I woke up at about 6:45 Pacific time, kicked my clock radio from “ear piercing shriek” to “radio” mode and heard the DJs talking about some plane crash. I thought to myself, “When the hell will KJEE learn to leave news to the pros?” turned it off, hit the snooze and went back to sleep. Maybe ten minutes later a friend called and asked if I had heard about what was going on, I said no (and probably bitched about the fact that he woke me up), he told me in no uncertain terms to turn on the TV ASAP, and while I was trying to tweak the rabbit-ears to get a signal he filled me in and I finally got a good signal just as the first tower collapsed. My parents decided that it was probably more educational to stay home than to go to school (this was my senior year of high school and my schedule consisted of auto shop, auto shop, wood shop, government and TA for wood shop), which is what I did.
I was sitting in a wheelchair in A&E (ER) with a broken ankle - my good ankle, the other leg was paralysed from the knee down due to spina bifida - when a nurse scurried into the crowded waiting room and switched on the wall-mounted TVs (I think there were four of them) saying “something awful is happening in New York”.
The entire waiting room became hushed as we saw the first tower aflame, and heard that a plane had hit. Within a few seconds we saw the second plane hit, and everyone just looked on in silent horror. I think we all forgot our own injuries and our reasons for being there.
I was still in the waiting room when first one, then the second tower fell. It was clear that this was the work of terrorists, and someone wondered if London was also going to come under attack (we were 30 mins outside of London).
At this point I was called into the doctor’s room, it was confirmed that my ankle was broken, and I was told that because my unusually aggressive spina bifida was spreading to the other leg, it was dangerous for me to continue walking - I was now too unsteady to prevent falling, which had caused my broken ankle. I must use a wheelchair permanently from now on.
It hardly registered - by the time I got home both the Pentagon and the Flight 93 crash had occurred, and I remained glued to BBC / CNN for the rest of the day, in shock.
It was some time before it dawned on me that, after years of fighting the inevitable, I finally became wheelchair-bound on 9/11.
I was at school. 9th grade civics, first period. We had just started a lecture about the foundations of American democracy (fitting). We were on the Magna Carta when the phone rang, which was a bit unusual. Mr. T answered the phone while we ignored him. He hung up and turned on the TV. That’s when we saw it.
And for the entire goddamned rest of the day, no one would let me call home. (See, in those days, not everyone carried cell phones everywhere.) My father had been scheduled to fly to Japan that morning, and I had no idea if he was OK, if he was stuck in Japan, or what. That was easily the most scared I’ve ever been in my life. Fortunately, he was fine and sitting at home when I got home.
That’s funny, because I was watching CNN, and the impression I got was that the announcer was babbling out of nervousness. He stumbled over his words more than once, and when the second tower collapsed, he said, “That appears to be…” as if he, like the rest of us, couldn’t quite take it in. Silence for a few seconds, then “There are no words,” then proceeded to give more words, describing the collapse. Because talking was instinctive to him, so that’s what he did.