The untold story of Katrina, a medic's perspective

DAY 1 of DOOM
"A Plunge into Chaos."
Sunday, my weekend to work, and the eve of a nightmare. Margaret Orr was on TV, 24 hr live coverage (the BITCH!), going on about hurricane Katrina reaching epic size and power. The morning was dark, humid, and foreboding as I put on my uniform and associated badges. I got up early to give myself time to board up the windows on my home. Outside, the crickets were screeching while punctuated by an occasional toad as I hurried to lift the plywood into place. The lofty pines that surrounded my house were swaying in the tropical breeze, only a hint of what was coming, while I perspired in earnest. My two mutts scurried around me sniffing the air with apprehension and psychic anxiety. My wife had taken our little chihuahua with her up to Jackson, MS where the rest of my in-laws were evacuating to. I, of course, had been activated for Katrina and would be stationed in New Orleans for its totality. The hotels where she was evacuating to wouldn't take my big dogs or my two inside cats so they would have to make do, and at the time, I thought they would be OK. I lived in Pearlington, MS - a small town located at the LA/MS state line on hwy 90 in Hancock county.

(Location of Pearlington, MS - Official landfall of hurricane Katrina in MS)

My home was built in 1948 and had seen many, many hurricanes, and we never had to worry about flooding. The house was 8' above sea level and 5 miles from the nearest bayou or river. Made of cinder blocks, that were reinforced with re bar and concrete, it was a humble home for me for over 20 years. It sat on 1 acre of land that was landscaped with a summer garden and lots of concrete statuary that I had personally made myself. I inherited it from my mother back in 1999. I am happy that she didn't have to live to see what was coming. Surely, I thought to myself while boarding up the windows, that the dogs and cats would be OK since the home had been through Camille in 69' (hitting not more then 15 miles from the house) without flooding. I figured that a direct impact by Katrina would put maybe 2' of water in the house, though to be honest it was anyone's guess, and the cats could get up on the many bookshelves that filled the rooms. My heart weighs heavily at my mistake. I had taken the measure to put my photo's and other personal treasures on high shelves too, surely I thought I was just being extra safe. It took longer then expected to board up all the windows and make a safe room for the dogs and I was running late to get to work. My commute to New Orleans ran 45 Min's, but traffic would be nil as most had already evacuated...or so I thought. I was civil service for the NOHD (New Orleans Health Dept) or New Orleans EMS and showing up on time was mandatory. I scrambled to take one last look at my cats, the dogs, and all my belongings...wondering if I had taken enough precautionary measures before jumping in my brand new Nissan Titan that my wife and I had proudly bought a few months back. We had saved for months for a good down payment. PS...I wasn't PO aware at the time. My gut tugged at my soul warning me that enough precautions had not been taken. The radio, all stations, was blaring warnings to get out now! What could I do? Katrina had blown up so quickly and had originally been forcasted to go towards Florida. Damn, I wished my wife had taken all the pets anyway and made the best of it. Sigh, the dogs wagged their tails and crawled into the boarded safe room after sniffing the nervous wind. They knew...I'm sure of it. My truck was packed with 3 days worth of food, gear, and my disaster kit - required of all paramedics that work for the city. I said a prayer and headed to the city of sin. Like I expected the roads were clear of traffic, but the ones that were out on the road were speeding like they were in Nascar trials. I was almost driven off the road by one. After crossing the lake, Lake Pontchartrain, on the twinspans the winds began picking up and pushing my big Titan truck back and forth making it hard to stay within the lanes. I passed through a little sprinkle of rain once I got to New Orleans East. When I finally arrived at work, moss st near the canal and next to the NOPD, the director and operations manager were calling everyone for a meeting. The other paramedics and EMT's were loitering at their trucks in the slight glow of dash lights and diesel exhaust. The old national guard hanger, our headquarters, was lit up by spotlights and state authorities. After a few minutes we gather together into a large circle, about 60 of us to hear what Dr. Juliet Saussey (Director of EMS) and Mark Reis (Operations manager) had to say. Dr. Juliet seemed deeply worried while Mark took the lead in speaking. We were instructed to transport the critical injured or sick to select hospitals, but we were to direct people calling for an ambulance to be evacuated to city numbers for further direction. Given our limited resources, about 20 ambulances, we were expecting to be swamped with calls. The list of hospitals on diversion was handed out, and we were instructed to relocate our personal vehicles to the New Orleans center next to the Superdome. This was done in case flooding became an issue. However, no-one, at the time, was thinking the levies would break. Before dawn even broke on the crimson colored horizon ("sailors take warning") we began receiving calls by people to transport their love ones, many of whom were disabled, to the local hospitals...a big no-no since the hospitals were already near capacity and were not to be used as shelter. Apparently, the mayor and news channels hadn't got that point across to some of the idiots that live in this city. However, in defense of many of them, they were in very poor communities where family's didn't even have a car. For generations, they had taken the bus or streetcar to work, so relocating for many wasn't a viable option. Most lacked the money too, except perhaps the drug dealers who were all out roaming the empty streets in their pimped up hot rods decorated with all manner of gleaming chrome rims. The communities that I speak of were located in the 9th ward, mid city, Algiers, and parts of NO east. The same areas where we find today most of the daily shootings. First call was a family in the 9th ward that wanted their 90 y/o grandmother taken to Charity for shelter. She was in the back room on oxygen, a history COPD, and Alzheimer's. Calls were holding while I explained what the city officials wanted from their citizens which was to get out anyway they could. We couldn't help them since our limited resources were required to transport the injured and sick to the hospital, not as an evacuation but to be evaluated and treated. Here's the problem though, what were these people going to do? They didn't have a vehicle, they didn't have money to temporarily relocate, and didn't have anyone that could help them. I felt like dirt leaving them, but what could I do? Her neighbors were outside with their kids playing and laughing, oblivious to the coming calamity. Most had no clue how bad a category 5 hurricane would be, since most had never lived through one. The calls kept rolling in while we listened to the city announcements under the loud wail of the siren. People soon figured out what we were doing and started making up complaints to fool us into transporting them to the hospitals. Before noon all the area hospitals were full and on complete diversion. Too busy to get lunch, not that anything was still open, we responded to a man down on Broad st. As we pulled up a black male with one leg was sitting in a wheelchair outside a two story studio apartment. He said that he had difficulty breathing and wanted to go to Charity. Four other individuals were loitering near him, which turned out to be some of his family. He had no apparent dyspnea (shortness of breath), lung sounds were clear, and his pulse ox was 99%. After checking him out he quickly confessed that he just wanted shelter at Charity hospital. Vainly, I tried to explain that Charity was full and overloaded with Pt's, all of which were crammed against 100 year old tiled walls blocking the hallways, and the last thing he wanted to do was to go there. I strongly encouraged him to get out of the city and to higher ground, but as was the story with most, he lacked the financial resources to do so. His son suggested we help get him to the second story of the apartment to stay above any potential flooding. The calls were building even more on the radio as the dispatcher pleaded with us to get free and respond to a chest pain in uptown. My partner and I grabbed his wheelchair and summoned all of our strength, he was good 250lbs, heaved him up two flights of stairs to a small stuffy room filled with half a dozen other wheelchair and bedbound individuals. The a/c wasn't working and cockroaches were crawling up the walls around them. Worried and anxious eyes stared at us while we rolled him to a free corner. Dispatch, at this point, was demanding we get clear to respond to a pedestrian on Canal st that had been hit by a car. Saying a little prayer for them we ran down the stairs to the truck while the man's brother angrily cursed us for not giving a damn about "n$#%$%s!" Down on Canal st. we pulled up to man, the local bum we had come to know very well, who had been run over by a large cargo truck. The smelly man was yelling in pain. His lower extremities were caught under the front wheel axle and all the mutilated tissue was wrapped around and around. "Crap, how was I going to get him free without killing him." A large pool of blood was spread out on the pavement and running towards the street gutter. He was already pale and diaphoretic (cold and sweaty) with a weak distal pulse. NOFD showed up with extrication gear while we started large bore Iv's of Lactate Ringers to support his BP. 30 min's later we pulled him free after the jaws of life were used and various cutters and torches. Wasn't much left of his lower legs, just a mixed heap of bone, sinew, and flesh. He wasn't really responding at this point as he slipped deeper into profound hypotensive shock. We were a short distance from Charity which was the local level 1 trauma center. We rushed him there having to intubate him en route. Charity had a special room for trauma called "room 4" which was used solely for trauma team activations. The surgeons were there at our doors after pulling up the steep ramp to their entrance. A large crowd of squatters trying to escape the hurricane threat hung out on the ramp despite the security guards protests. Rushing him to the trauma room we gave report to the chief surgeon and the medical students attacked the case with their usual fervor. I was covered in sweat and the dispatcher was already calling on the radio to hurry and get clear. They requested that we dismiss the usual protocol of paperwork and get clear for another call. I looked around at Charity's hallways, the human sweat and misery, the smells, and the anxious fear hung heavy in the corridors. Hurricane Katrina was intensifying rapidly and looked monstrous on the satellite. It had the biggest meanest eye I had ever seen in a hurricane. The weather people were giving dire warnings and just about begged everyone to evacuate. My adrenaline was pumping just thinking of what it would be like to ride this thing out. Some people found it exciting and there were many that exhibited exuberance at their plans to remain. Groups of people were out on Canal st. patronizing the few diners still open, were standing around smoking cigs and drinking, while jovially planning to do a little post Katrina looting. Police cars rushed opposite us on calls, and the FD running perpendicular through the traffic lights, it was madness.

(EMS working hard pre-Katrina)
The sky's began to darken towards the afternoon taking on an eery pattern of swirling eddies and deep blues. Strong gusts bent the tree tops over and shook the ambulance while crossing the high rise, a well known span of the interstate crossing over into New Orleans East. Exhausted we pressed on with call after call, juggling real emergencies and welfare players attempting to seek shelter. A long line of people formed outside the superdome when the Mayor opened it up as a shelter of last resort. Before this announcement, it was only to be used for the severely disabled, vent dependent, and mentally disabled children, etc. The storm was now so powerful and menacing, any and all shelter was now recommended...anything would be better then the streets or the small rickety homes known as shotguns. My last call was a elderly women on the second floor of the projects, a collection of two story brick enclaves built after WWII that now served predominantly the African American community. She was lying in a pool of her own urine. Inside the apartment it was stiflingly hot, full of bugs, and reeked of rot. She pleaded that we take her to the hospital to escape the threat of Katrina. It was pitiful. Her children were downstairs next to a pimped out car, they were the local area drug dealers, and they joked about us trying to help her. I came downstairs and pleaded with them to help their mother get to the northshore and to high ground. The tall one with dreadlocks and pants down to his knee's standing half cocked with one hand on his buckle holding them up said: "Shoooud, fuck that mother fucker, we be here for the storm, dog." I'm pretty sure some of them had guns so I didn't pressed the matter. I toyed my mini 45 lying in my right BTU pocket for the feeling protection it gave me. I came back up to the women and openly rebelled at the dispatcher's continued efforts to get us to leave and go to our safe zones to store up the ambulance. I lied and told dispatch we were on the way, but instead snatch the lady up and took her to the Superdome, it had to be better then this shit hole: Lafitte housing projects. We had her over at the dome in under 10 mins, long before dispatch grew suspicious. Wishing the happy and grateful women the best of luck, we raced back to moss st headquarters for further instructions. The sky was now quite ominous and the winds held a steady gale.

(Superdome pre-Katrina)

The director and Mark were back at headquarters to give further instructions to the returning paramedics. Morbid fear and dread was written on their faces. (Megadoom is the paramedic tipping his cap...."ah shit," I was thinking.)They separated us into three divisions: 1) would go to the NO east Bellsouth building (5 stories high), 2) two ambulances would stay at the Superdome, and 3) the bulk of the paramedics would stay at the LSU dental school next to interstate 610 - a 6 store concrete building that served as a virtual bunker, or so we thought. Most of the ambulances were moved to the overpass by the dental school to escape any potential flooding. The game plan, as the directors described it, was for us to ride out the storm at these locations and then follow with rescues and transport after the storm. The degree of flooding was not known or whether the levies would hold. Dr. Juliet's last word was "May God bring us through this alive...." The morbid portent wasn't missed by the paramedics. We all began calling our family and loved ones to wish them well and promised them that we had been placed in a safe location to make it through the storm. We didn't know whether we had or not. I was part of the group that went to the LSU dental school. We gathered around in the crew quarters while Daryl, the supervisor, handed out a set of NOEMS T-shirts to wear since our uniforms were now soiled and sweaty from working all day. Power loss was expected so having t-shirts to wear would help us deal with the heat. It was certainly better than wearing the stupid nylon uniforms (they were black too!). My good friend "Mad Dog" (Raymond Mandola - half Indian/half Italian sporting lots of tattoos) decided to ride out the storm at Moss st because Dr. Juliet was refused to let his pet dog "Nico" come to the dental school. Nico was a pit bull and the doc was worried about the potential for injury with all the family's and PD that would be riding it out with us at the school. Mad Dog's friend, a marine, decided to stay with him back at Moss st, at least he wouldn't be alone. Mad dog got his nickname because 5 years prior he had jumped off the Chalmette Paris road bridge, a frightening height - I think 200' or more, on a argumentative dare from his former partner. The fall broke his neck. Mad dog was a marine and a fierce fighter, not scared of anything, plus he was going through a divorce and financial ruin so at the time he didn't care. He amazingly survived the plunge, and then followed that with papers to certify his insanity. He could always be counted on if your were in a bind, and I can tell you, that's the person you'd want at your side in a dicey situation. I wished him the best of luck and jumped aboard the ambulance headed to the dental school. The eve of Katrina fell into a dark scary night full of anxiety and dread. (LSU dental school)