#92 - Remembering...Always

I cannot blog about regular things right now. My family is constantly giving our attention to hearing the stories of the 9/11 victims, survivors and of those who were directly impacted. If they have a story to tell, we have the time to listen. We honor each and every one of them.


Most of us around the world remember 9/11. We remember where we were, what we were doing, and how we found out about the attacks on our country and our people...we remember.

After you read what I've written during my heavy-hearted state of remembrance, I would like to know where you were when you discovered America was under attack...what were you doing and how did you first learn of these horrible truths? Each of us has an account of this historic tragedy and we should make our voices heard.

I learned of this attack during a very challenging time in my life. I had become seriously ill and was deteriorating quickly. On September 11, 2001, I could not know that within a month's time that I would be 33 years old and lying in a hospital bed, coding. But, on this fateful morning, I had made the difficult decision to drive my kids to school, even though my body was extremely weak. I wanted to do normal "mommy" things because it was becoming more and more difficult, for some reason. I just wanted to drive my kids to school.

My husband listens to AM Talk News and the radio dial just happened to be on his station as we got in the car. We didn't change the station and this was unusual because we girls always put the music on right away. As I was pulling into the Elementary school's parking lot drop-off lane, I heard the announcer say that the World Trade Center just had a "small" plane fly into it by accident. It was reported with a rather callous attitude that is so typical of big city news reporters...just another unfortunate accident to report.

Then, I suppose because the event seemed to be more newsworthy than initially believed, the station hooked the news reporter by phone to an eye-witness of the events - he'd called in and had a bird's eye view of the entire scene since he lived in a highrise adjacent to the World Trade Center. The caller was giving a vivid verbal description of what he'd seen so far and about how shocking it was to see the building burning. He even told the main news reporter that he did not believe it was a small plane that had crashed, but he believed it to have resembled a commercial jetliner.

I had dropped off my youngest and had turned the volume up as loud as I could stand. My car was stuck in the middle of jam-packed school traffic as I was waiting for my turn at the stop sign. Tension filled my body as I listened to this caller's wise, honest words. And as he was giving a repeat account of what he'd seen from his window during the first plane crash, his voice filled with horror and screams as he began to say that he'd just seen another plane, a large plane that looked commercial, probably with passengers, and it had just flown into the other building. He could feel the heat from the raging inferno. He had to get out of there. He was screaming and losing the ability to relay information due to rising panic. His voice was so filled with horror and terror that I was in disbelief.

The news station cut off the eye-witness account because of his disturbing description and because the fear in his voice was contagious. The station's reporter came back on and tried to say that there has somehow been two tragic accidents involving aircraft and that the weather or something must have caused the tragedies. I hit my steering wheel and yelled, "These were NOT DAMN ACCIDENTS!" I knew these were terrorists acts. I'd lived with a husband who served in the military on special duty as an Anti-Terrorist Police...I knew for years and years that America was living on borrowed time and that the terrorism would soon hit our shores. But, frankly, I thought it would start with bombings such as London and Paris had experienced for so long...bombs in trash cans, at sidewalk cafes, etc., but this act of terrorism went beyond what I had imagined would take place.

Within a couple of minutes after the stammering reporter had tried to convince himself and his listeners, with hope, that these were "accidents," the images would be on every television station and all illusions of these being "accidents" were shattered. You could hear the devastation in his voice as another announcer joined him and slowly edged him out. I'm sure he didn't even know what to say as he sat and watched the horrible scene, live.

Thank goodness that before the 2nd plane had hit (I believe) my daughter had exited the car. I didn't have any idea that the attacks would continue. I had kissed her goodbye with the hopes that our day would not be devastated by these events...life is full of tragedy and we must keep going to the best of our ability.

My body was shaking. I remember stumbling when I exited my car to walk inside the house. My ears were ringing from the loud static filled news I'd been listening to for the past fifteen minutes. I walked in the door to find my husband in our bedroom watching television and the screen was showing the replays of the buildings being hit by planes. The replays were continuous, as if we would not absorb the reality. Strangely, my husband had the day off of work. It was supposed to be a day of us relaxing and enjoying solitude, probably with him going fishing. But, as we watched the live reports of the building in flames...we both knew, along with millions of others watching their televisions, that there would be no way fire and police rescue would be able to find much success with that level of destruction at such heights. I sat and cried, but Deputy Dave, at one point, jumped up and left the room. He had to go to the garage and find something to do with his hands. He was filled with a burst of rage. I think everyone felt helpless.

Little did we know, as we again sat together to watch the continuing destruction, that the buildings would fall out of the sky. America would never be the same. My children complained that afternoon because they had wanted me to pick them up from school during the day. But, I didn't. For good reason, I didn't want to give in at our level to the terrorist devastation. I did let them stay home the following day, but we each have memories of being in our particular place in time, as we were living our regular lives with such unthinkable acts taking place so far from Texas, yet so close to our hearts.

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These devastating times will forever be locked into our memories, but the memorials being built to honor the innocent victims of these terrorist attacks will serve a great purpose to help future generations recall how regular people murdered that day throughout our nation became eternal heros.

Indeed, with the exception of some stanch military people at the Pentagon, most of the people killed during the 9/11 attacks never imagined, in their possible fear and suffering, that they would ever earn the title of "hero." The grandma going to see her grandchildren could not imagine she would die a hero. She thought herself to be a simple grandma. The young father and businessman did not see himself as a hero, he had taken the corporate route and was enjoying the fruits of his labor after so many years dedicated to furthering his education. No, he might have seen himself as determined, but not heroic. So many people, just like us, ordinary people, but they transformed that day from ordinary to extraordinary due to their horrific circumstances. In an instant...they became the hero in our eyes because it could have indeed been any one of us standing in our office, doing our daily job, yet finding ourselves under an unfair, horrendous attack.

Nonetheless, their tragic fates became our cry out for justice and for recognition of their ultimate sacrifice. All of the people that were lost to 9/11 will be remembered as those who represent us ordinary people. They were the ones who will be forever remembered because they were sacrificed while embracing democracy and its ideals...being able to purchase a ticket to your desired destination, being able to work at the level you worked hard to achieve following stringent personal dedication; being able to serve your country because it is your choice to do so; being able to be a proud mom because you know it makes a positive difference...each person that day represented our freedoms and the beauty it offers.

A twisted set of minds found themselves compelled to express the most ultimate form of hate against our freedoms...those minds would be the weak chain without understanding as the strength of energy and passion of enduring freedom surrounded the innocent ones lost to madness. The innocent ones would be our focus and they would earn our respect with eternal honor.

For us citizens in America, we found our hearts being torn out on this day as many of us watched as our fellow Americans...our family, our friends, our neighbors, co-workers, and ordinary people like us...die because of warped, evil mindsets.

But, we must not forget. This tragedy occurred on American soil, but people representing 90 other countries were impacted by this loss. The terrorists did not isolate their evil intentions upon America...they inflicted random, indiscriminate terror upon innocent civilians who were simply trying to go about their normal day. However, after 9/11, nothing would be "normal" again as ordinary citizens realized that they too might be called to duty, at any given moment. The duty would be unimaginable, allowing for no preparation and with no training or opportunity to get one's final affairs in order as a precaution. How do you defend yourself when confronted by a terrorist on the plane you are flying in?

Sadly, our fellow civilians found themselves under attack of vicious people who have no morals and no room for God in their hearts. When these terrorists link God in the same paragraph as their reasoning for inflicting murderous intentions and terror upon innocent civilians...do not believe their lies. God is not linked with such evil minds. Those plots of the foundations of man's dark, selfish desires...not of, for, by or in the name of God. I feel rather certain that God does not appreciate being used for their selfish, distorted need for attention and for their lost causes. These examples of warped minds demonstrate that rogue free-will can opt to do foul things. Free-will should not be used to hurt others. To inflict harm upon the innocent is the most cowardly, selfish act one can imagine.

Often, I get choked up when I think about the Pennsylvania crash...of Flight 93 wrapped around those people who had purchased tickets to get on that plane and be transported to their desired locations, but they never imagined they were buying a ticket to terror. And who could have imagined that their final democratic voice would be heard loud and clear around the world? I think about those people in the cabin, knowing they were hijacked, knowing the country had already suffered "bombings" by commercial airliners...just like the one they found themselves flying in. They knew something had to be done because they were essentially doomed, any action would be better than no action...so they took a vote. A vote. Under tremendous duress, the passengers took a vote to decide whether or not to take immediate action.

This vote strikes me as such an integral symbol of living with the freedom to make a unified decision. Until the end, in an ironic manner, the people on that plane were respecting the right to exercise their judgment and their passion and their beliefs through a vote. We know what the result was of that particular poll booth. This is the kind of vote none of us would want to face having to make. Such decisions and votes prove that having a voice is worth fighting and dying for. They had one of two choices...go down and allow the terrorists to succeed in taking out another American icon with hundreds and possibly thousands more with their plot or to decide to put a stop to the plot. I find it disturbing, yet highly honorable that their final voting booth was the plane. But, the decisive vote meant that they would not go out without waging war against the injustice being committed against innocent civilians. Innocent civilians that included all of them. Defense of their own lives became a matter to be handled directly.

I'm touched that civilians protected their fellow civilians on that day. First responders were the American People. Those ticket holders did more to protect, to honor, to uphold and to promote freedom and democracy than anything I can imagine. On the ground in the areas under attack, regular people were helping their fellow citizens.

Yet still, I am awestruck that under unthinkable conditions and certain fear, the passengers of Flight 93 became our heros. Not only did they save America from enduring another devastating strike, their voices were heard loud and clear around the world, in historic fashion. Their vote drowned out any evil intention of any terrorist. Their voice ended up as the most powerful one of all, the voice that embraced the freedom to vote and to take action against injustice.

The advanced warning that these passengers were duplistically fortunate enough and unfortunate enough to discover gave them the burning fire to act with bravery and with the understanding that their situation was dire, but those passengers refused to go out helpless. And so, they served us, the people...they protected the people who would have otherwise been murdered on the ground as well as in the plane. Those ticket holders on that doomed flight allowed the people who would have been targeted on the ground to have the chance to live another day and to buy many more tickets in pursuit of their own fulfilled dreams.

I'm so struck by the concept of their final ticket being our ticket to continued freedom and to letting the terrorists know that the American Spirit is collective, powerful and unable to be stifled; we still hear the cries of our heros loud and clear; we will continue to hear their vote forever, and we are thankful that American freedoms were exercised in the middle of terrorism that failed to do their evil intent on board that flight. Flight 93 had informed passengers who would not allow the terrorism to go further than their own suffering fate.

Sometimes, there is a horrendous crime in Harris County and it ends up in my husband's courtroom. I'll watch news footage about the case and be horrified while asking, "How could this person have done these things."

Many years ago, my husband shared some strangely poignant words with me, he said, "Quit trying to understand what they did...you'll never be able to understand how and why they did what they did because you don't have a criminal mindset."

The terrorist's cause is forever lost...there is no understanding...their deeds had no purpose because such evil can never make sense. I do agree that there is a time for peace and a time for war, but pretending to be a passenger and then taking innocent people, including children, hostage so that more civilians can be murdered is not strategic war-time action...it is a sucker-punch of the worst kind by the coward who knows that their opponent is fiercely capable. On our end, we are compelled to consider the catastrophic loss of innocent human life. We do not contemplate the terrorist's cause because they have no reasoning. As the old saying goes, "You cannot reason with the unreasonable." The random brutality of their actions that included ordinary, regular people to include the elderly, women, and children is the darkest kind of destruction.

As President Bush said in a speech following the attack on 9/11, "Freedom itself was attacked this morning, by a Faceless Coward."

The freedom of Americans...the freedom of our right to go about our daily life, to go to an appointment in the heart of your city, to go to work to sit behind a desk all day, to take a flight to see your family, the freedom to be an ordinary citizen of your country...the terrorist tried to snatch away our freedoms and the enjoyment they bring. But, they did not succeed.

Rudy Giuliani, in a speech after 9/11 said, "American democracy is much stronger than a vicious cowardly terrorist."

Amen Brother.

Some acts, some causes, and some behaviors have absolutely no justification, no reasoning, and no excuses. None.

Sometimes we're better off simply handing out justice instead of trying to dissect the criminal for an "ah-ha" moment. Yes, I know, the "ah-ha" moments may help prevent others from occurring, but nothing can justify certain actions. There are some criminals you must look out for while knowing that their random destruction has no rhyme or reason, only evil intent to destroy.

As my husband tells me about criminals...the same goes for murderous homicidal suicidal terrorists. We cannot understand their maniacal way of thinking. There is no explanation they could give that would make their actions make sense. There is no God who would condone such actions. There are no causes that would make the attack of thousands of innocent people worth the sinister efforts of faceless cowards.

It is a spineless, shameful thing to be responsible for the deaths of innocent people...our grandmothers, young mothers, brave fathers and little innocent children.

And so...the voices of those who died and those who helped others while being able to live to talk about it and those who suffered great losses of loved ones, of friends and of people who can never be replaced...all of these voices are the ones to last. Their memories and our stories are our strength...our own collective voice about this day that will fill us with compassion for those who never wanted to be called a "hero."

ENTRY #27 - CODE BLUE

Back during the Fall of 2001, I had not even heard of Addison's Disease. I wouldn't have known what it meant. But, after being extremely ill for months, I had deteriorated to the point of regularly being admitted to the hospital where I would be seen as a typical Texas patient with "dehydration." After receiving IV fluids, I would indeed feel much better. But, I soon learned that after my discharge from the hospital, I'd quickly become extremely ill again. Round and round we'd go.

Meanwhile, I was becoming incredibly, increasingly weak, to the point of not being able to sit up to even take a few bites of food. My body was no longer cooperating. And I constantly had a V8 by my bedside which seemed to slightly help, for a while.

During another go-round, I had been direct-admitted into St. Luke's Hospital in Houston's Medical Center with extreme weakness, "dehydration," and other generalizations in my chart. After several days of testing, my family -- husband, sister, mother, father - we all waited in my hospital room for the Dr's final report. He walked in without answers, so it seemed logical for him to say the next best thing; he concluded that I was a workaholic woman with a high-stress life. No duh dimwit. Problem was...that WASN'T the problem!! My motto had always been, "I work best under-pressure." Stressful situations did not necessarily stress me out. A business situation that had others sweating bullets found me calm and able to make quick decisions. But, at 33 years of age, something in my body was malfunctioning terribly, I could FEEL it and was now getting flat-out angry that all of my "brilliant" doctors could not find an answer. My physical weakness had become serious. I needed assistance to walk to and from the bathroom; my family was outraged because they knew better. But, I was discharged.

Approximately one week later, I was lying in bed, as usual since I could not walk, sit and could barely talk and my husband walked over to my side of the bed. I remember trying to focus on him standing over me, but my eyelids would not stay open. I was not sleepy; this was a blanket of strange unwanted sedation that affected my body from head to toe. He sat next to me and tried to talk with me. He even shook me, tried to rouse me. I could not talk. I began having trouble breathing. He is a first-responder and he had been forced to watch me go downhill because all of the top-notch doctors and hospitals could not find an answer. His frustration was immense. He clearly understood the value of vital-statistics and he had also grown tired of the doctor's excuses for my hay-wire vitals. His fingers kept searching for a pulse, it was too weak for him to feel. I was slipping off into some fuzzy land where I could hear everyone around me, but I could no longer respond. When I did try to say something, it came out mumbled and garbled to those around me, but I thought it was clear. Unknown to us at the time, this was an Addisonian Crisis. I was to the point nearly dying.

My husband dials 911; they show up and the highest blood pressure reading they can get is 60 over 40. My husband refuses to let the paramedics take me back downtown, so I head to an acute-care hospital in the Clear Lake area with him following the ambulance at high speeds. I do not have any memory of their multiple attempts to insert an IV, but my vessels had such low pressure that they were collapsing. Overall, I believe I had around thirteen IV sites for this particular admission, if that gives any indication to the condition of my vessels. I vaguely remember the pediatric-team coming in and discussing trying the vessels in the back of my knees, then I was out again. They were also taking my blood pressure in my legs because it often wouldn't even register when they tried to take it on my arms. Back on IV fluids, it took more time to come around. Basically, I had been slipping into a comatose state, typical for an Addisonian Crisis that is untreated.

In this hospital, FINALLY, I have a doctor who actually incorporates today's high-tech diagnostic methods with plain, old-fashioned good doctoring. He regularly came to personally check on my vitals. He could see that there was a serious issue. He first administered a Table Tilt test which was extremely conclusive, very remarkable. In this test, you are strapped onto a table and all kinds of connections to your body are made to read vitals during the test. You begin by lying down, they take a reading. Then, they put you at an angle, but not completely upright and they take more vital readings. Then, they mechanically adjust the table until you are in a standing position and again take vitals. Put it this way, once they got me in a standing position, my vitals became so serious that I could have coded at that moment. They could not even chance a repeat reading. My blood pressure dramatically dipped to the point of not being able to sustain my body while my pulse sky-rocketed because the heart was confused and furiously trying to pump blood...not a pleasant scenario. As this is happening, my brain was not getting enough oxygenated blood, among other things happening, and I'd go unconscious. This test was done late in the afternoon and gave some suggestion to the problem, but the doctors thought it could be arterial in nature. They would soon have another clue.

That night, in the hospital, around midnight, I was still on the cardiac floor hooked to the telemetry monitors and I full-out coded. I must say, this sensation was not unsual, therefore, I must have had the same thing happen multiple times at home when I woke gasping for air. God only knows how I survived this long. Needless to say, I was drifting in and out of this world during the code. In one sweet code-blue moment, I was talking on the phone to my brother. Now that I think about it, I can giggle at the thought of a hospital team working on me while I am coding, yet I am having a pleasant phone conversation with my brother, at midnight. I'm sure I don't have to tell all of you - that didn't actually happen - only in my Code-Blue moment of lift-off did that happen.

Very early the next morning, the cardiologist stood at the foot of my bed and was in deep thought. Little did I know, he'd been with me all through the night - there for the Code Blue. He stood there and rubbed his chin while thinking; we didn't talk. He suddenly jolted out of his thought process and starting issuing rushed orders to the nurse. They took an A.M. Cortisol test and later conducted the ACTH-stimulation test and THERE WAS THE ANSWER! Addison's Disease. The puzzle pieces fit.

A few pills later and perhaps IV steroids, I had been too sick to really know all that I was being given, I just remember the new pills...I was finally able to stand firm on my feet, but had not walked a significant distance in such a long time that my muscles were weak. But, the medicine had been like a light switch for my body. Just when I had started to lose hope, things turned around. The hospital ordered physical therapy treatments. The PT therapist came in and put a special belt around me that had a loop in the back for the PT therapist to hold onto, he put a walker in front of me to hold onto and we went for a stroll. I was still weak, but with his strong steady hand helping to hold me into place, I was able to really WALK again! Out into the hall we went, then once around the nurses' station and he wanted me to go back to my room - I didn't want to go back. I said, "One more time!" through tears and we again went around the nurses station while they all clapped. I had gotten close to the nurses and they all knew about my code, some had helped save my life, so this was quite a moment. To me, it was a beautiful moment shared with beautiful people. This medical team was incredible - I had my life back. The therapist even indulged me with a third time around before insisting, without compromising further, that we go back to my room. After all, it had only been about 24 hours since I had coded. But, life was looking brighter again.

And my perspective about this world was indeed forever changed after that Code Blue night.



My view yesterday, Oct. 22, 2010, while visiting a local hospital for newspaper article research.
A nearby Air Base prepares for the weekend air-show. I am blessed because that
Fighter Jet symbolized how I felt after my diagnosis!!



ENTRY #22 - Looking Back-Part 3

The below is an independent entry, but is also Part 3 of my "Looking Back" recollections which are record the time immediately before my diagnosis with Addison's disease. Unfortunately, this time of losing my optimal health coincided with the terrorist attacks of 9-1-1...and so my memories during this time are a mixture of great personal and national havoc.

The day after September 11th 2001 found our family in shock along with the rest of the nation. Our young daughters were scared. We let them stay home from school the day after the attacks, Wednesday, the 12th. My oldest daughter was very upset that we did not pick her up from school on the day terrorists attacked America. She came home and cried and cried because a few teachers had inadvertently terrified her after she overheard them discussing the school's potentially dangerous location. Space Center Jr. High is adjacent to Johnson Space Center and there was concern about it being another iconic target. Throughout the day, she heard the whisperings about Johnson Space Center, the location of NASA's Mission Control. In fact, Johnson Space Center was indeed shut down after the attacks...it was evacuated. Looking across the field from Johnson Space Center, my daughter's school is easily in view. However, yesterday, as we were under attack, I thought the kids would benefit from remaining in school. Turns out, school attendance made the day more memorable because of the public terror.

My youngest, at the elementary school had been in the car with me early that morning as the towers were attacked. Apparently, she had intensely listened with me to the LIVE newsradio report with the Manhattan caller who was watching and describing the attacks on the towers from his apartment. She went straight inside the school, to her math class and told the teacher that New York had been attacked. The teacher actually chastised my daughter and told her to sit down; she told her to not say such terrible things. Within minutes, this teacher took a call on her cell from her husband who was informing her of America being the victim of terrorists. She was so upset that she dropped her phone and began crying. My daughter already knew the subject of the phone call.

To shield our children the best we could, the day after the attacks, we let the girls stay home for a day of recovery and reassurance. We did something unusual, we let the girls play videos all day long. It was a simple way to re-direct their minds from the tragedy while we hid our television update viewing. We could not erase the terror of September 11th, but tried to give them a break from the bombardment of ongoing devastating news reports.

What can we tell our children in this situation? Is there anywhere that is safe? How do we explain the reasons that regular citizens were the target? At least there are incredible stories mingled with the heart-wrenching ones. Today, we heard about a police officer who had been on the 82nd floor as the tower collapsed. He described "rolling down with the building." He has a broken leg and a mind full of trauma to deal with. With all my soul, I believe that terrorists are mere cowards - this attack is as if someone has stabbed another in the back. Obviously, they did not want to confront our military, instead, they targeted men, women, children...all were fair game to the beasts who preyed upon the blood of the innocent.

The day after the attacks, one of my Professors said, "Here we are trying to do normal things, and as we sit, rescue workers are digging through the rubble, looking for survivors and finding the dead. But, we must continue so the bad souls won't win. Our life, on the whole, must go on so the terrorists will not win."

Happy family times in Texas ---- Days of Deeper Innocence

Little did I know that my Addison's diagnosis was right around the corner. During this time of national mourning and a time of every American household trying to find a reason to smile, I was quickly going downhill. For the past month, I had visited the doctor's office or an emergency room at least twice per week. There were no answers. Sometimes, I would be connected to IV lines, given fluids and I would feel a bit better, then be discharged. After a few hours, the entire process would start all over again. As of September 11, 2001, my body was to the stage of not cooperating normally, but nothing was normal. Every morning I drank a large V8 because it was mysteriously helping my body feel more "energetic" for a short while. I had a definite abnormal craving for V8 juice. Around lunch, I'd drink another V8. I didn't really have energy to eat regular foods any longer. I felt sick all of the time and couldn't shake it. The attacks on September 11th, 2001 gave additional reasoning for me to ignore my own health and to make ongoing excuses as to why my body was not able to stand for any substantial length of time. I'd simply tell myself that my physical illness had been compounded by the attacks - many of us were physically sickened, especially if we had loved ones working in a federal building. No one knew what else to expect from the terrorists.

Day by day, my health was deterioriating. Often, I was in danger of collapsing. I tried to hide my increasing physical decline. To be honest, my "weakness" was highly embarrassing to me. Frequently, my fragile condition forced me to sit or to lie down throughout most of the day. Regular workouts at the YMCA were suddenly an impossibility. I couldn't even hold myself upright...How was I to lift a weight? My life was falling apart. My life at home, my academics, and my business life were all suffering. Within a few weeks, my body would be powerless and the simple act of breathing would become an Olympic feat. I had been a strong, vibrant 33 year old woman, I could not imagine that my life was in such terrible danger from a rare disease that was capturing me in its relentless grip. Addison's disease - I'd not yet ever heard of this disease, but I would soon receive its life-long label.

ENTRY #20 - Looking Back-Part 2

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ "LOOKING BACK-PART 1," which is part of blog label "9-1-1 and Diagnosis," then make sure, if you want the entire account, to read Part 1 before reading the below post. Since 9-1-1 was a time that mingled with my Addison's diagnosis, this cannot be easily brushed under the rug. The post below is Part 2 of my "Looking Back" entry collection which is a recount of the time just before I was officially diagnosed with Addison's Disease. If you have Addison's disease or an adrenal insufficiency, you know how it is NEVER a great time for such a diagnosis, but this was a time of great turmoil for us individually and as an entire nation. At the time of the below journal entry, I was a very sick woman who had already been to more than a dozen doctor appointments and multiple emergency room trips, but still did not have an answer. At the time of this old journal entry, most of us in America (and beyond) were experiencing an abnormally stressful time in our lives because terrorism hit us hard. It was on our home-front. As for my physical decline, many of us with Addison's or with a severe adrenal insufficiency downfall do remember the painful details of the time we became so ill. For me, having my diagnosis coincide with the events of 9-1-1 makes my recollection difficult because I was so immersed in my heart aching for every soul touched by this murderous tragedy. As for Addison's, for some of us, the diagnosis came fast, but, for others, the diagnosis was slow going or not made until the unthinkable had already happened. Either way, we're left dealing with the issues this condition can bring. So, here I go back into my hand-written journal and to a time of national and international turmoil...to the day many of us remember...9-1-1.

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Journal Entry: September 11, 2001 (continued from blog entry #19)
As I pulled into the driveway of our home, I battled the need to vomit. My body was involuntarily shaking, and I felt light-headed. I knew I shouldn't have driven, but I never imagined that this quiet morning drive to take my little daughter to the elementary, just a few blocks away, would be disrupted by a news radio account of live-terrorism on our American soil. In fact, on the car radio, I'd heard a Manhattan caller describe the first tower blazing, and as he was trying to calmly give details about the scene before him as he was looking out his blown-out windows, the second tower was suddenly struck. At that point, the caller lost all remaining composure and it was hard to not crumble at his pained voice that had turned to screams. His panicked voice became a living horror story for all of us listeners.

Initially, the radio station announcer had tried to return to his job and to a sense of normalcy by claiming we had all just personally heard a terrible double-tragedy occurring...a horrendous double "freak" accident. I didn't buy it. It only took moments for the announcer to come to an audible realization that he also contemplated the possibility of this not being some kind of small-plane-off-course accident, x2. However, throughout my short drive home it was also mistakenly thought by the radio station that the two planes involved with striking the towers were small, private planes. It could not be conceptualized by all of us, hundreds of miles away that these planes were commercial airliners. Still, I had immediately and instinctively known, as the second plane flew into the second tower that this could not have been an "accident."

In the driveway, I tried to take a few deep breaths and to compose myself. I turned the radio down, shut off the engine and began to make my way back inside the house on wobbly legs. My oldest daughter was already in school at her Junior High and now my youngest was in her elementary school...so my husband and I would be in the house alone. All of us were far from Manhattan, yet the sadness of the two planes crashing into the towers was palpable.

Because I had been feeling so ill, my husband had taken the day off from work. If we had known how quickly downhill I was about to physically descend, he would not have taken any extra time off. As it was, I was thankful to have him home with me on this nationally historic day. As I opened the front door to the house, I could hear the television in the master bedroom. It was loud. I closed the door and realized that the television was reporting the same scene I just left from inside my car with the radio reports. I shut the door and began running to the master bedroom.

Once inside our bedroom, I stood watching the screen and could not believe my eyes. I squinted. My vision was going blurry again. The large V8 I'd craved and drank early that morning for extra "energy" was suddenly wearing off. As the TV on top of the tallboy chest of drawers was blaring a live newscast, my husband sat on the edge of the bed watching the screen and he was quietly saying, "Oh my God." He was watching a LIVE news report of the towers burning and the repeated reruns of the second tower being struck by a plane. My mouth gaped open as I stepped closer to the TV. They showed it again...one tower was burning and the camera caught a second plane flying directly into the second tower, causing great destruction. Then, a LIVE view would return to show both towers simultaneously burning, and we remained speechless. Side by side, the strong metal and glass sculptures were melting. However, no one could imagine how the towering sisters would soon collapse upon themselves.

My husband and I momentarily looked at each other. We both knew what this meant. Years ago, my husband had served in the Air Force and had been assigned to special duty as an Anti-Terrorist Police. We had lived for a few years overseas while he served his country. Unlike most people who lived in bliss about terrorism...we never had. From a very young age, early in our marriage, we understood these ugly truths. Terrorism training had been my husband's daily job. It was a part of our household. Back then, discussions of international terrorist acts were a part of our own little world that few people back home understood. My husband had been trained specifically in the field of "terrorism." I'd once gone to base in Germany and parked my car so I could spend the day in the library. Little did I know, my parked car had been volunteered for use in a bomb search. It had been rigged with a simulated bomb, complete with the smell of a bomb for the dogs to also use in practice. These days were our "normal." My trip to the library; my husband's day practicing bomb searches. So, yes, I had seen more than the average person when it came to counter-terrorism activism. My husband and I both knew it was only a matter of time before terrorism hit America as it had on the level it had been hitting overseas...as a part of their history. Still, nothing can prepare you for the devastation attached to any act of terrorism.

We stared at each other. For a long while, we said nothing. We simply were too shocked to speak. So, we watched TV as it displayed both towers burning. From the reports and sights, it was clear that the first tower had been hit rather high and the second tower was hit lower which obviously caused much greater, immediate loss of life simply due to the point of impact. Both buildings combined had so many stores which were destroyed by the impact and the stories above both points of impact were, essentially, unreachable.

Suddenly, I felt as if my legs were going to buckle beneath me, so I went to our bed and sat down. We watched the flames on the towers grow and the black smoke billow outward with greater intensity. Definitely, these buildings were truly towering infernos. It was unbelievable. A few reporters were filming people standing on the streets of Manhattan as they were looking upward at the burning buildings. As debris began to fall to the streets below, there was more panic. Shocked onlookers there at the scene of the tragedy began to run to escape the danger. I found myself occasionally yelling, "Run! Don't stand there! Get away, far away!" Then, I would again realize that the shock from the sight must have been indescribable, yet mesmerizing. So many of those people probably worked inside of the one of the towers or they probably passed by them almost daily. How could this be happening? Maybe some of those shocked onlookers had family or friends or co-workers in one of those buildings and they were standing there waiting for them to run out. Regardless, I ached at the longing inside that I had at wanting everyone to run far away from the burning towers.

Only a short time had passed since I came home, but now there were images on the screen that could never be erased from our mind's eye; people were jumping from the burning towers. My husband rose from the bed and walked out of the room with his fists balled up. I knew he was angry about the terrorists. I sat and cried softly while forcing myself to watch the screen - as if it were my way of paying respect to those who were dying this morning. Untold innocent people had already been murdered and were still dying. The least I could do was watch and be in constant silent prayer. Yes, they had my respect and my love. Their forced braveness would never be forgotten. I would never forget. The nightmarish scene turned darker, at first, the announcers thought jumpers were part of the falling debris, then, to their own dismay, they realized that chunks of debris could not be wearing shoes. This was not a part of Hollywood. These were not stunts. This was happening.

America was no less than stunned and sickened. But, I force myself to write in my journal this evening of September 11th of 2001 because this morning began with such incredible loss of innocence for our country, but it was only the beginning. Soon, news reports gave more information; these two planes had indeed been commercial airliners that had been hijacked to be piloted by terrorists. Each plane had carried innocent passengers. Each had purchased a ticket for a destination; many had loved ones eagerly anticipating their arrival, but they ended up with their destination being death and destruction. Our own citizens were used as tools in a terroristic plan - all of those passengers were simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time. No one is immune from terroristic attacks. The terrorists wanted to use those full fuel tanks as controlled bombs. Quickly, it became very clear that their plan was to hit more than the towers.

David came back into the room and said, "America will never be the same; those are innocent civilians, they are not even targeting military. Typical terrorists...taking the cowardly route." We were both nauseated.

To everyone's continued dismay, the terrorists did not stop with the towers. Next, to add to the images that were too unbelievable to describe, another commercial airliner with innocent passengers, a third airliner, that had been hijacked and piloted by a suicidal-homicidal terrorist had crashed. Obvious to everyone was the terrorist's intent to destroy our icon of military politics and leadership at the Pentagon. They hit their target. Over the day, the Pentagon blazed and its three stories essentially collapsed, but the extent of the damage will not be completely clear just yet. It's too early, but the death toll has got to be high. Everyone begins to wonder outloud, "What is next? WHERE is next?" My husband and I realized that commercial airliners could be shot down from the sky. The possibility loomed. More death. More destruction. How could people become so warped that they could board a plane with the intent to kill? The terrorists must have looked into the faces of children who were with their mothers as they tried to take their seats. Hardened hearts and demented thought processes prevailed. The only message conveyed with this kind of attack upon innocence is one of evilness filled to the brim with hatred. A hatred of life itself.

The morning moved onward. Time has no sensitivity. There is no slowing the seconds of time as we keep moving forward into the hands of life...or death.

Horror-stricken, this same morning, we learned that a fourth commercial airline with beautiful people onboard who were only wanting to travel from one destination to the next had crashed miles from their probable targeted site, perhaps the President's working retreat of Camp David. Perhaps more information will come to light later on. However, for today, as of September 11th, it's not yet clear. It is clear that more people have been murdered at the mercy of crazed terrorists; everyone on board the fourth plane are gone.

From the reports I saw today, four of our planes were hijacked, two from American Airlines and two from United Airlines. This is barbaric terrorism. News reports are already linking Osama Bin Laden to the terrorism. Bin Laden is apparently connected to a highly organized, well protected and heavily backed terror organization. He has many followers. Most people cannot fathom a "name" linked to terrorism, but just as any organization has a leader, so do terror organizations. Even in terror organizations, there are chains of command or a CEO in charge with their "appointed" executives. For the normal person, it's difficult to fathom, but terror organizations exist. Many Americans can remember the terror of the Klu Klux Klan, but some find it challenging to imagine a terror organization that spreads hate more broadly.

This morning was not over yet. Just minutes apart, the towers that had been so huge and imposing began to crater. First one tower fell, then the other fell from the sky down below onto any onlookers, emergency personnel, their emergency vehicles and adjacent buildings were impacted. It is terrible. Anyone left inside the buildings were dashed downward with the twisted, burning wreckage. I am writing this journal entry on the day of the attacks so that I never forget my personal account. I want my children and their children to know what we lived to see. But, we do not yet know the extent of the damage; I can safely gauge that it appears to be gruesome.

Today, in Manhattan, you could see billowing smoke and floating debris as it blanketed the entire city. It was a terrifying sight. As the first tower fell, black, thick smoke began to travel down the streets of Manhattan as if it were a nightmare come true. It rolled through the streets like an uncontrollable beast and swallowed all who were in its path. With the blackness came sadness and a despair that can't be explained. It engulfed everything in its path. After the first tower fell, within short minutes, the second tower fell. The sky had been filled with the majesty of man's determination, intelligence and hard work. Mankind builds and mankind destroys. At this point, I don't know if it's true, but it's reported that some sort of "mash" area in which hundreds of injured people were taken for emergency treatment was destroyed by the second tower collapse. A horrible truth is that many trained people who could have helped in this dire situation were lost in the tower's dismantled pieces. We couldn't believe both towers had disappeared from the skyline. It was as if there were an orchestrated implosion taking place. Early this morning, both buildings had opened for business as they began to bustle with worldwide business transactions; late this morning, both buildings would disintegrate before our unbelieving eyes.

All of that man-made glory is back to rubble; all of it unraveled by evil in a flash.

As the day wore on and all of us felt weary, we heard about a woman on one of those planes who used her cell-phone to call her husband to tell him that her plane had been hijacked by at least a couple of men with box cutters. She told her husband that they had already injured some of the flight attendants. Repeatedly, she was asking her husband, "What do I do?" Over and over. That conversation would be the last ever held with her husband. He would always remember her desperate desire to do something that could stop the maniacs, but she was defenseless and he was helpless.

On another flight, a man was in the bathroom calling 911 and pleading for help as their plane had been hijacked. A call to no avail. All of these personal stories will be coming to light over the new few days, weeks and months. A lifetime of stories to be revealed. So many stories of heartache, courage, love and remembrance. Surely, we wish such stories would only be fiction, yet this day will be a part of our history. It is our reality. Years from now, we will continue to recall this day, and we will mourn. Truly, America will never be the same. I pray that we will be better.

Today, it seems as if we are surrounded by destruction. It's difficult to see anything else, but I will try. That's one thing that the terrorists did not count upon ---- the American Spirit. It can't be defined and it can't be snuffed out. Through adversity it only grows stronger and more determined. This reminds some people or teaches others that old saying is there for a reason, "Freedom has never been free." Today, we see that anger and the desire to punish those who enjoy Freedom's reach. But, there are defenders of Freedom. Those brave ones will continue to sacrifice so that the rest of us may savor every moment of Freedom. Let it ring.

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Current Day Entry & Addison's Disease Recollections during 9-1-1:
After the kids got home from school and their own shock at the day's events were discussed, my husband and I fell into bed exhausted. During the day, on multiple occasions, I had nearly hit the ground from losing consciousness. I chalked it up to being very stressed about our homeland being attacked by cowards. How could I complain after seeing the destruction and the suffering that had taken place in America today? I ignored my body's warning signs. I made excuses. Throughout the day, again, I had lost all appetite, but I doubt this was a day for any kind of normal feasting in America. But, I had actually vomited a couple of times and could not shake the weakness that flooded my body. Actually, I had become accustomed to these afflictions, but I continued to blame my body's reaction and weakness on the stress endured with the rest of the nation. By evening, I was very sick. A voice in the back of my mind was telling me that there was something really wrong with me, but I couldn't imagine going to an emergency room on such a day as this. No, I would crawl into bed and try to sleep.

Sleep escaped me. I would start to drift off and would wake up gasping for air. I would awaken, not be able to breathe and I would jump to my feet and would desperately try to pull in a breath of air. It seemed to take an eternity for my lungs to refill with air and to start working again. This began to happen regularly, two to three times per night. Sometimes, my husband would waken before my body realized I wasn't breathing. He'd shake me and have a terrified expression and I'd hear him yelling, "Breathe! Breathe dammit!"

Yes, I told the doctors what was happening. Doctor after doctor had no answer. They would look at me and remark about how "healthy" I looked and about what "great shape" I appeared to be while adding that I was so "young," so there could not be anything terribly amiss. They were terribly wrong. Now, with 9-1-1 changing our world, I made a dangerous decision to try to ignore my warning signs. I wanted to be as normal as possible. For short bursts, I could pretend to be somewhat normal and not let anyone know how often I was vomiting or that I could barely stand upright any longer. I was a speck of dust on the earth. Depressed, I wondered...Why should I go to the doctor when thousands are dead? I think many people felt deflated on September 11, 2001.

ENTRY #19 - Looking Back-Part 1

Old Journal Entries leading up to the entire world changing and my own little world collapsing soon after...

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Journal Entry: Sept. 10, 2001 - Monday - Sunny nice day, but not too hot.
I'm on cloud nine. I feel such hope, such a rainbow of opportunity. God has put something that churns inside of me...I want more than the regular "American Dream." My business is great; our home is beautiful; the kids are happy, but there has got to be more to life than this money grind version.

The last few weeks, I've been feeling odd. Deep down, I know something is really wrong. My body is not cooperating as it should; I've been to doctor after doctor and it seems nothing can be found but a salt deficiency and chronic low blood pressure. Maybe this is how I am supposed to feel after 30. I have no idea. But, I'm pushing all of that aside today. Today is beautiful. Today is amazing. I feel such a huge burst of hope. For some reason, His spirit of renewal is upon me, and I'm thankful. Darkness has shrouded me for so long; I'm stepping into the light and feeling its warm, welcoming glow. It is awesome.

Journal Entry: Sept. 11, 2001 - Tuesday - The darkest day I've ever known.
My joy from yesterday is now replaced with agony, despair, shock, disgust and a sorrow as deep as can be. America, our beloved country and my fellow Americans along with international innocents were attacked today by terrorists. Cowards. Terrorists are the definition of "Coward." Killing innocent people; bystanders; mothers with their children and old people who are just trying to live out their years in peace...it's stomach churning.

This day began normal enough...I was driving my youngest, Stefie, to the elementary school with the news radio playing on the car radio. Lately, I've been too sick to drive, but I felt so healthy yesterday. Lately, feeling good is such a rare experience, so I decided to use this burst of energy to drive the four or five blocks to personally drop my baby off at school. What a great morning we thought it would be for us.

We buckled up and were making the short drive to the school while listening to the radio and the reporter said something like, "The World Trading Center in Manhattan has had one of its towers accidentally struck by an airplane." My ears picked up the report, but sometimes we are so accustomed to foul news reports that we remain detached - we have to, for survival. However, this news report would soon turn so foul and heart-wrenching because it involved all of us - Americans and beyond.

I rounded the corner and our car was now in the drop off line in front of the school. My daughter was excited about her day. Then, the reporter said they had an eyewitness caller, for everyone to pay attention. The caller had a sickening sound to his voice and a sense of urgency that could not be ignored. I turned up the volume. His voice filled the confines of the car as he said, "Oh my God, I saw the entire thing from the window of my apartment here in Manhattan. My place faces the towers and all of my windows have been blown out." The caller was breathless and had panic in his voice, but he attempted at some restraint, "I'm seeing horrific things I can't even fully describe; there are flames, smoke and the Trade Center is burning...it's burning."

A sick feeling in the pit of my stomach began to gather. We pulled the car up a tad further; I kissed my sweet daughter and she got out of the car to walk with her little friends from the walkway into the elementary building. But, she looked back with a worried expression. I waved and tried to put on a good smile. As she was disappearing, I turned the radio up very loud and the caller began screaming, "Oh my God, Oh my God! The other tower just blew up too! Oh my God! It's an explosion, and I can feel the heat from the inferno - it's coming through my windows! Oh my God!" Then, there were sounds as if things were being knocked around and him yelling about all his windows being gone. He was screaming that he had to get out of there; the phone was no longer up to his mouth. It was probably in his hand as he ran screaming. We all listened.

Immediately, I was in shock. I had no visual for this scene, it was all by radio, but I could only imagine the horror taking place because of the caller's obvious devastation and terror. I began to shake. Suddenly, the short drive home didn't seem so short. I just needed to get back home.

I paid extra attention to driving these short blocks. It seemed as if every passing car knew something was wrong. Everyone drove extra slow. The shaken radio announcer came back on in an attempt to give some kind of calm, professional explanation, he somewhat stuttered, "Clearly, there has been a double tragedy. Apparently, another plane has hit the other tower. This has been a horrible double accident." The Southern girl in me was already shouting outloud inside my car, by myself, "What? An accident? This isn't an 'accident,' this is a flat-out, chicken-shit Terrorist attack!"

Immediately, after the caller had gone into public agony after the second plane hit the second building; it was clear that this wasn't an accident. No, it was an evil, destructive plan. I drove the rest of the way home with tears streaming down my cheeks and anger spreading throughout my body. Too many emotions were churning. I began to feel light-headed and nauseated, but I figured everyone else in the world who was decent, kind and compassionate was feeling the same exact thing.

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Back to Today...
I will finish this particular old journal entry later, probably later today. For now, it's still difficult to sift through all the events of that horrible day which we collectively know as 9/11. I'm sure some of you have friends, family, co-workers, etc., that were directly involved in this tragedy. Take comfort in knowing that so many hearts throughout the world were connected to yours on this day...and still the connection remains.

As for my Addison's disease, due to my many doctor visits being useless, I did not yet know that I even had this rare disease. Later, I would discover that I had been unknowingly living in a prolonged state of an Addisonian Crisis, but this event helped to put me over the top. Within days, I'd be in the hospital coding as the rest of the world mourned a national, yet world-wide tragedy.