Dates to Remember

When I was in high school history class Sister Jean made us memorize only one date. That date was December 7, 1941. I remember asking my grandmother what she was doing when she learned of the attack on Pearl Harbor. As I recall she said she and grandpa were at home getting ready to drive out to Aunt Jenny's house for the afternoon. Sundays were usually spent cooking, smoking and playing cards. This was when everyone was first married and in first homes but hadn't had the first kids yet. The Ivanovich baby boom didn't start until 1943 when grandma, her sister and her sister-in-law all gave birth within a 6 week period. That particular Sunday was spent the same way except with the radio on and the knowledge that none of the men in the room would be present in 3 months time.

In Junior High we studied presidents and we had an assignment to ask our parents what they were doing when they learned Kennedy had been assassinated. On November 22, 1963 my mother had a 18 month old baby at home. My sister, not me. Mom was watching her soap opera on TV. Probably Another World which I remember her watching when I came along. She called dad at Minneapolis-Moline Farm Supply where he worked. They tuned in a transistor radio and listened to the story there but dad had to keep unloading trucks.

There were some days I thought would be important as I was growing up. I remember thinking that when the last colony in Africa became an independent nation it was a memorable occasion. I also thought when Egypt and Israel signed a peace treaty it was worth noting. I was a geeky kid. As it turns out the massacre in Jonestown is the only thing that gets periodically revisited. I was sitting on the couch doing my homework in front of the TV when I heard about that. I was home alone. It is the first time I ever remember them warning viewers about disturbing footage and recommending that children leave the room. I was probably 12 and I remember looking around the room and thinking "If I leave the room how will I know when it's over?"

Now the Big Obvious Date to Remember from my adult life is September 11th 2001. If I ever have children or maybe great nieces and nephews I fully expect to be asked where I was and what I was doing on that day. So for the record on September 11, 2001 I was scheduled to spend the morning with Dr. B. Any interaction with Dr. B. was what we used to call "high yield" so I was looking forward to it. My mornings started then much as they do now. Wake up. Brush teeth. Pee. Apply clothing. Go to the hospital. This particular morning I allowed enough time to stop by the resident's lounge to pick up a pop-tart; the resident's staff of life. As usual the TV in the lounge was on and playing to an empty room. On the screen was the image of the first tower ablaze. They announced that it had been hit by a plane. An Internal Medicine resident I didn't know came in and asked me what had happened. I repeated what I'd heard and proceeded to my meeting.

We spent the morning sequestered in Dr. B's office looking at slides and learning all kinds of useful stuff I've since completely forgotten. At one point his phone rang and he took the call. He said "no" and the "yes" a few times followed by "everything is okay" and got off the phone. We picked up where we had left off in the bland "I heard nothing" way that doctors tend to use when something is none of our concern. In the late morning we took a break and stepped out of Dr. B's darkened office into a completely different world. Someone had moved a television set into the conference room and one of the attendings was sitting very close to it listening with the volume low. A few others were standing around. I saw the first tower collapse. I don't actually know if it collapsed at that moment but for me it did. I stood there stunned but the part of my brain that never stops quickly thought through the time elapsed between the first crash and the first collapse and estimated how many people could be evacuated from those buildings in that time if evacuation had been initiated promptly and carried out in an orderly fashion. I pessimistically reduced the number some assuming neither of those things had happened. When my non-emergency response brain came back on line I called My Beloved. We had heard a plane had crashed near Pittsburgh but at the travel agency where he worked they hadn't heard anything yet. One of us called over to the ER. If the local trauma centers were overwhelmed with casualties all the medical cases in the city would end up at our hospital and they would need help over there. They reported the trauma centers where not on divert. We could only assume no one had survived the crash.

I don't know what the mechanism is by which a person learns to walk away from a tragedy and move on but we all learn it. Without admitting defeat or despairing over loss we seem to recognize that there is still life in us and we go to the living. We returned to our lessons because we must learn to be the best possible doctor for the still living. A few minutes after we resumed my semi-contraband cell phone rang. It was a 515 area code phone number which I didn't recognize. I excused myself to answer it saying usually no one calls from back home unless it was an emergency. It was my dad. He sounded shook up. I immediately imagined him hurt or in danger but he was only calling to see if I was okay. The news had made it sound like the other plane had crashed in the city of Pittsburgh itself. Of course to him this could only mean it had landed directly on his daughter. Being a parent must be really hard because it took a while to reassure him. The earlier call it turns out had been from Dr. B's son.

Normally at noon the residents feed as if from a trough and consume a lecture at the same time but on this day at lunch a few people sat pushing food around on their plates. Others ate mechanically their eyes fixed on the table a few inches in front of their plates. Lecture was cancelled. The TV in the corner by the ceiling was on. Once we were done eating conversation slowly started up. One of the international residents was dismayed because everyone was assuming this was the work of foreign terrorists. I remember explaining to her why we thought this was the case. Our home-grown terrorists tend to be in the West and Middle West. They also tend to attack symbols of the federal government. Finally most American homicidal maniacs are too paranoid to work with the number of people needed to pull off an attack of this size. She thought about her experience in this country and decided these statements rang true. In the end I felt a strange relief that none of my grandparents had lived to see this. At least they had lived out their lives able to believe that the sacrifices they had made would keep us safe at home.