Ten years ago today

I haven't written in here in ages. So much for writing daily, huh?  Anyway, here's my take on the whole 9/11 thing.

There will be no photos in this entry. None.

Ten years ago, it was Tuesday, and a beautiful September morning.  I got up late because I could.  As I was taking a leisurely shower, the phone began to ring off the hook.  I decided to ignore it, and took my time.  As I was drying off, the phone kept on ringing.  It was an unlisted number.  I finally picked up the phone to yell at whoever it was.  It was my brother, telling me to turn on the TV.  "A plane just hit the World Trade Center!"

"What kind of asshole flies into the Trade Center? How could you possibly miss that it's there?" I asked.

"A second plane just hit."

Oh, shit.

I quickly got dressed and ran to the living room.  I turned on the TV and stared at the screen, slack-jawed, at the towers on fire.  I called a friend to tell her I wouldn't be going to voice lessons that day. As I sat on the phone with her, I saw the towers collapse.  They were graceful, even in their death.  The cloud of dust was immense.  What I remember most was the fireman running from the dust, then throwing down his helmet, stooping over, and sobbing.

My brother called again, this time to tell me he was going to Manhattan.  I said, "The hell you are!"  He said, "You're coming with me." I said, "Did the captain clear it?" He said, "She said we need everybody."  So I called my parents to tell them we were going.  Mom said we were not allowed to go.  Dad told us to keep ID in our back pockets.  My brother picked me up, and we drove to the squad .

As we drove to the squad, I lost it for the second time that morning.  I told myself that I had a job to do, and I had to suck it up til the job was done, and stopped crying for a bit.  The traffic was bad. The County Community College was being evacuated.

We got to the squad, and it was packed with people.  One rig was already on the way to the staging area in Jersey City.  My brother, two other people, and I were supposed to be on the next rig up.  I gave a pack of smokes to one of the crews and kept a second pack for myself.  I met a lot of people that day that ended up becoming my friends.  One of them was at Ground Zero when it happened.  He told me about the bodies falling from the sky, landing on flagpoles and splitting in half.  He felt guilty for coming home, and was now trying to get back there.  Another friend was at Ground Zero, too, wearing a piece of 1 inch tape with the word "EMT" on it, helping those that could be helped and doing triage.

I didn't know if Hubby was there or not.  He worked for Dow Jones at the time. We had only been dating for about 3 weeks, and I remember that he was in Manhattan that weekend for work.  I could not remember if it was the WTC or the WFC where he was, and I could not remember if he was supposed to be there on that Tuesday.  I was worried that he was dead.  The phones kept giving me busy signals.  I called and called again.  When I finally got through, all I got was voice mail.  I said, "Hey, it's me.  I don't know if you're alive or not.  So, if you're not dead, could you please call me?"  Turns out Hubby was in the North Brunswick office.  The NYC office was in WFC, which was being evacuated.  I remember, months later, seeing all the NYC journalists in a side room on spare computers.

We spent the day getting ready to go to Ground Zero. We stocked the rigs and got backup stretchers ready, and filled water jugs and made cravats. And we bugged the living shit out of the captain.  My brother must have asked every 10 minutes, 'When are we going?"   We were awaiting word form OEM that it was our turn to go.  Meanwhile, I had never treated humans.  I had graduated from vet school several months before.  My new friends gave me a crash course in first aid.  "If it's bleeding, stop it. If it's dead, it can't get worse.  If it's being birthed, don't drop it."  Turns out the rules for human and veterinary first aid aren't too much different.

When we weren't getting the ambulances ready, we watched the TV.  At one point, Congress came out and sang God Bless America. We laughed.  I didn't realize that it was their attempt at solidarity until a few weeks later.  When the newsman would say kudos to EMS, we yelled at the screen, "Will you fucking send us!"  At one point, we realized that the news had stopped showing live footage, and were only showing the same 3 film clips over and over.

At one point, a pastor from a nearby church came over.  We gathered in front of the memorial in front of the squad and joined hands in prayer.  In front of God, I could no longer keep up the facade that I was ok.  Neither could anyone else.  We held hands, prayed, and cried together.

I worried about my family in NYC, and about my friends that lived and worked there.  I called as many as I could to see if they were ok, and thank God, they were.  My ex-boyfriend called me from Florida to ask if I was ok.  My parents were worried sick about Derek and me, and we called them a few times to tell them we were ok.

I smoked about a pack and a half of cigarettes that day.

The truck that made it to NYC got turned back, but not before they found one of our friends .  They brought him home, and we cheered.  When he got off the ambulance, he was pale as a ghost, and covered in dust.  His new black shoes were covered in gray dust.  He and his wife hugged for a long, long time.  The look of horror on his face is something I don't think I'm ever going to forget.

I called my boss at one point and said that I wanted to stay at the squad.  He insisted that work was going to be very busy the next day, and that he really, really needed me to come in.  And maybe the books were busy the next day, I don't know.  I believed him anyway.  Reluctantly, I left.  My brother stayed behind.  Another friend drove me home.

The next morning, work was dead. Nobody was bringing their pets in for anything.  I felt terribly guilty that I did not stand up to my boss and say, too bad, I'm going and go ahead and fire me if that's what you need to do; I'm doing nothing here, and I could be helping someone there.  I still feel guilty about that, to this day.  Since there were no animals to treat, I called up any group I could think of, to see if they needed volunteers so I could go. I was on the phone for hours and hours, to no avail.

After that first day, there wasn't anybody to save.  I gave blood anyway, standing in a 6 hour line after work. 

My brother did standby in Jersey City, and triaged the NJ rescue crews as they came back over the Hudson.


The next few weeks, I was glued to the AM radio, listening to what was going on in NYC.  I would cry on my way to work, keep my shit together while I was at work because I had to, and then cry on the way home.

The Saturday after it happened, Hubby came over.  We went to Washington Park, and from the top of the hill, we saw Manhattan still smoking. There were makeshift memorials everywhere. Candles, drawings, poems.  The one that sicks in my mind the most was the picture drawn in green crayon.  In memory of Joe Blow. I miss you, Daddy.  It's been 10 years, and that's what stabs me in the heart the most.  The profound sense of loss. The large cloud of sadness that hung over us, for many weeks.  My patients felt it, too.  I saw rivers and rivers of bloody diarrhea in the weeks after it happened.  Stress colitits.  "But how could Fido be stressed?" my clients would ask.  "He doesn't watch the news!"  And I would say, "But you do. And he watches you."  People could come to the office in tears, because their loved one was still missing.  I dispensed flagyl to the dogs, and listened to the stories told by their owners.

9/11 broke my dad's heart.  The week after it happened, he went into atrial fibrillation and was hospitalized for the first time for heart failure.

9/11 broke a lot of hearts.  I remember the township candlelight vigil a week later.  I was with the squad, even though I wasn't even officially a member yet.  I wore the red jumpsuit with the rest of them, and we lit candles with the rest of the town.  The entire park was bathed in candlelight.

I remember when the footprints of the towers were illuminated by blue spotlights.  "Twin Towers of Light" I think it was called.  Two huge candles to add to the vigil.  On the way to visit my dad and stepmom, you could see them at night.  In the day time, it was just a huge hole in the sky.

So here it is, ten years later.  I'm still crying into my keyboard.    In those past to years, I joined the squad, got my EMT, stayed on a for a few years, then stopped when I became pregnant with my son.  With rare exception, I've been at work or on call on 9/11.  Obviously, this year I'm neither, but I was at least at work yesterday.  My dad has died since then, and my son has come into this world since then.  I remember buying a book with those awful images in it right after it happened, so I would not forget.  I don't need that book.  The images in my head are indelible.  The news is full of 9/11 right now, and right now I am grateful for Nick Jr.  Right now, watching the Fresh Beats is much more palatable than watching video of those buildings on fire.  I still get nauseous when I see those images.

Today's plan is not  to sit glued to the TV.  The plan is to get my son ready for school tomorrow.  I have forms to fill out and photos to print.  This afternoon, he goes for preschool orientation.  Ten years ago was a sad, terrible day.  But life goes on.  If it doesn't, if we live in fear,  I think that's when the terrorists win.  Today, I will clean my house and go grocery shopping, and take care of my family.  Today, I'll print out happy photos of my son and of the thee of us, for a preschool project.  Today, I will live my life.

I have paused for the 3000 people who died ten years ago.  But right now, my son is asking me to play ball, and I'm gonna do just that.

So today, the news is off, the front page of the paper skipped.  The Yarziet candle was lit at 8:46 AM, in memory of those who were lost on that awful day ten years ago.  I don't need the media to tell me not to forget.

I won't. Ever.