On Jan. 8, 2025, my cell phone rang. The screen showed my doctor’s office.
“Christina, we received all your tests back. You have cancer. Uterine cancer.”
My stomach dropped. Oh Lord. A full hysterectomy followed in March, followed by another procedure two months later. Afterward came some good news: it was Stage 1. I would need monitoring, but it had been caught early.
Relief gave way to questions. Why had I developed this cancer?
The answer came when I received a letter stating my cancer was certified as 9/11-related. The diagnosis transported me back to a morning I’ve never been able to leave behind.
On Sept. 11, 2001, my husband and I were living six blocks from the World Trade Center. We evacuated to Battery Park after watching the second plane hit the South Tower from our terrace. There, we found ourselves enveloped by the dust and debris when the towers collapsed. Our dog licked the dust from his fur, as animals do, landing him at the vet for a week.
When we returned home, the reminders continued. Every morning we’d wake to find a thin layer of dust covering surfaces throughout our home. Even though I stuffed washcloths at the bottom of our windows facing The Pile, it would still somehow find its way in.
The dust was a constant. So were the consequences.
It’s estimated that hundreds of thousands of people were exposed to the toxic mixture released when the towers collapsed, including those who labored on the pile as well as people who lived, worked, and went to school near it.
With certified 9/11 cancer, I became eligible for medical care through the World Trade Center Health Program and compensation through the Victim Compensation Fund. As I learned through the documentary “Dust: The Lingering Legacy of 9/11” and John Feal’s new memoir “I Will Follow You Anywhere,” these programs exist only because everyday people fought for decades to create and preserve them.
I read about the Daily News writers who helped expose the illnesses affecting responders, earning them a Pulitzer Prize. I heard about Dr. Paul Lioy who was among the first to document what was in the dust, Ken Feinberg, who oversaw the first Victim Compensation Fund, and Michael Barasch, who fought to get his firefighter clients into it. And then there was John Feal.
Feal spent six days working at Ground Zero after the attacks before an 8,000-pound steel beam crushed his foot. During his recovery, he discovered that responders were becoming sick from inhaling toxins at the pile, yet weren’t being recognized or supported. Worse, they were going bankrupt over their medical care. Feal was determined to do something about it.
Feal and activists such as Jon Stewart traveled to Capitol Hill to meet with lawmakers and fought for legislation that would provide the care the government had promised. They endured decades of frustration and rejection, but were able to secure funding so people like me have somewhere to turn. That battle continues today, since the Trump administration has rolled back some of those hard-won gains.
That unfinished fight will be part of this year’s anniversary, too. For the first time, a seventh bell will toll in honor of those who have died from 9/11-related illnesses. I’ll hear it from the Memorial Glade, where the aftermath of Sept. 11 is remembered — and where I know I belong.
Twenty-five years later, I know what “Never Forget” means to me: remembering those we lost and honoring the people who understood that 9/11 didn’t end on 9/11.
I’m eternally grateful to all of them.
Ray Stanton is the author of “Out of the Shadow of 9/11.”