Hurricane, Heat, Hurt, & Confessions

Home...For How Long?

We are back home on the Westbank of New Orleans following Hurricane Gustav. Our parish re-opened for return at 6a.m. this morning. Filling up our vehicle's fuel tank to return from Baton Rouge was quite an ordeal. It is the norm for gasoline to be in short supply during these massive evacuations. Not only is everyone filling up vehicles to evacuate, many stock up on gas to fuel generators during the inevitable power outages. Finally, to seal the deal, the refineries supplying this area shut down operations and shipments to make their own hurricane preparations.

Because we departed the city in the very early hours of Saturday morning we were able to make it to our hurricane sanctuary in the normal amount of time. Once we fueled up, our return trip went almost as quickly until we reached a the merger of two Interstates that continue to NOLA. From that point our progress slowed a bit, but it never became unbearable.

What We Found

What we found on our return home was nothing like our return following Katrina, three years ago. The amount of damage, still not of the Katrina variety, was actually much worse in Baton Rouge and the parishes north and west of Metro New Orleans.

We first stopped to check on my mother-in-law's home. She had absolutely no damage, but her electricity had not yet been restored. We drove a couple of miles away to the home of her other daughter; one of the lucky 40% with electricity already restored.

Though very minimal, we found a bit of damage when we surveyed our own home. The list includes several pieces of siding removed and strewn in our yard, a section of gutter and fascia blown off; blades torn off the patio fan; our telephone line down; and several oranges blown from my wife's beloved tree. Our electricity had not been restored. Yet it appears that it had not been off for long because the ice an the freezer had not completely melted. Our first order of business after opening the windows to let the humid breeze in - dumping the contents and cleaning the fridge and freezer.

Short-Lived Indecision

Completing that chore and with darkness falling, we were faced with the decision to spend a third night in the SELA heat or spend the night with our daughter who had electricity and A/C. Actually, there were a couple of other places we could have spent the night as well. I took a nice cool shower in the dark while my wife sat in the car with the A/C on, re-charging the battery on her laptop. As I exited the dark shower I was blessed to hear the wonderful sound of our central A/C kicking on. Decision made.

Adventures in Baton Rouge

Again, we had arrived in BR in the wee hours of Saturday morning. I attempted several posts here on Gather, but lost every one. Thus, I simply gave up and went in to watch the news reports with the rest of the gang. The "gang" was much smaller (Thank God) than the crew that lived together for a month in the same quarters during and after Katrina.

All was well until the feeder bands began arriving late Sunday evening. There were quite a few medium and small limbs down in the yard by bed time, but nothing major. Early Monday morning I could hear the wind gusting outside. Both the wind and rain were more intense than the evening before. The wind remained stiff in between the intermittent heavier gusts and rains of the passing feeder bands or "tentacles" reaching out from the storm's center as it rotated counter-clockwise, approaching the Louisiana coast.

As most may know, the northeast quadrant of a hurricane is the most destructive and the least desirable location (except for very near the eye) at any point during a hurricane. As Gustav approached the evening before, we were located northwest and then north of the center of the storm. However, as it moved to the northwest, making landfall and moving inland, Baton Rouge was in the undesirable northeast.

Things began to deteriorate about midday on Monday. It was about the same time we lost power. As the day wore on I made an attempt to reduce my discomfort in the heat of the darkened home, I lay across the bed listening to rain lash against the window. Breaking my peace and quiet were two very loud and ominous thumps on the roof above me. For a split second I thought a large limb or perhaps the whole oak tree outside the window was coming through, but thankfully that was not the case. Several other very large limbs fell on and around the house during the day.

With no electricity, the only constant sound was the wind. Through the hours of watching the weather , we heard the explosions of failing transformers and the anxiety-provoking, buzz-like roar of electricity arcing as falling trees brought down transmission lines and service lines were jerked loose from houses by wildly whipping branches.

The Worst Was Not As Bad As It Could Have Been

By late afternoon on Monday, the heat was oppressive. Having no generator, we used an inverter in a pick-up truck powered by a diesel engine to power a fan and recharge cell phone batteries. Our host then received a telephone call from his frantic mother informing him that a large patch of shingles had blown off her home and water was "pouring" in. She asked him what she should do...which we both knew was to be translated as "get over here as fast as you can and do something or I will spend the rest of my days attempting to make you feel guilty." Coupled to this translation was a son who hasn't yet learned how to say "no" to his mother in those very rare instances when it is appropriate.

Not long after, we had loaded tarps, roofing tacks, hammers, ladder, towels, and dry t-shirts and were on our way to "mother's." As we drove slowly through the mostly deserted streets we skirted around trees and large pieces of debris in the roadway. The city's mayor had set an 8 pm curfew which, we thought, would give us plenty of time to drive over, take care of the work and arrive back home again before it began. Looking back, we would have had time to spare if everything had gone according to plan.

As we went up on the roof we were joined by my son and a fourth soul willing to attempt to put a tarp on a leaking roof in the middle of a tropical storm system. I had no qualms about the wind and rain. Most importantly, I had not seen any lightening up to that point.

On the roof we discovered more than a few shingles had been removed by the wind. In addition to the bald area where the water was "pouring" in, there were three other spots where large patches of shingles were missing. Being very careful, we successfully secured one very large tarp in place. Two held the tarp down in the whipping wind while two placed plenty of tacks.

Hustle and Hurt In a Hurricane

As we placed the two smaller tarps, the dark day grew darker as another feeder band moved over the area. Along with it came higher winds and harder rain. While on the roof my son told me that the weather reminded him of some of the lines in the movie "Forrest Gump" when the main character describes the different types of rain he encounters while in Vietnam. I smiled at the connection.

We struggled with the last tarp, which was very large and hard to handle in the gusting wind. My host and I tacked one end on the backside of the roof's ridge hoping it would hold until the larger side, which overlapped the ridge could be secured. In fading light, I banged down the last tacks on the back side of the ridge. My hurricane host, the son who couldn't say "no" stepped past me and straddled the ridge. Stepping over it to the front slope of the roof was his last step on the roof. Unfortunately, his foot did not come down on the shingled roof which was slippery enough in the rain. Instead, for reasons to be forever unknown, his foot came down on the edge of the wet vinyl tarp.

From my vantage point, I momentarily saw his arms flail in the air as I heard the thud of his body hit the roof. Once they were out of sight I could not see what happened . I don't know how long I listened, waiting to hear something from him or the extra helper who held the tarp on the other side of the ridge...Nothing... I could only hear the wind as darkness closed.

I started toward the ladder as I shouted above the wind to ask if he went off the edge. I heard an affirmative answer, the answer I already knew somehow, somewhere behind me.

I Can't Explain It...I Like It...I Hate It...How Can It Still Be...Will It Always Be?

The human mind is intricate and very sensitive. It has been well over a decade since I last responded to an emergency call as a firefighter for the city of Baton Rouge. That particular call was an "all hands" fire inside Exxon Refinery. My last emergency medical call was earlier that same day. At that time, my total identity was based upon my profession. The pain I felt when I was informed that I could no longer do that type of work was nearly unbearable. With such a loss it is easy to believe that death is not the worst outcome. But what does that have to do with someone else falling off a roof?

Through much hard work and countless tears I have, for the most part, grieved and overcome my overwhelming losses that began with the loss of my own sense of self then spiraled into a divorce which lowered me into a pit so deep that no light penetrated to the point I had fallen for months upon months. Nonetheless, there have been days since that time, and again on this stormy day, and I suppose there will be similar days to come, when I am instantly and seemingly without thought, reincarnated fully into that person that otherwise died so long ago. It is something that I cannot "force" to happen nor have I ever had any thought of attempting to stop it when it occurs. Just as it happened on previous occasions, when I heard the answer "yes," instinct and reflexes took over all control.

When I find myself in the midst of or nearby an "emergency" or crisis of some sort, since leaving the job, the same sort of reaction has occurred. In pondering these incidents and how amazingly true to form the reflexes and reactions remain, my best guess for the cause of, what to me is a "phenomena" of transformation, is the unending training combined with the fact that I, in a very unhealthy way, lived, ate, breathed, and without knowing based my entire self-worth on being a professional firefighter.

I Say "Phenomena," You Say...

As in such situations before, by the time I reached my friend who lay motionless, I went straight into action, purposeful, but not rushed. I began assessing his injuries, telling others, as they arrived, how to help and how not to...controlling the scene. I recall telling one person to call 911 and another to take "mother" elsewhere.

The eerie part, which leaves me trembling and reliving each of these events "after the fact," is that while "I" am totally focused on the task at hand, there is a small part of me that is split off and standing some distance away, observing. In a sense, "I" am objectively observing a scene before me in which "I" am an actor. As the "emergency" draws to a conclusion or passed on to others, the observer coalesces with the actor and leaves behind this trembling writer/social worker flooded with memories and holding a very mixed bag of feelings..

I could hear the sirens and air horns of the responding emergency units in the distance as I concluded my assessment and got face-to-face with my more than frightened friend and explained that there were no apparent injuries except for the ache on his right side and hip which did not greatly increase with pressure on the area. I also told him what to expect when the FD and EMS arrived. He would have to decide if he wanted to be transported to the ER by paramedics, by me, or not go at all. Shock, fear, and "mother's" concern decided in the end. He arrived back home a few hours later with a diagnosis of bruised ribs and hip and a bottle of happy pills that even helped him sleep in the miserable heat. The rain-soaked earth had absorbed much of the impact.

My feelings about, what I call "positive flashbacks" are summed up in the second-to-last subtitle above. During the past few years I have learned not to look too deeply into the "whys" and hows", but rather appreciatively accept that I have done my best to help someone.

After observing my intact home earlier today, I was thankful, but not relieved. Is the next evacuation a few days a way or is it next season, or ten years. Will the next storm only displace a few pieces of siding and gutters or will we once again return home to a flooded, moldy mess. I definitely need a fill-up on my "emotional" fuel tank. However, those are sometimes more difficult to locate than an open gas station in the midst of a massive hurricane evacuation.

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