Between the start of the school year, starting a new professional journey, and a few other transitions for our family, the last few weeks have been a bit of a blur. Add in the fact that I worked late the last two nights and was up early again this morning, and perhaps it is no surprise that I did not have pause to consider today’s date until mid-morning. Yes, this means I somehow managed to avoid all social media, news, and radio until another person’s comments lured me promptly out from the rock under which I had apparently been hiding thus far today. I am embarrassed to admit this, not because it speaks to the fact that I was clearly out of touch this morning. Rather I feel ashamed that I failed to be mindful of such a tragic day in our history and honor both the fallen and our first responders. I, like many of us, promised I would never forget. I almost did. Almost. While it may not quite make amends for such a slight, I wanted to share my experience of 9/11, as I do truly believe that it is the discourse and memories that unite us as a nation.
After a few months off between my first and second years of medical school, I returned to Washington, DC, to resume my coursework at Georgetown. I had not been back very long, when I awoke one morning feeling a bit behind and with a plan to skip a couple of lectures and use the time to catch up on reading and studying. But first I needed to run a few errands. I quickly donned a black cotton dress and platform flip flops and hopped in my car. Leaving the quiet gated community, in which I was renting a room, I started driving toward the Key Bridge to cross from Georgetown to Arlington, Virginia. My plan was to go to Target, which happened to be close to the Pentagon (2.9 miles to be specific). But just before I got to the bridge, I remembered I needed to pick up a prescription from CVS, so I made a last minute split decision and turned right to drive toward the pharmacy. I was in and out of CVS in less than fifteen minutes and began to head back toward the bridge. As I was turning on my radio in my Saturn, I looked out my windshield and saw black billowing smoke beginning to rise in the air off to my right. It appeared to be in the exact direction that I should have been driving, had I not made the last minute decision to run to the pharmacy. At that moment, I noticed the radio was not playing the expected music but rather was engaged in reporting some very serious-sounding story. As I was just tuning in, it took me a few minutes to piece together what they were saying, that a plane had struck the twin towers in New York. At that time there was no mention of what could be causing the smoke I saw coming from across the Potomac. My mind barely had time to process this information, as I made another decision to go straight home and find out what was going on. I was home within minutes and ran straight to my room and turned on the news. I watched in absolute horror as the footage was being replayed of the second plane striking the South Tower. A few minutes later, news of a plane striking the Pentagon broke through, followed shortly by the information that there was a 4th plane headed for D.C.
Assuming my classmates would be studiously sitting in lecture (where arguably I should have been as well), and would have no idea what was going on, I walked (ran) down to campus to join my class in the lecture hall. But as I hurriedly crossed the street to enter the building, I was stopped by an armed guard who said that the area was being evacuated and, unless I was showing up for a shift in the hospital, I needed to turn back around and head off campus. At that moment, I saw classmates walking out of the building and quickly dispersing in various directions. A few that headed in my direction shared the same look of bewilderment and panic that I am sure I had, and I talked to a few to discuss the news and their plans of where to go. A few were headed to their homes to await further news, and one or two others were going to attempt to head to Maryland where they had family or a spouse.
One classmate told me that the Key Bridge was either closed or impossible to traverse at that time, which immediately made me feel a combination of relief and fear. I was relieved that I had made that split decision earlier to not head to Arlington, as I would now be stuck in Virginia. But I was simultaneously fearful, as my roommate had headed out before me in the morning to the gym, which was across the bridge. It was at this time that I realized our cell phones were of little use. I was unable to reach her for some time, but later learned she was OK but stuck trying to get out of Arlington. As I had nowhere else to go, I walked back to the house to wait…wait for answers as to who would do something so awful, not to mention why…wait to be able to reach loved ones and tell them I was OK…wait to be reunited with my roommate…wait to hear where that 4th plane was headed, as there was much speculation that it was headed for our area. Eventually my roommate made it home safely, we learned the fourth plane had been heroically grounded, and I was finally able to reach family and friends to tell them I was safe.
The skies around us became eerily silent as air traffic came to a screeching halt. Our country became silent as we collectively processed and tried to grasp any semblance of understanding regarding the events. It felt like there was an enormous pause, as a nation, before we could even begin to count our fallen, grieve, and try to pick up the pieces, let alone even contemplate starting to heal. Watching the news, talking with friends about what we knew, who we knew that had lost someone, all the theories, hows, and whys, took on an almost obsessive character. Many friends and fellow medical students, at least in the two to four weeks that followed, appeared reduced to hollow versions of who they used to be, and understandably so. I think we all just felt different, changed by our shared trauma, though most of us were not able to articulate the shift that had occurred within us.
For all the loved ones who remained, forced to pick up the pieces and move forward, lives forever changed, may the memories bring you some measure of peace. And for the first responders, may we never stop showing our gratitude for all you have done.
The Least Interesting Thing 