Nine years ago, I worked  as a Histologic Technician at the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology (the world renowned AFIP), on the campus of Walter Reed Army Medical Center. Whew, that's an eyeful. In a nutshell, my job was to receive small tissue samples from the hospital--liver, heart valve, lung, appendix, breast, kidney, etc. -- and process them overnight, with an automated processor, through a series of chemical reagents; mostly alcohols and formaldehyde.

In the morning, the tissue is embedded into a paraffin wax mold. Once the mold is chilled to a solid block, a precision cutting instrument (microtome) is used to cut very thin sections ( 4-5 microns). After cutting, the sections are floated onto a warm water bath to melt the wax. Finally, they are fixed onto a slide, labeled, and stained with dyes to differentiate the microscopic tissue components. Upon completion, the slides are delivered to a pathologist for diagnosis.

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On the morning of September 11th, 2001, I was in the embedding stage of the histo process.  A co-worker, Leslie, approached me from behind as I sat at my embedding station.

First plane-slightly atypical news story. I listened without turning my head, still focused on tissue orientation. The tissue is marked with ink to designate the area of interest.

Second plane-HOLY FUCKING CHRIST! World War III. When I heard Leslie’s third announcement, that the towers had begun collapsing, I felt a jolt surge through my body, like a mild electric shock. I remember dropping  the tiny tissue sample, along with my forceps into the hot wax. Damn it! the good forceps, now I have to fish them out and clean them. The tissue? I can't recall.

At some point all activities ceased and we ended up huddled around the TV in the break room. I have no idea how long, but eventually I gathered the courage to leave the fortified, nearly windowless AFIP building and drove alone to my apartment in Takoma Park, Maryland. Being so near the capital city, I half expected to see bombs falling from the sky.

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I arrived home unbombed and quickly locked my door and windows. I then turned on the tube and sat frozen, staring at it for hours. I was shaken, but not terrified until I saw the news lady on channel seven. As she reported the latest details of the day, she was blinking incessantly; eyelids fluttering like a hummingbird's wings. I hated local news and was only watching to keep up with the happenings in my area, so the blinker was not well known to me, but she was supposed to be a professional. She was supposed to keep her cool. She was not supposed to fall apart on camera.

I began to imagine that her nervous blinking was a sign, a secret signal that there were horrors yet to be revealed. Yes, the news lady knew the whole truth; that enemy troops were marching on Washington, that they had already absconded with the president and occupied the White House. With all the wild rumors floating around at the time, it wasn't hard to let my imagination run wild. It ran like hell. 

I did a mental inventory of all the drugs I had in the house; a half a bag of coffee, one and a half joints, and a full bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream I had received as a gift. Edward. He wasn't such a bad guy really, but I unleashed all my frustrations on the memory of his gift.

Fucking Edward! Why would he give me Bailey's? The only thing I ever drank when we were out together was Ketel One Vodka, in one form or another. That's all I drank because that was MY drink. How could he have missed that? Probably some other bitch he knew was into Bailey's and he got us mixed up. Now the sky is falling and all I've got is a fucking coffee liqueur. If I'm to avoid the runs, I will have to chase it with Pepto. I should have the Ketel. He should have given me the VODKA! 

I gathered all my armaments; the pot, the Bailey's, a pot of coffee. For the next three days I barely left my bedroom. I smoked, drank, stared at the news and occasionally dozed, often battling the demon fears in my fitful sleep. When I emerged, I had the sense that I was invincible. I had imagined the worse scenarios possible, dealt with the crippling fear, and come out the other side braver for it. I walked out of my apartment and greeted the world with an abundance of false bravado.

                            Asshole terrorists of the world: Suck it!