August 29, 2005.
A day that is forever etched in my memory. No August 29 has passed since 2005 that I have not shed a few (or many) tears. It's a day that jars memories that I have long pushed back into the depths of my mind, and a day that causes me to hug my husband and children more often than usual.
The summer of 2005 was absolutely perfect. My husband and I were in our first few months of marriage, having a picture-perfect small family wedding in April of that year and then moving to New Orleans the week after our extravagant honeymoon. We made our home on the campus of New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary in the Upper Ninth Ward of the city. It was a tiny home, and measuring at just over 600 square feet, we laughed about how we could go from "complete mess" to "perfectly clean" in 15 minutes or less. Everything in our meager home was given to us at our spring wedding, and we enjoyed making it our own space.
We loved exploring the city of New Orleans together. Our adventures included exploring traditional cajun food, enjoying jazz concerts, admiring the architecture, meeting new friends and navigating a new city. I had immediately been offered a job at Children's Hospital of New Orleans and was learning was being a nurse in America meant. We found a church that welcomed us warmly and had plans to get involved in the coming weeks.
Prior to our wedding, we had spent two years in Africa. I was a nurse and served in Lesotho, and he rode mountain bikes across the country of Zambia. We had met at a children's camp in Johannesburg, South Africa and the second year of our two-year terms emailing, chatting over AOL Instant Messenger (anyone remember that service?), and the occasional expensive international phone call.
Our return to America in October of 2004 was particularly difficult for me. I don't always adapt well to major changes, and this was the ultimate test. In less than twelve months, I left a country I loved dearly, moved back to America, planned a wedding, landed my first job in the USA as an RN, left that job, got married, and moved to New Orleans - where neither my husband nor I had any family. I thought that was enough change for one year. Little did I know that it was just the beginning.
Just a week after my husband's first week of class at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, we were made aware of a hurricane that was headed towards Florida. We knew living in New Orleans would accompany the risk of a major hurricane, but my husband (a native to Orlando, Florida) was not worried in the least. He'd been through countless major hurricanes in his life and assured me the likelihood and severity would not be what I thought. However, this time it was different.
Ten years ago this week, the world watched in absolute amazement as Hurricane Katrina hit Florida, and then strengthened in the Gulf of Mexico, and later attacked the Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama coastline.
Being a new nurse and "low man on the totem pole" on my job, I was called in to work. So, I took all of our prized possessions, our favorite wedding gifts, and sentimental items and moved them from our first-floor tiny apartment to the hallway of the third floor apartments. I knew there was a chance they would be gone, but I knew that would surely be destroyed on the first floor. I called family, friends, and my hometown pastor who all prayed for God to spare the city, protect our lives, and deliver us to safety.
On Sunday, August 28, 2005, my husband and I (and my brother-in-law, who happened to be visiting for the weekend), drove a 1980-something Buick to Children's Hospital of New Orleans and prepared to stay for an indefinite time. I packed all of the scrubs I owned, some toiletries, and as much non-perishable food as I could carry.
And we waited. We made ourselves comfortable in one of the unoccupied patient rooms of the fifth floor, and watched as the janitorial and maintenance staff boarded windows. I met with my nurse manager who reviewed all possible scenarios. We prayed, we talked to family, and we waited.
Monday morning, I started a nursing shift at 7 am, just like usual - only it wasn't usual at all. We had a dozen or more patients on our floor, all with one, two, three or more family members who were there for the long haul. The majority of these patients were a higher acuity than usual for our unit, as the doctors had discharged anyone who could be remotely stable outside of the hospital. They wanted to get as many people as possible out of the city.
Sometime during the mid-morning hours on that Monday shift, we felt the storm hit. Being on the fifth floor, the building shook. I remember charting (this was back when we had paper charts) and feeling dizzy. When I looked up, we were swaying.
The movements stopped after a short while, and I remember going to the nurses' conference room to look out the window. It was the only window that wasn't boarded shut, and from that window the Superdome was in clear view. I saw the roof severely damaged and knew it would likely get worse before it got better. I knew that although the hurricane had passed, the storm was just beginning.
The hours and days that followed are a bit of blur in my memory, and I've chosen to keep it that way. I remember sitting with a co-worker when she got the phone call that her grandmother had drowned. I watched my supervisor frantically try to find her teenage children and breathe a sigh of relief when she was notified that they were rescued to safety. I cried with another co-worker who could not locate her husband for hours upon hours, and rejoiced when he called later that week.
We had minimal media coverage inside the hospital. All of the generator power was used for patient care and maintaining computers. There was one TV set up in the lobby, and I walked by it once and just stared. I had no idea the severity of the city until several days later.
I remember hearing of a few medical residents going out in a canoe to rescue a child at another local hospital who needed emergent pediatric care. I remember families trying to decide who would stay with the sick child and who would go with the other children, and watching them say goodbye in the hospital lobby. I remember the nursing administration bringing all of the candy from the gift shop and showering the nurses station with enough goodies to make Willie Wonka smile. I remember begging my husband to find me a Diet Coke, and then learning he paid $5 or more for it. I remember seeing a news station show our I-10 exit, Louisa Street, being used as a boat ramp.
I can't remember the exact day of our evacuation, but I remember the circumstances. I believe it was Thursday morning after the storm, but it may have been Friday, or possibly even Saturday. After all the patients had been evacuated and transferred to other children's hospitals across the country, all remaining hospital staff slept in front of the elevators. Well, we didn't really sleep. We were keenly aware that we were in a violent city, and we needed to leave ASAP. We rose before dawn, and gathered in the first floor lobby. A SWAT team charged in, gave us very direct and bold instructions on how to drive out of the city, and we left.
I didn't see much of the city as we left. My husband was driving, and we were told to keep our heads down if we didn't need to see the road. As the sun rose and we escaped, a new fear emerged. We had no food, only a bit of gas in the car, and minimal cell phone coverage. But we had our lives, and we were very grateful.
In the days and weeks that followed, an outpouring of love came over us. We were blessed beyond measure by the individuals who, without prompting, brought us a second wedding gift. Countless bags of clothes, household goods, food, and basic toiletries were given to us. We lacked for nothing.
Our apartment had flooded, and 90% of its contents were gone. We were able to retrieve the items I had moved to the third floor, and some things we had in attic storage. But other than a quick two-hour trip to claim what was left of our belongings, we've never been back to New Orleans. I've haven't seen the hospital since, nor have I seen my co-workers who weathered this storm with me.
A week or so after the storm, Casting Crown's song, "Praise You In The Storm" was released. Although it was not written for those affected by Katrina, it was timely. The second part of the first verse is my favorite, because it so eloquently articulates my thoughts while we were in the hospital, especially before there was an end in sight.
As the thunder rollsI barely hear Your whisper through the rain"I'm with you"And as Your mercy fallsI raise my hands and praise the God who givesAnd takes away
So many times throughout this journey - both in the hospital, during our escape, and in our rebuilding - I heard the Lord sweetly whisper to me, "I'm with you."
I wrote this entire story to share with you that He's been so faithful, so present, and so overwhelmingly good to me in the last ten years. And He will be that to you, too. He is with you.
For years, I've wanted to share my story, but haven't had the courage or emotional stamina to write it out until now. I know that so many lost lives and even more material possessions than I in Hurricane Katrina, and my heart still aches for you, even ten years later.
So no matter your storm, your tragedy, or your hurricane right now, know that there is One who is whispering to you, "I'm with you."
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