My part
I think everyone who's ever worked for the city would agree that 9/11 was the worst job ever.
After everything stopped falling, everyone there went to work. No one really payed much attention to what was flying around us in the air. We worked for days, then the days became weeks and some of us stretched those weeks into months.
Whenever it was that you finally left, the next thing you did is move on. I've heard people say that there is something noble in this - but there isn't. Its a lack of options. You took the job to help people and you don't stop because you had a really bad day. So little by little you go back to what you were doing on 9/10.
Then one day you wake up and feel sick as hell. Or maybe its something you realize that you've been feeling for a while. For me it was a stomach thing. Something I ignored for about a week, thinking that it would pass. Something I eventually figured needed medical attention and went to the ER to have looked at. Something that would have me in the hospital for the next 5 and a half months and still be with me today.
For me this somthing has a name - chronic pancreatitis, and it has changed almost every aspect of my life. For a while the doctors thought I was a chronic drunk. For a time they thought I was an addict. They figured that by removing my gallbladder it would go away. They were all wrong. They finally figured out that whatever I inhaled at the trade center caused this - and it was never going to go away. I remember my GI doctor standing at my bedside one night telling me that if I survived this I would spend every day of the rest of my life in pain. No thanks. Once again I considered my recovery a lack of options.
I've proved the doctors wrong, its taken work and dedication. I've had to change my life in drastic ways. I've been forced from the job I love, my diet and lifestyle have become what most people would consider "restricted". But I still feel like I've been given a second chance.
After everything stopped falling, everyone there went to work. No one really payed much attention to what was flying around us in the air. We worked for days, then the days became weeks and some of us stretched those weeks into months.
Whenever it was that you finally left, the next thing you did is move on. I've heard people say that there is something noble in this - but there isn't. Its a lack of options. You took the job to help people and you don't stop because you had a really bad day. So little by little you go back to what you were doing on 9/10.
Then one day you wake up and feel sick as hell. Or maybe its something you realize that you've been feeling for a while. For me it was a stomach thing. Something I ignored for about a week, thinking that it would pass. Something I eventually figured needed medical attention and went to the ER to have looked at. Something that would have me in the hospital for the next 5 and a half months and still be with me today.
For me this somthing has a name - chronic pancreatitis, and it has changed almost every aspect of my life. For a while the doctors thought I was a chronic drunk. For a time they thought I was an addict. They figured that by removing my gallbladder it would go away. They were all wrong. They finally figured out that whatever I inhaled at the trade center caused this - and it was never going to go away. I remember my GI doctor standing at my bedside one night telling me that if I survived this I would spend every day of the rest of my life in pain. No thanks. Once again I considered my recovery a lack of options.
I've proved the doctors wrong, its taken work and dedication. I've had to change my life in drastic ways. I've been forced from the job I love, my diet and lifestyle have become what most people would consider "restricted". But I still feel like I've been given a second chance.
posted by Iloveny_marf at 4:02 PM
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