Vol 94: The hour has come, part 2
In my last report, I told the story of my patient Whitney who, in September 2019, fought against unimaginable odds to survive as the winds and swiftly rising waters of Hurricane Dorian pummeled her home on Grand Bahama. The surge of water was so strong, so fast, so deadly that she and her neighbors were forced to escape without warning, walking against the winds and sharp stinging waters attacking them as they made their way to the nearest shelter, a church less than three blocks from where they lived.
Halfway there, the water was up to their chest. The rain blurred their vision and continued to beat upon them like clenched fists. Horrific as that may have been, it was the wind that inflicted the most havoc. It was so loud they couldn’t hear anything else and so strong it took every ounce of strength they had to move forward against it, one step at a time. At one point, it became so overwhelming that even as neighbors held on to each other with clasped elbows in a strand of human solidarity, the wall they formed was no match for what Dorian was dishing out. Whitney was pushed back. Her neighbors quickly saved her from drowning but not before she injured her right leg.
Unsure if she would make it through the night, this is the conclusion of Whitney’s breathtaking story.
A mere two hours had passed since she and her neighbors arrived at the shelter and Whitney’s health was already deteriorating. She felt weak and cold and her right leg throbbed incessantly. Beneath the soiled, wet, bandage encasing her wound, the entire area was red, tight and swollen. Fortunately, the bleeding had finally stopped, which was perilously delayed because at 52 years old, Whitney had battled with anemia since childhood. To keep her warm, her neighbor secured her a blanket and she used a portion of it to lay her head upon.
As the water continued to rise, the crowds of people within the shelter huddled together and those who couldn’t fit on the balcony assembled at the back of the church in search of higher ground. Whitney and her neighbors made their way to the church pulpit where they eventually slept. In the darkness, Whitney could feel the water rising and slowly swallowing the pulpit staircase.
The stairs that led to the church pulpit placed significant pressure on her hip and lower back. No position was comfortable so after a while Whitney sat up. Her legs and feet were already cramped and numb and the skin of her fingers were strikingly wrinkled. As the night progressed, the hymn recitals died down. The most deafening sound now was rain so heavy it mimicked bombs being dropped on the roof and was eclipsed only by the accompanying thunder. With no electricity, and all the windows blocked by plywood, the room was a near pitch black except for a few lanterns that struggled to cast their shadows. It was impossible to know what time it was but seconds felt like hours.
Whitney’s eyes still burned from the salt water but she thought nothing of that, the ache in her head or the pain in her hip and back. Her mind instead oscillated between worry for her family, her beloved dog who she couldn’t find and the intense throbbing in her leg. She prayed for everyone’s safety and that they would have a home to go back to when daylight broke in the morning. Fortunately, every storm runs out of rain and after 24 hours in the shelter, the rain stopped and the sun began to shine.
When the doors to the church were opened, and the cool fresh breeze blew in, Whitney wept out of relief that the nightmare of the storm was over. She was injured but alive and there was daylight after the darkness. She stepped down into the murky water and made her way outside with her neighbor gently guiding her steps towards the light of a new day. And while the intensity of the sun made her squint, the warmth of it hugged her softly. But as hope and reality collided, Whitney’s joy and all those around her became notably short-lived. The island was utterly destroyed and it looked as though everything as far as her eyes could see had been bombed to oblivion.
The land, once covered with coconut, sea grape and palm trees, was now bare but for the widespread litter of mountainous heaps of rubble. The site was so altered and unrecognizable that the crowds of people exiting the church shelter initially stood at a standstill, shocked at what they were seeing. The silence of that moment was short-lived. Within seconds, crowds of people were screaming and crying and the memories of that instant re-echoed in Whitney’s nightmares for almost a year. Although her home was still standing, she had no roof. Water had destroyed every possession she owned from floor to ceiling. The storm was over but the damage was unconscionable.
As she entered what had been her home, Whitney became overwhelmed with gratitude as her dog began barking repeatedly, twirling around in circles before jumping off the kitchen counter. Whitney pushed through water up to her knees, making her way to him as he paddled towards her, licking her face constantly and grabbing onto her neck for a tight unyielding embrace, letting go only to climb onto her shoulders. Not long after, Whitney’s daughter sent a message through a neighbor to check on her and let her know that she was okay.
Like the hospital, the airport was completely flooded and no flights could come in or out of Grand Bahama so Whitney had to come to Nassau by boat to seek treatment for her deeply infected ankle and leg wound. Had she waited any longer, she would have likely gone into septic shock and died. Fortunately, with a protracted course of oral antibiotics and six months of daily wound care, she recovered uneventfully.
While treating her wounds, Whitney often told me stories about the man who sat on top of a roof with his baby to escape the water that was entombing the inside of their home only to have his baby washed away to sea from a rampaging wave. Another young man, she tells me, used one hand to hold onto his elderly mother and another to grip a tree only to have that hand traumatically amputated by a flying piece of metal. Then there was her neighbor’s sister who was trapped in her attic with her newborn baby for two days and she had to perform CPR on him several times throughout the night as he went into shock from heat and dehydration.
These stories are plentiful and each one more heartbreaking than the next. That’s because Hurricane Dorian was the most catastrophic, category 5, hurricane that ever hit The Bahamas creating the worst natural disaster the country has ever faced. It first struck the island of Abaco on September 1, 2019 with maximum sustained winds peaking at a speed of 185 miles per hour. A day later, it struck Grand Bahama ultimately stalling over the island and unleashing massive winds, rainfall and a storm surge that flooded the community and decimated homes, leaving more than seventy thousand people homeless and over 3.4 billion dollars in damage. Close to 100 people died and nearly 250 others are still missing to this day; 250 people with names and dreams and loved ones who never got a chance to say goodbye.
Now four years later, homes have been rebuilt and despite the residual backdrop of tragedy, a sense of normalcy has returned to the island. Whitney’s take-home message to readers is that life is short and tomorrow is not promised to any man. So, in all things and at all times, you have to be thankful and remain humble. She also encourages everyone to stay prepared for every hurricane, no matter how subtle the threat and to get to know their neighbors because in times of need, they are your closest source of refuge.
When Whitney finally moved back into her home, she walked to her bedroom with an unclouded gaze, jumped into bed and stretched her body, rolling from one side to the next. It had been more than half a year since she was last able to do that. Now, every morning with an immeasurable amount of gratitude, she stretches and says a prayer of thanks. Thanks that when the hour had come and the ocean was literally at her doorstep she survived, stronger and more resilient.
Her home, though livable, requires much more work before it’s back to where it was before the storm and over the next year, she plans to repair her damages in incremental stages. But today, Whitney intends to rest. She’ll take her dog for a long walk, call to check in with her family and then spend the rest of her afternoon eating and laughing with her neighbors.
This is The KDK Report.
