she could hardly see. She crawled out and fell into a creek bed on her back. She remembers lying there cold and wet, thinking, "I have to live."
She tried to walk and fell, so she crawled, dragging her arm, towards the sound of traffic. With only one functioning arm, she used her Apple Watch, tapping it on her forehead and using her teeth on the dial to send an SOS alert. Her brother and I instantly received a crash detection alert.
The drive there was unbearable. When I arrived near the scene, the woods were completely engulfed in flames, and I thought I had lost her. I screamed out to God not to take her from me. I drove down the median, bypassing all the cars as traffic was backed up. I parked and ran to the scene, thinking I was about to be informed that she was gone.
There was one volunteer fire truck on scene with two people. I ran up to the bystanders standing on the road, asking, "Where is she? Where is my daughter? I got an alert." They pointed at the dark grass on the side of the road. There lay my daughter, my little girl. An off-duty volunteer firefighter had her on a defibrillator monitor.
I ran to her, not knowing what I would find. I could hear her screaming out in pain. I went to touch her hand and told her it was ok, that mama was here, only to find my hand covered in blood. I couldn't breathe in that moment, not knowing the extent of her injuries. She pleaded with me, "Momma, it hurts; please make it stop."
EMS was 30 minutes out. I sat on the ground as my baby girl lay there bleeding and in pain. I felt completely helpless and fearful. I was left alone with her several times. She was in and out of consciousness. I found myself checking her carotid pulse each time, praying for a pulse, as the SpO2 cord kept going in and out for her heart rate and oxygen levels. When she was awake, she was screaming in pain. Those 30 minutes felt like two hours.
EMS arrived, and we came to Baptist South. Baptist South is my family, as I have worked here for 14 years and knew that was the best place for her to be. We arrived in the ambulance bay, and I had to leave her to go through check-in as she was transported into the trauma room.
When I arrived in the ED, there were so many people in the room. I was so numb, but also scared; No, I was terrified and felt alone in that moment. I could hear her screaming and still not knowing the extent of her injuries. I was greeted by a male nurse explaining to me that she was being assessed and they would take care of her. Zach offered me a chair several times, but I was too on edge to sit still.
She was being x-rayed and scanned. She had a broken clavicle, lung contusions, head laceration, spinal fracture, bruises and cuts over 75% of her body.
Zach did such a great job of trying to keep her calm and talking to her always with a calm voice. Even after multiple doses of pain medication, as she got angry with him, begging for water, he explained why she couldn't have it, stayed calm, and allowed her to react.
As he cleaned her wounds, he spoke to her to distract her and spoke about his family. He even cracked little jokes here and there to make her feel more comfortable. He was always patient with me when I had questions or any requests.
The mental trauma of experiencing this type of situation with your child never goes away. As my daughter continues to heal, I can't help but be grateful to Zach for being that calm during the worst storm of our lives. I am forever grateful to him for the compassion that he showed to my daughter that night.
She realized the vehicle was on fire, and she knew she had to escape. She couldn't move her right arm. She wasn't sure if it was even there, so she had to feel for it and pull it out from under debris and dirt. She had so much wet dirt on her face and in her eyes that she could hardly see. She crawled out and fell into a creek bed on her back. She remembers lying there cold and wet, thinking, "I have to live."
She tried to walk and fell, so she crawled, dragging her arm, towards the sound of traffic. With only one functioning arm, she used her Apple Watch, tapping it on her forehead and using her teeth on the dial to send an SOS alert. Her brother and I instantly received a crash detection alert.
The drive there was unbearable. When I arrived near the scene, the woods were completely engulfed in flames, and I thought I had lost her. I screamed out to God not to take her from me. I drove down the median, bypassing all the cars as traffic was backed up. I parked and ran to the scene, thinking I was about to be informed that she was gone.
There was one volunteer fire truck on scene with two people. I ran up to the bystanders standing on the road, asking, "Where is she? Where is my daughter? I got an alert." They pointed at the dark grass on the side of the road. There lay my daughter, my little girl. An off-duty volunteer firefighter had her on a defibrillator monitor.
I ran to her, not knowing what I would find. I could hear her screaming out in pain. I went to touch her hand and told her it was ok, that mama was here, only to find my hand covered in blood. I couldn't breathe in that moment, not knowing the extent of her injuries. She pleaded with me, "Momma, it hurts; please make it stop."
EMS was 30 minutes out. I sat on the ground as my baby girl lay there bleeding and in pain. I felt completely helpless and fearful. I was left alone with her several times. She was in and out of consciousness. I found myself checking her carotid pulse each time, praying for a pulse, as the SpO2 cord kept going in and out for her heart rate and oxygen levels. When she was awake, she was screaming in pain. Those 30 minutes felt like two hours.
EMS arrived, and we came to Baptist South. Baptist South is my family, as I have worked here for 14 years and knew that was the best place for her to be. We arrived in the ambulance bay, and I had to leave her to go through check-in as she was transported into the trauma room.
When I arrived in the ED, there were so many people in the room. I was so numb, but also scared; No, I was terrified and felt alone in that moment. I could hear her screaming and still not knowing the extent of her injuries. I was greeted by a male nurse explaining to me that she was being assessed and they would take care of her. Zach offered me a chair several times, but I was too on edge to sit still.
She was being x-rayed and scanned. She had a broken clavicle, lung contusions, head laceration, spinal fracture, bruises and cuts over 75% of her body.
Zach did such a great job of trying to keep her calm and talking to her always with a calm voice. Even after multiple doses of pain medication, as she got angry with him, begging for water, he explained why she couldn't have it, stayed calm, and allowed her to react.
As he cleaned her wounds, he spoke to her to distract her and spoke about his family. He even cracked little jokes here and there to make her feel more comfortable. He was always patient with me when I had questions or any requests.
The mental trauma of experiencing this type of situation with your child never goes away. As my daughter continues to heal, I can't help but be grateful to Zach for being that calm during the worst storm of our lives. I am forever grateful to him for the compassion that he showed to my daughter that night.
Thank you, Zach, for your exceptional compassion, advocacy, and dedication to your patients. You truly make a difference.
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