My Sister was silent on the Saturday following the WTC collapse.
We were in the country trying to degauss our heads from the city’s pain. She was an OB on call in the emergency room when the planes hit.
I cooked and the rest of the family drank caffeine on the deck, in the sun. Dinner finally finished cooking and we began to emote, around the edges, my sister remaining quiet. My assumption was she was suffering, like any healer who was on stand-by Sept 11, staring at the empty triage area and gurneys that would be returned to storage.
Finally she spoke.
“Well, it began on the night of the 12th, women whose husbands were missing came in. They were in hysterics, most were in their second trimester, a few in their third. Their grief was causing early contractions. I’ve never seen anything like it, neither had any of the heads. All we could do was sedate them and let them sleep. They were all in a prep room and they were all in there crying.”