I was asleep in my bed, having taken a sick day from my job at the medical intensive care unit of Mount Sinai Hospital; however, my rest was interrupted at about 9 a.m. by my fiancee, who was on duty at St. Vincent's Hospital on Manhattan's lower west side.

I cannot remember her exact words, but upon hearing the phrases "airplane crash" and "World Trade Center" from our telephone answering machine, I immediately jumped out of bed and switched on the television news. Almost simultaneously, I remember looking out of our bedroom window and wondering what she was talking about, as our back garden looked so pretty with all the flowering plants amid the sunshine.

Nonetheless, the reality of the situation was instantly revealed as I flipped through the television news channels, which all were carrying pictures of the first plane's impact into the World Trade Center. Having ran outside to see what was going on, I was really confused as I could not see any smoke nor hear any of the explosions from our 21st Street and Ninth Avenue apartment.

I returned to my apartment and sat down to watch the news, wincing in horror as the second passenger plane smashed into the other World Trade Center building. The telephone again rang and my fiancee confirmed that St. Vincent's was standing by to take casualties. She and her research colleagues were being moved to a makeshift clinical area as St. Vincent's emergency preparedness plan swung into action.

Unable to contact my parents in Scotland, I got ready to go into [work], as my manager had contacted me before the telephone lines got busy. I rode my bike onto 21st Street and Eighth Avenue to take my normal route to work, which was jam-packed with slow-moving traffic and pedestrians trying to leave Manhattan.

Nevertheless, as everyone was so calm and orderly in the aftermath of the disaster, I arrived at work shortly after 11 a.m. Security was strict and Mount Sinai had its emergency preparedness plan firmly in place.

The ICU had transferred half of its patients into the general hospital population and a full complement of medical, nursing and technical staff was standing by, while the ER had closed its doors to other admissions and cleared out its emergency areas to take casualties.

Throughout the next few hours, everyone was glued to the television, anxiously awaiting any news of survivors but sadly, none was forthcoming.

At about 5 p.m., I managed to speak again with my fiancee, who confirmed that St. Vincent's had been busy with eye and smoke inhalation injuries; however, there had been very few life-threatening injuries and the feeling was of an enormous death toll.

I got some rest and worked overnight in the ICU, as many staff were unable to come into Manhattan; bridges and tunnels were closed by the city government, effectively sealing the city. However, [that] night was quiet in our unit as we kept vigil hoping for any signs of survivors reported by the television news, and as I left for home there was still no good news.

As I rode through the city, I felt nauseated and depressed by the scale of this diabolical act that had rendered the city unbelievably quiet, save for the convoys of rescue personnel from outside New York.