How Medical Students Made a Difference at Ground Zero
In the second week of September 2001, Rajiv Singh was a fourth-year medical student, busy covering for a supervisor who was away at a cardiology conference. At the time, Singh and his roommates lived on the 30th floor of their campus residence building, which had a perfect view of downtown NYC. He was getting ready to head to the hospital that clear Tuesday morning when he turned on the TV.
Now an interventional cardiologist and assistant professor of medicine at Columbia, Dr. Singh recently came across photographs of what unfolded that week, when he and four fellow medical students responded to the extreme need at ground zero. Looking back 25 years later, Dr. Singh tells their story.
I was watching the "Today" show when the news broke. As soon as I saw the images on TV, all I had to do was look out my window, and I could see the black linear scar from the first plane and the smoke rising. I saw explosions out my window from the second plane.
I rushed to the hospital to do my patient rounds. Then I joined everyone collecting near the hospital entrance to prepare for survivors who never arrived.
My roommates and I spent the next three days like many Americans, glued to CNN. We heard fighter jets flying over the Hudson River, called our families, and after 24 hours we began smelling the acrid air as it drifted north. For me, a growing urgency to do something was pushed over the edge by that smell of ground zero reaching 168th Street. And then a realization: The majority of our education and training was behind us. We were preparing to become the nation's health care leaders for a generation. If not us, then who?
The best part of my medical school experience at Columbia was the concentration of some of the most talented, hardworking, intelligent, and proactive young adults I may ever be surrounded by. We could have kept hanging out in the apartment watching TV, putting another cassette in the VCR. But no one hesitated when I came out of my bedroom and said, "Hey, do you think we should find our way down there?"
Everyone had something productive to say:
"We should wear our white coats."
"We should bring food—I bet someone would donate."
"What about the air quality?"
"How do we get there?"
We didn't have all the answers. Fortunately, the confidence of Columbia medical students let us start the journey, buoyed by the youthful cockiness of New Yorkers who would just figure it out.
There were five of us who went. We dressed in scrubs and short white coats—distinguishing us from doctors who wear long ones—and stuffed our pockets with medical equipment. We started by canvassing Washington Heights for food donations: The first restaurant we tried turned us away, then several others said no.
Everything changed at Wendy's. The manager did not hesitate, saying, "Take it all," and loading us up with giant bags of hamburgers, cheeseburgers, fries, and baked potatoes. It had to be serendipity that we walked out straight into a lot where an NYPD van was parked with two young cops. We told them what we were up to, and before we knew it, the van door slid open, we all packed in, the lights went on, and we were racing down the West Side Highway.
The long ride downtown gave plenty of time for our jubilation to fade as we realized we hadn't accomplished anything yet. We raced past the cheering crowds we'd seen earlier on TV, got out at a barrier along Canal Street, and started walking south where vehicles were not permitted.
No one questioned our presence. No one questioned our qualifications. We finally descended into ground zero and found a first aid tent. The food disappeared instantly into the hands of speechless, soot-covered faces.
The air burned my eyes, my nostrils, my throat. We received goggles, masks, bunny suits, and work gloves, then divided into roles loosely based on proposed future specialties: The ophthalmologist operated the eye wash station, the orthopedist looked for limbs to splint, the plastic surgeon tended to wounds and burns, the oncologist administered IV infusions, and, as the cardiologist, I evaluated first responders with chest pain and shortness of breath.
I'd never had an experience like that before. We were young, and most of us had always been students, never really having a role in society other than to study and take tests. This was an empowering moment to recognize I have some value in making things happen in the world.
Sometime in the afternoon, people collected over the rubble to listen to President George W. Bush's bullhorn speech. I couldn't make out everything, but I do recall him saying, "I can hear you," followed by an enormous cheer.
As it got dark, we found each other without cellphones. I don't remember how we got home, but I do remember seeing the sunset over the Hudson River and the smoke. I was so exhausted that by the time I got to my apartment, I threw my mask, goggles, and gloves into the corner of my bedroom and fell asleep.
When I look back on it now, I think about what it meant to reach out to the people who were there. I see it as a moment to show the next generation what you do when something like this happens. And I think about the bonds of students trusting each other to get in a van and go down there together.
Now, as a parent, I hope my kids will understand that, as they transition from children to young adults, it doesn't really take much to make an impact in the world—you just head out the door, and you do it.
A Team Effort
Dr. Singh's classmates revisit their memories of their group's contributions at ground zero—and the impressions that have stayed with them 25 years later.
Devinder Singh, MD, Chief, professor, and program director of plastic surgery at the University of Miami
I remember getting to the barrier at Canal Street, flashing the big Wendy's bags, and being let through. As we walked south, Manhattan was a ghost town, and ground zero was unbelievable—things on fire, cars overturned. Caring for first responders in first aid tents made me grateful for the training that Columbia provided us. Columbia and P&S are New York institutions, so we had to be part of the answer. We'd sweet-talked our way through the barricade with hamburgers in order to be there.
Now at each of the hallmark anniversaries—five, 10, 20 years—our same group of five students contacts each other. Just like our generation has less of a connection to Pearl Harbor, future generations may have less of a connection to 9/11, unless we honor these memories.
Brian Su, MD, Co-medical director of spine surgery at MarinHealth Medical Center
I still remember sweeping one or two inches of dust from the floor of a bank to set up a makeshift medical tent for survivors, but no one was found alive. After ground zero, I spent about a week volunteering at the morgue, helping to clean human remains so they could be identified. Whenever a fallen first responder was recovered, there would be a procession as they were brought to the morgue. Those moments are impossible to forget.
Experiencing 9/11 as a medical student was life-altering. We were still learning what it meant to care for people, and suddenly we were witnessing medicine, service, loss, and humanity on a scale none of us could have imagined. It taught me that being a physician is about much more than treating disease or performing surgery. Sometimes it simply means showing up and doing whatever is needed.
Melanie L. Hom, MD, CEO, EyeMD Laser & Surgery Center
Twenty-five years later, my memories of 9/11 and the days that followed—my classmates and I bringing food, getting the police ride to ground zero, helping out in the medical tent—are still as vivid as ever. We mostly helped with breathing treatments and eye washes due to the heavy ash and soot in the air. The images of destruction were unreal.
Jinesh Shah, MD, Clinical director at Advanced Radiation Centers of New York
Looking back on this 25th anniversary date, I vividly remember seeing the towers ablaze from CUIMC's sky bridge over Fort Washington Avenue. However, that indelible image is eclipsed by the memories I have of the CUIMC community and all New Yorkers coming together in the days, months, and years ahead to help their fellow New Yorkers in a spirit of courage, compassion, and eternal faith in the fundamental goodness of humanity.