Her
Story:
I was sitting at my desk at 140 Broadway,
7:00 am
the morning of September 11th. Unlike the earlier
bombing of the WTC I didn’t feel the earth shake when the first
plane hit.
However, a relative did call to say 'there was an explosion at the
WTC and that she was concerned. I dismissed the concern not
believing my cousin’s fears of terrorism could be true.
There were only a handful of people in the office. As I started
towards a conference room one of my colleagues walked in from the
street. I asked about the explosion and she went on to tell me
a plane had hit one of the Towers and debris was falling all over
the place. After helping her to her desk I made my way to the
conference room. Being on the 43rd floor gave me a
clear view of the
South
Tower
.
I couldn’t see the destruction the first plane had caused, but
could hear the sirens of what I knew to be the emergency vehicles.
Suddenly I heard what sounded like a helicopter, but as it came
closer I was able to see another plane come into my field of vision.
Standing in front of a ceiling-to-floor plate glass window I saw
this plane circle around and crash right through the
South
Tower
. Someone in the room screamed ‘get down’ and everyone
hit the floor.
I knew we were under attack. The sound of that jet plane
traveling toward its target and then cutting through the
South
Tower
, like scissors cuts through paper. This will be etched in my mind
forever.
I knew I had to get some form of identification and leave the
building immediately. I went to my desk and picked up my
things and started for the stairs. There were 43 flights of
stairs to walk down. Many others filed into the stairwell
despite the loud speaker blasting a message to stay at our desks.
I thought to myself ‘this may be my very last day on earth’ all
I wanted to do was get home and see my family. Finally, I
reached the first floor not knowing what to expect outside. I
followed the crowd.
I heard little snippets of conversation – ‘there were eight
planes and only three have been accounted for’, ‘bombs are going
to be dropped’, etc. I headed for my car but was stopped by
the police who turned me around and directed me toward the east side
of town. I desperately wanted to let my family know I was
still alive but there were no working phones!
Walking toward
Williams St
. I heard the most eerie noise – it was the south Tower’s steel
screaming under the strain of the heat. Then there was a huge
sound, as if a bomb had gone off close by, and as I looked over my
shoulder I could see the stampede of people running toward me.
There were men and women, New Yorkers and foreigners, all running
and screaming and crying.
I tried to get out of the way but was not fast enough and the crowd
overcame me, knocked me to the ground and trampled me. I was
engulfed in a cloud of debris and struggled to breathe. Slowly I
began to lose consciousness and the next thing I knew was I was in a
building. Someone had saved my life!
I came to as water was being poured over me from a water cooler
bottle. Someone was offering CPR and the television was
blasting the news that the Pentagon had been hit , surely this was
the end of the world! It felt so unreal and confusing I stayed
in this place while the 2nd Tower fell and was then told
to evacuate.
With paper towels soaked in water we were all sent out onto the
streets. At first I had no idea where I was going but when I
didn’t see any blood or broken bones my mission was to find my way
home. As I walked I made very short term goals; get to the
Brooklyn
Bridge
. Once there I would
walk over it.
I could hear jets in the beautiful blue skies and could see others
walking along with me like zombies from some grade B horror movie.
Putting one foot in front of the other I made it home. Ten miles on
foot, in pain. When I reached my house I finally collapsed.
It was only at that point that I realized what was behind me;
however, I didn’t know what was lying ahead.
By Friday of that week I thought I needed a mental institution
because the images of that day were filling my waking hours as well
as any small amount of sleep I could get. I didn’t want to go to
the hospital because the city was straining under the stress and I
didn’t feel my injuries were bad enough to take up an emergency
room doctor’s time.
Instead, I went to see a psychiatrist who explained how I was
suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He suggested I
see a medical doctor since I finally started feeling some of the
pains that would later be injuries requiring surgery. I was in
such a state of shock I didn’t realize just how bad the physical
injuries were. After three weeks of staying home from work and
trying to rest I finally decided to go to work.
My company had moved to New Jersey and I couldn’t use my right
foot to drive so I drove myself into work using my left foot and
promising myself I would see the doctor about my right ankle.
I tried to work but thoughts of that day and mounting pain on my
right side made it difficult for me to remain in the office. I
visited the company nurse and was told to go home and a get
doctor’s note recommending I be allowed to work from home.
On October 12th I visited the orthopedist and was
diagnosed with a dislocated ankle that required surgery. I
couldn’t believe my physical condition was that bad but I’ve
subsequently come to understand just how insidious shock can be.
To date I have had two surgeries plus other problems that have
cropped up as a result of that day. I want to tell those of
you who were injured, mentally and physically, did not seek medical
attention immediately, later found out you needed medical attention
or medical attention that was originally given did not address some
issues that were masked by the shock. YOUR
PAIN AND SUFFERING ARE REAL. I want you to know that PTSD
should be considered a physical injury that affects the brain.
Herniated discs and nerve damage are injuries that are debilitating
and take a long time to recover from. I want to let the world
know that being a survivor is not easy especially when one looks
like they are coping. Additionally, I want the world to
understand there is no statue of limitations on when someone will
feel better after an ordeal like this one. I’ve heard
medical professionals tell me that I should be over the PTSD by now,
but I know how my heart still races every time I hear a plane fly
overhead.
I have to push myself out of bed each morning and fight the
sensation to curl up into a little ball and die. I believe I
was spared for a reason and perhaps that reason is to bring
awareness to those who don’t understand the suffering of those I
call the ‘Invisible Disabled’. Please join me and let the powers
that be understand just how REAL your pain and suffering is and how
you should be compensated for it just as much as anyone else. Stand up and be Visible – make this experience count!!
