Saturday, September 17, 2005

Katrina II

I'd suggest You read part one, Katrina, for the full story. I know they are long but I had to write it all.


After assisting in the evacuation of the hospital everyone relaxed. We ate what food we had left and talked in the NICU lounge. I went to my car, which was on the 4th floor of the parking garage, and got my guitar. I'd brought it with me because I figured I was going to need something to entertain myself wherever I evacuated to. It was too late to evacuate now though; our part of the city was under 6 or 7 feet of water. We had no air conditioning, no power, and no running water or sewage. We were trapped in a bare structure with nothing but each other and the comfort that at least the critical patients were safe.


While in the parking garage I looked over as much of the neighborhood as I could. I could only see some car roof tops. People were literally swimming to higher ground. They were using broken wood to help them float to safety. I stood there dry while people swam to whatever destination they were headed. They swam in dark, murky, polluted water. One could smell the stench of raw sewage, oil and other pollutants created a visible film on top of the water, helicopters hummed over us, heading in all directions, making this American city sound like a war zone in a third world country. At times I couldn't believe I was witnessing and being a part of all this, other times I wasn't surprised because I knew that it was just a matter of time before THE ONE, the perfect storm, hit us. It was just a matter of time before this city was left in ruin by the power of God.


I went back to the 6th floor where it was quiet. The lower floors, in particular the 2nd, were loud and crowded with patients, visitors, and people who had nowhere to go so they came to the hospital for refuge. Eventually the hospital was becoming overcrowded and they had to stop people from entering. I'd heard that one man brought his family and they didn't want to let them in because of the overcrowded-ness so he pulled a gun and threatened to shoot the person through the glass door if they didn't let them in. They let them in and they joined everyone on the 2nd floor. The stench that lurked on that floor was unbearable. It came from the carpet, wet from evacuees' drenched shoes and clothing; it came from the patients who couldn't be evacuated because their condition wasn't critical; it came from the sweat that dripped off everyone's bodies from the intense heat. The visitors and evacuees slept among this stench, they lived for days among it. I was fortunate to have access to a floor that didn't have drenched carpet and numerous bodies, living and dying. I reached the 6th floor with my guitar and sat down in a secluded spot, alone from all the NICU nurses, and I played my guitar. They heard me and I overheard compliments about my playing. I played just to bring me peace though; I needed to get my head clear. My thinking gears had been doing overtime during the evacuation and I needed to give them a break. I played while thinking of my two boys. Were they safe? Did my baby reach the hospital I'd been told or were he and a bunch of other babies just taken to any hospital, unregistered with only their safety in mind? Was my older son asking for me? Did he think I'd abandoned him because he hadn't seen me in some days? When would I see them again? I felt like this was the beginning of my family's break up: one son would go live in one state and I'd only get to see him certain times of the year and the other's fate was completely unknown. The only thing that mattered to me, my family, my two sons were far away from me and I knew nothing of their condition. Phone lines rarely worked, cell phones rarely worked, there was little to no form of communication.


Night fell and I was at a room in the corner of the hospital. The city was pitch black. I stared out of an open window into darkness, into nothingness... then I heard a machine gun fired off in the distance and some people screaming. Then it all went silent. I just went to sleep thinking of my sons, trying to figure out how I was going to see them. My mind never stopped thinking of ways to get my family back. In the middle of the night a phone call came through to the NICU and it was for me. It was my newborn's mom. She was trapped on the 2nd floor of her apartment with her 5 year old daughter, mother, and neighbors. I asked her how they were on food and water and she said fine. We spoke for a little while and assured each other that we'd be okay, although we didn't know how we'd get out of the city, how long we'd be stuck in our buildings, and how long what little food and water we had would last us.


The next morning I awoke and went and looked around the hospital to see if any of the nurses needed help with the remaining patients. It turned out the newborn babies that weren't part of the NICU were still there, being tended by the nurses. I stared at their tiny faces and helpless bodies, feeling sorry for them. Later on that day they'd be evacuated along with most of the other non-critical patients. Around mid-afternoon, they started evacuating the visitors and non-hospital personnel. The head nurse came to the two other NICU parents and me and told us to pack a bag, that we were leaving. I couldn't take my guitar because we couldn't bring too much baggage so I put it in the car of one of the nurses that had parked closer than me. I'd get it later... even if it was a month later. We were to be evacuated by air boat to the corner of Napoleon and St. Charles, where there was no flooding. We'd heard people were being taken to the west bank of the river and other shelters throughout the area. We were trying to avoid the Superdome because we'd heard rumors of rapes and a killing that had gone on there. If we could reach the Westbank, one of the NICU parents could get her sister to pick us up and take us to Baton Rouge to be reunited with our babies; now we had a plan. We said goodbye to the nurses. Some cried seeing us go. The head nurse gave me a tight hug with tears in her eyes, telling me she didn't know how she was going to make it now that I was leaving (she'd depended so much on me); her husband shook my hand tightly and thanked me for all the help. He reached in his wallet and gave me $60 in case I needed it in an emergency. I felt so close to all these people, I didn't want to leave them, but I had to. I had to get to my baby.


We went downstairs and walked past the patients that were unable to be evacuated. Their age was against them. They were elderly, unable to move and tend to themselves. I know what everyone was thinking as they walked past their old, dying bodies: their lives aren't as important; they've lived long enough. The nurses struggled to maintain their health but eventually they ran out of resources and there wasn't much they could do but keep them cool by fanning them by hand using folders and notebooks, and giving them as much water as they could. Eventually all of this work would go to nothing; 44 patients would be found dead at the hospital, this one hospital. With no electricity and a shortage in medication and an intense heat of over 100 degrees, those patients had no chance. Their age was against them, they'd lived long enough.


We got in line to be evacuated by air boat. We passed an historic part of the city. Most of the houses' first floor was covered in water, despite being elevated off the ground in their design. We reached Napoleon and St' Charles and I couldn't believe how dry it was there. Just about a mile down the road and it was bone dry. When we got there, it turned out no one had been evacuated yet. Later on we found out that the police had been requesting transportation for 5 hours but no one responded to their calls. Evacuation to the Westbank was just a rumor. There was no plan to get anyone anywhere. Everyone there, including the police, had been abandoned. Hundreds stood at that corner from all parts of Uptown and the hospital. The few police that were there were armed with machine guns and shotguns keeping order. Everyone was just sitting there waiting for an unknown savior. The other parents and I noticed we were low on water. We looked at the corner Rite Aide and noticed it was being looted. One of the parents and I went in to see if there was any water left. We found several bottles and a couple of gallons and took them. This was for survival. When we got back we looked around and gave water to some people that were in need and kept some for ourselves. The cops eventually lost faith in anyone assisting them in getting transportation so they went to surrounding schools and other businesses that had busses, broke into them, and hotwired them. The head cop decided to take everyone to the convention center. It was better than having everyone out on the street with no shelter. He was doing what he could with what he had. I have to give it to these cops, they really did what they could to get all of those people off the street. They spoke respectfully and kept everyone informed of everything.


Before the buses came I thought about my newborn's mom. She was still trapped at her apartment with her little girl. I couldn't leave her; she was my son's mom and still in a very fragile condition from the caesarian. I left my things with the other parents and went to ask some of the airboat pilots to help me get them. They refused because they needed to keep evacuating the hospital. I asked several people with boats and no one would help me. I'd assisted in the evacuation of a hospital and no one was helping me. I felt so abandoned, but I had to remain strong. I kept thinking what I was going to do. I even thought about swimming but how would I get them back? Eventually two men offered to help me. We went a few blocks into deep water and came up on her apartment. Her daughter was so excited to see me. She was screaming, "Papi's here and he's in a boat!!" Nobody believed her until they came to the balcony. It turned out there were about 10 people, mostly neighbors, in that one apartment. 5 of them were children around the age of 10 or 12. The boatmen asked me who they wanted me to get. I just told them I wanted the little girl and her mom, they could rescue whoever they wanted after that. We got my son's mom, her daughter, her mother, and two of her cousins out. That was all that could fit in the boat. They told the rest of the people that they'd be back. Along the way to St. Charles and Napoleon we ran into other people screaming to be saved. The boatmen said they'd return to help them. I can only imagine how many families were forgotten because of there being so many people to be rescued. Every corner that we turned there were more and more people trapped in houses begging to be rescued. There simply wasn't enough manpower to save them all. Who knows how they got out of their watered homes.


We got back to St. Charles and Napoleon and just waited. While there, some of the hospital staff that had evacuated told my newborn's mom how I'd participated in the evacuation. She and her family called me a hero... but I didn't feel like one; there were still others to be saved and we were still in a very dangerous position. I wasn't going to be able to relax until we were in a safe house.


The buses finally arrived and everyone crowded them. They took the elderly first, then everyone else. We didn't know how we were going to get in them if people kept crowding them. The other parents and I split up at this point. We had developed our own plans and had to part ways. I took everyone that was with me, my son's mom and her family, to a part where the crowd was thin. I figured our chances of getting on a bus were better there. We got close to the front of the line but I decided to go towards the middle to help a couple of elderly ladies on board. The cop that was loading the bus told me to get in front with my son's mom and her daughter because he wanted to keep families together. I thanked him and boarded with her and her family. By the time we got to the convention center it was dark, pitch black, just like the previous night. I looked around and saw the danger that could arise. There were people everywhere with very little security. The cops were outnumbered greatly. I couldn't have them there; it was just too volatile and dangerous. I sat for a minute and thought about how we could get to the Westbank. I then came up with a plan. I figured my aunt, who lives near me, had only taken one car when she evacuated. I could walk across the Mississippi Bridge to her house on the Westbank. I figure it was roughly 7 miles away. I could break into her house and see if there are any spare keys and take the truck. Then I could come back and take us to Baton Rouge. It was dangerous because it was dark and anything could happen to me but it was worth the risk. I didn't want to leave them alone but I felt like I had no choice. They couldn't make that journey, especially my son's mom in her condition. I was able to get a signal on my cell so I called my aunt who'd evacuated to Atlanta. I told her my plan and she told me that the truck was still at her house and where the spare keys were. I told my son's mom what I was going to do and that if I hadn't returned in 15 minutes, that meant that I'd started my walk to the Westbank. As soon as I started walking I decided to ask a cop if they'd let me into the Eastbank to pick up my family. He said he didn't know if there were any roadblocks into the Eastbank so I asked another cop. It turned out that the 2nd cop was a guy I used to work out with on base when I was in the military. He told me he'd give us a ride to a certain spot on the Westbank in a Uhaul truck and I could walk the rest of the way. I ran back and got my son's mom and her family and we hurried back to the Uhaul truck. We got in the back with 5 other cops and T, the cop I knew, pulled off. The minute we were leaving someone started shooting a gun. People were screaming, "Somebody's shootin'!!! Get over here!!! People are shootin!!" T stopped the truck and the 5 cops in the back, who were armed, told him to back the truck up. They were preparing to intercept the gunmen but then 2 cop cars drove to the area where someone was shooting. They decided to leave it to those units. We began our ride to the Westbank. While in the back of the truck the cops were angry, cursing up a storm because so many people expected so much out of them when they were outnumbered and abandoned themselves. They had their own homes and families to tend to. They asked me about my ordeal and I told them about the hospital evacuation. One cop even asked me if I was a "26", their code name for a cop. I told him that was just an engineer but that I'd been in the Marine Corps. Again I felt as if someone was seeing the leader in me. I almost feel arrogant in calling myself that but that's how people made me feel when they'd ask me who I was, what I did, and other questions that gave them insight into why I was doing so much. When we reached the Westbank, T got out and told me if I had a far way to go and if not he could get me closer. I told him where and he took me to where there were some Jefferson Parish cops. When we got out of the truck and started walking one JP cop, a tall Black man, told us to go back where we came from. I told them I lived nearby and he interrupted me and told me to turn around and go back. I told him I have a 5 year old and 2 ladies with me and we were near my home but he still interrupted and harshly told us to go back where we came from. The other cop, a short White man, looked like he was willing to listen and consider helping us but the other cop insisted that we leave because there was a curfew in place. He sounded like he didn't even care that we could get killed walking back into the darkness. T fortunately didn't drive off. He and 4 other cops got out and explained to the JP asshole cop our situation. He eventually said T could "escort" us back to my aunt's home. We all got back into the truck and T drove us near my aunt's house. We were about half a block away but a fallen tree blocked the road. I told T that I could hide the ladies and the girl behind a car parked in a driveway and I'd run and get the truck. He asked if I was sure and I told him yes. I hid the ladies and ran to my aunt's while T drove off into the caving darkness. I owe him so much for his help. With all the rush I barely got to thank him but if I ever see him again, I'll be sure to let him know that he saved our lives that night. I got to my aunt's house and punched in a small window that led to the bathroom. I squeezed in and ended up cutting my hand in the process but I didn't pay it any mind. I had to hurry and get my son's mom and her family. I found the keys where my aunt had placed them and drove out to get the family. I had to hurry because the cops could have given us a much harder time than they did earlier had they seen us out in the street. When we got in the house I could finally be a little at ease. My mind was still going a million miles a minute and my hands were shaking. I was still planning, trying to figure out how we could get to Baton Rouge on such little gas, trying to figure out a schedule for the following day. I couldn't stop thinking and planning. I had to keep thinking in order to keep my sanity. With everything that had happened, I couldn't relax. My nerves were completely shot. I couldn't get myself to believe that we were finally out of danger, we were safe now... we were finally safe.


The following day I'd finally calmed down; I'd gotten a good night's rest on a comfortable bed. We woke up and drove to my house. I found someone packing up some things in front of his house and I asked him about gasoline. He said there was a station open about 30 miles out. We went to my house, cleaned up, stocked up on supplies, rested, then left to fill up. We waited about an hour and a half in line to fill up. I was concerned about the station having enough gas but they did fortunately. We made our way out to Baton Rouge and went straight to see the baby. When we got to the hospital that they'd told me they were sending the NICU babies, they couldn't find my son's name anywhere. We started to get concerned. Had my fears of my son getting lost in all the rush come true? Eventually they found out that he was one of several babies transferred to another hospital not far away. We rushed to see him and there he was, safely asleep. The hell we had to go through to get to him. It was all worth it though.


It wasn't over yet though. There was still despair to endure. Fortunately it wasn't as bad as this episode though. More on that next blog.

[ TheSaga | 5:33 PM | ]