The summer of 2001 had been miserable with strange all-over pain and exhaustion, with all sorts of tests to try to figure it out. The medical folks finally settled on fibromyalgia as my malady, with nothing they could offer for relief. (One did have me try an antidepressant, which made me feel worse, and getting off of it even caused troublesome side effects.)
I was on the computer the morning of September 11. Friend Jorja alerted me to turn on the TV, that something awful had happened.
I watched in disbelief, with a heating pad wrapped around my side–shingles. I spent the rest of the morning glued to the TV in horror, a heating pad wrapped around my right ribs. My husband Guy, an air traffic controller, watched with me as the second tower was attacked. What a terrible day.
Guy did go to work, just in case. The only plane in the air was Air Force One, north of Des Moines that afternoon, heading back to the US Capitol.
The doctor had diagnosed my shingles, even before the blisters appeared. I argued that I wasn’t old enough (I was 56), but he insisted he’d treated high schoolers with it. The meds didn’t help much.
I’d been accompanying Zlatka to her prenatal exams, mainly to corral her two older children. I learned that I shouldn’t be around her until the blisters dried up, that the virus that caused shingles could harm her baby, which was due within a month. I’d planned to go through labor and delivery with her (as I had for her first baby born in America two years earlier).
The blisters were gone in time, but those other miseries were part of the day Zlatka’s new baby was born. I can always figure out how old Denis is because of having shingles during the terrorist attacks right before he was born in 2001.
It’s still hard to fathom those heinous terrorist attacks, that Denis is already grown up, and that I still deal with a miserable mysterious malady all these years later.
It’s amazing how one clearly remembers what they were doing and where on such momentous occasions. Like you, I was at my computer, editing someone’s manuscript, when my sister called and said, “Turn on your TV!” Work took a back seat to watching the news as it unfolded, not only that day but also several days afterward. Thankfully, I didn’t have shingles or any other painful malady at the same time! Hope you’re feeling much better now, a couple of decades later. (It’s unnerving to think that 20-somethings today remember nothing about that day other than what they’ve been told, and to think that that generation has known nothing but a nation’s war against terrorism throughout their lives!
Only the shingles misery is gone. I’ve lived with the rest daily, so I’m thankful what I can do, although I’m mostly homebound. I hope our teachers make sure kids learn about that awful day, as well as Pearl Harbor and other turning points for the nation!
Like Pearl Harbor and other such events, we will always remember where we were.
And may we never forget as a nation!
I’m sure you’ve seen many of these, but I had to bring this to you from Doug in Iowa….
https://gleanermansblog.wordpress.com/2024/09/11/wordless-wednesday-iowa-sunset/
Wow, thanks! I see more sunrises than sunsets these days. This one is a beauty!
Thank you, Joy, for sharing. The perspective that Guy must’ve had – as an air traffic controller. Never forget. Much love to you. ❤️
Thank you, Vicki.
Another reason to remember that day.
Yes, thank you.
Got my flag out. Proud and painful day.
We do as well, Jacqui. Proud and painful indeed.
This is a day to remember, Joy. Thanks for sharing yours.
We need to remember so our grandchildren will never forget.
😊
I was teaching second grade at the time. Children understandably came into class that morning totally upset, having seen the images of The Twin Towers on television. I usually know what to say to kids, but there is no playbook for days like this. A couple of hours into the day, I recall parents picking their children up, not knowing if it was Armageddon. Nothing was normal about that day.
Oh my, none of you will forget that day.
Remembering such violence is heartbreaking, but the right thing to do.
I remember that day very clearly. I was working as an academic advisor on the former Pease Air Force Base when a colleague gathered us in the hall to tell us what was going on. It was too shocking to even process until I got home and watched the news footage, which showed to true horror of what had happened to those poor people.
Thank you, Liz, for your poignant memory.
You’re welcome, Joy.