I walking through the sanitized hallways of Miriam Hospital towards the nurses' station, ending the last week of my internship when I heard some residents talking about the first plane crash. I didn't think much of it at the time. While reviewing my charts, I was overhearing nervous doctors trying to find out if their friends were ok.
After a just a few treatments I began to hear the horrifying news of the second crash. Then more people began to worry. As the day went on, and we learned of the disasters occurring in New York, our rehab manager had a meeting with the staff to attempt to review protocol if patients were going to be transferred to make room for others. We didn't know to what extent our hospital was going to be needed.
I went home to my apartment to watch the horror unfold on TV. It was unbelievable. It was saddening. It was our generation's Day of Infamy. My grandparents had Pearl Harbor. My parents had the JFK assassination. And unfortunately, we have this.
Images of this day I can still see clearly and vividly. The dust covered people running. The collapse. The chaos.
Now, ten years later, we have settled back into a routine of not looking up to the skies and wondering what would be next. I was lucky. I did not know directly anyone harmed. However, through various degrees of separation, we ALL know someone lost to the terrorist attacks of 9-11. So on this solemn anniversary, I send my thoughts and prayers to everyone affected by the devastation in hopes that peace and positivity will continue to shine through Old Glory, and her Red, White, and Blue.