Opinion: I’m a thoracic surgeon in New York City. For many of my patients, Sept. 11 is still not over

The piece opens with retired New York City police officer John Aris in the author's office awaiting CT scan results. Seven years earlier, the surgeon had removed part of Aris's right lung because of cancer, and every follow-up appointment since had carried the same anxiety. Before even closing the exam room door, the surgeon told him, "No cancer." Aris let out a long breath and settled back into his chair. As always, they lingered and talked about life, politics, and family.

The surgeon then asked Aris about the new moment of silence planned for Friday's 25th anniversary ceremony at the World Trade Center. It will honor those who died not on Sept. 11, 2001, but in the years that followed from illnesses linked to their exposure at ground zero. Aris's smile faded; he stared ahead, his voice cracked, and he spoke about the people he had lost—not those killed when the towers fell, but those who died years later. He remembered construction workers, firefighters, and police officers who stood shoulder to shoulder with him for months amid choking dust, burning debris, and twisted steel, and the smell that lingered as they worked. Many went home, at least at first. Then, years later, the funerals began. One friend developed esophageal cancer, another died from leukemia, and another succumbed to a respiratory illness. The phone calls never seemed to stop; every year brought another diagnosis and another funeral. Beside him sat his wife of 44 years, Kathleen, who had lived through every loss with him; each obituary reopened a wound that had never completely healed. The surgeon realized they had spent most of the visit talking not about Aris's cancer—which could have been related to his ground zero exposure, though they cannot say for sure—but about everyone else's.

Later that afternoon, the surgeon saw another patient, retired firefighter William Corrar, whom he had operated on for esophageal cancer. Like many responders, Corrar spent months working at ground zero after the attacks. For years he dismissed worsening reflux as simply getting older before learning it was cancer.

Sept. 11 is personal for the author, too. On the morning of the attacks, he was already a thoracic surgeon at Memorial Sloan Kettering in New York, operating on a patient suffering from cancer caused by asbestos exposure when he heard what had happened. All remaining cases were canceled, so he got on his bike and rode downtown to see if he could help. There was surprisingly little for a surgeon to do: the people who could escape the towers largely walked away, and so many who could not were simply gone. He had ridden downtown expecting to help care for the injured; instead, like so many New Yorkers that day, he was left trying to comprehend what had just happened. His connection to the World Trade Center went back much further, and he notes he is a native—the excerpt ends there. The essay's larger point is that for many of his patients, Sept. 11 is still not over.