Obligatory 9/11 post
Sep. 11th, 2007 10:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
averygoodun42Nineteen years ago today, I woke up very, very early in the morning with a nosebleed. It wasn't terribly unusual for me to get nosebleeds, or even wake up from them, so I calmly pinched my nose, got some toilet paper to stuff up my nose and went down to watch Saturday morning cartoons. I rarely ever got to watch them as I was born a night owl.
I was looking forward to that day. It was my friend's birthday, and, because it was a Saturday, she was actually able to hold her birthday party on the day itself. It was to be at the local roller rink up in Longmont, and I was excited to get to rollerskate again.
But the party wasn't till one o'clock, and it was only about six at that point.
I watched cartoons all morning, replacing the makeshift nose tampons as necessary. I can't remember the cartoons themselves, but I do remember thinking that they weren't worth setting the alarm clock for, though I was glad to have something to watch.
At eleven o'clock, my mum decided I shouldn't go to the party, as my nose was still bleeding. I was severely disappointed, but I was starting to feel tired and ill, so reluctantly I agreed with her.
At about 12:30, I got that feeling that I was going to be sick. I turned off the tv, and went upstairs to sit on the hamper in front of the toilet to wait. I didn't have to wait terribly long, because as I was looking at the poster above the toilet, something happened. The dark background of the poster was suddenly cut into a prismatic grid, and as the colors grew, they blended into white. It was very pretty and it almost distracted me from how dizzy I had become.
I woke up on the floor covered in my own blood. I felt the need to retch, so I managed to wrench myself up and lean over the toilet. I was vaguely disturbed that what came out wasn't bile, but blood. I didn't think too much about it, though, because I fainted again at that point.
When I woke up again, I was too weak to move. My mum was just beyond the closed door, across the hallway, talking to my brother on the phone. I called out for my mum as loudly as I could, but even to my own ears it sounded weak. I tried reaching for the door, but I couldn't even slide my arm across the wet floor. I do believe that I fainted again at that point, although perhaps calling it fading into oblivion would be more accurate.
When I woke up, my mum was standing over me. I don't remember her face as she took in what must have been the most horrifying scene of her life, and I'm glad. She called my sister to call my dad at work, while she ran the tub with lukewarm water.
I remember the water temperature because I felt cold, and I liked hot baths.
My dad couldn't be reached, so my sister ran over to the neighbors to ask if we could borrow their car to get me to the emergency room. The neighbor moved her car to our driveway while my mum dressed me in, ironically, my rollerskating dress. It was the easiest thing to get on.
They bundled me up in a pink blanket and had just situated me in the neighbor's car when my dad pulled into the driveway. He hadn't got the message because he'd been too intent on getting home. He'd known something was wrong, just as my brother had when he told my mum to check on me.
In all, I lost about three pints of blood. It doesn't sound like much, but I was a tiny, little 40 lb ten-year-old, and I'm still amazed that they didn't give me a transfusion then. But, being 1988, I think they were being extra cautious about transfusions because of the AIDS furor. As is obvious, I didn't die from the lack, so it was all okay.
Crises come in all shapes, sizes and varieties. To me, my personal crisis is more important to my life than what happened six years ago to this country. But then, I'm a narcissistic sort, and I didn't lose anyone in the attack.
Six years ago today, this country suffered a successful attack on its main soil. It was not the first time, and it probably won't be the last time. Should it be remembered for all time? Maybe, but then why have we forgotten the other successful attacks? And why should we hold it in our memories? Toinstill remember the fear? Or to remember that we are a part of a wider world which we have pissed off to a very great degree?
Bullies have to expect someone to stand up to them at some point in their lives, but, somehow, they are always surprised when it happens. I'm not condoning terrorism, but I also am not going to support the blind patriotism that seems to overcome this country whenever the phrase "9/11" is mentioned. More evil has been wrought from our reaction to the event than the event was evil in itself.
We did wrong, we suffered, but we did not learn from it.
So yes, let's remember. But let's try to remember what's important.
I was looking forward to that day. It was my friend's birthday, and, because it was a Saturday, she was actually able to hold her birthday party on the day itself. It was to be at the local roller rink up in Longmont, and I was excited to get to rollerskate again.
But the party wasn't till one o'clock, and it was only about six at that point.
I watched cartoons all morning, replacing the makeshift nose tampons as necessary. I can't remember the cartoons themselves, but I do remember thinking that they weren't worth setting the alarm clock for, though I was glad to have something to watch.
At eleven o'clock, my mum decided I shouldn't go to the party, as my nose was still bleeding. I was severely disappointed, but I was starting to feel tired and ill, so reluctantly I agreed with her.
At about 12:30, I got that feeling that I was going to be sick. I turned off the tv, and went upstairs to sit on the hamper in front of the toilet to wait. I didn't have to wait terribly long, because as I was looking at the poster above the toilet, something happened. The dark background of the poster was suddenly cut into a prismatic grid, and as the colors grew, they blended into white. It was very pretty and it almost distracted me from how dizzy I had become.
I woke up on the floor covered in my own blood. I felt the need to retch, so I managed to wrench myself up and lean over the toilet. I was vaguely disturbed that what came out wasn't bile, but blood. I didn't think too much about it, though, because I fainted again at that point.
When I woke up again, I was too weak to move. My mum was just beyond the closed door, across the hallway, talking to my brother on the phone. I called out for my mum as loudly as I could, but even to my own ears it sounded weak. I tried reaching for the door, but I couldn't even slide my arm across the wet floor. I do believe that I fainted again at that point, although perhaps calling it fading into oblivion would be more accurate.
When I woke up, my mum was standing over me. I don't remember her face as she took in what must have been the most horrifying scene of her life, and I'm glad. She called my sister to call my dad at work, while she ran the tub with lukewarm water.
I remember the water temperature because I felt cold, and I liked hot baths.
My dad couldn't be reached, so my sister ran over to the neighbors to ask if we could borrow their car to get me to the emergency room. The neighbor moved her car to our driveway while my mum dressed me in, ironically, my rollerskating dress. It was the easiest thing to get on.
They bundled me up in a pink blanket and had just situated me in the neighbor's car when my dad pulled into the driveway. He hadn't got the message because he'd been too intent on getting home. He'd known something was wrong, just as my brother had when he told my mum to check on me.
In all, I lost about three pints of blood. It doesn't sound like much, but I was a tiny, little 40 lb ten-year-old, and I'm still amazed that they didn't give me a transfusion then. But, being 1988, I think they were being extra cautious about transfusions because of the AIDS furor. As is obvious, I didn't die from the lack, so it was all okay.
Crises come in all shapes, sizes and varieties. To me, my personal crisis is more important to my life than what happened six years ago to this country. But then, I'm a narcissistic sort, and I didn't lose anyone in the attack.
Six years ago today, this country suffered a successful attack on its main soil. It was not the first time, and it probably won't be the last time. Should it be remembered for all time? Maybe, but then why have we forgotten the other successful attacks? And why should we hold it in our memories? To
Bullies have to expect someone to stand up to them at some point in their lives, but, somehow, they are always surprised when it happens. I'm not condoning terrorism, but I also am not going to support the blind patriotism that seems to overcome this country whenever the phrase "9/11" is mentioned. More evil has been wrought from our reaction to the event than the event was evil in itself.
We did wrong, we suffered, but we did not learn from it.
So yes, let's remember. But let's try to remember what's important.
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no subject
Date: 2007-09-11 06:20 pm (UTC)Related, and rhetorically, I want to know why our students are not taught critical thinking skills anymore. Or maybe most people never were. I really don't know. But I'm alarmed at the "don't question authority" mentality that seems to be coming out of most schools these days -- even colleges! I know my parents made sure I went to good schools, but I learned to question EVERYTHING at a young age. Not in a disrespectful way -- a very important delineation. But not take what someone else (even a teacher) says as fact... to always question everything. Maybe that's why I'm so cynical now.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-11 06:33 pm (UTC)Perhaps it's propaganda...
no subject
Date: 2007-09-11 08:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-11 08:42 pm (UTC)I know there are teachers out there who do challenge kids to think, my mom among them, but most of the ones that I know are at private schools. So where does that leave the public school students? Learning how to take tests? And not learning how to question the questions?? Because I know when I got answers wrong on standardized tests, it's usually because I felt the question was phrased improperly and I would answer the question as stated. (And because I'm a bit of a brat, I'd answer the question as stated even though I knew they were looking for another answer. Had I not done that, maybe I would have managed a bigger scholarship to grad school… hmm… well can't go back and re-take it now.)
Boy, I'm really on a babbling roll today, aren't I?
no subject
Date: 2007-09-12 01:18 am (UTC)I'm a brat that way, too.
It's scary, isn't it, how many intelligent, supposedly well-educated people don't think about things. It's so dangerous. (I just reread "Wandless Magic" by Deeble today. Ah, a decent instruction manual on curtailing civil liberties...)