by Jenni Ogden
I looked down again at my most precious patient. “Take care now, and I’ll try and follow you up when everything has settled down here. If your son is able to contact us we’ll make sure he looks for you at Lafayette first.”
“And you take care too, doctor. Thank you, and God bless,” she called, as she was lifted into the chopper.
Holding hands, Lara and I watched as it rose in the air and circled once before whirring off into the black sky. Below we could see fires burning randomly around the flooded city. The numerous choppers that had been flying above New Orleans all day, rescuing people stranded on the tops of buildings and evacuating other hospitals as well as ours, had vanished from the sky, taking their racket with them. The air was bereft of the normal tropical noises that made the nights here so enchanting. No cicadas chirping or owls hooting. No cars on the streets, no music in the French Quarter, no voices raised in laughter as lovers wandered hand-in-hand by Old Muddy. As the tired staff on the roof dispersed, desperate for food and sleep, the eerie silence was broken only by a lone gunshot.
Desperate for a toilet, we picked our way through sweaty bodies lying restless and miserable in the dark corridors and stairwells. Where are the ladies loos when you need them? We pushed through the door of the nearest men’s bathroom, and I tasted bile as I was confronted by the putrid smell of an open sewer. Holding our hands over our faces, we stepped gingerly through the urine and vomit splattered around the waterless urinal. Retching, we peered into the toilet cubicles, their floors swimming with loose excrement. Selecting a toilet that was slightly less full, I squatted over the disgusting bowl, trying not to let it touch my clammy thighs.
In the ICU corridor my nose twitched gratefully as it smelled the faint sanitized hospital odor. I took in a great gulp of air and grabbing some antiseptic wipes from the dispenser, passed some to Lara. We scrubbed our hands and faces, then wiped the bottoms of our already damp and filthy booties. June was on night duty again, and Lara perched on the corner of her desk as I collapsed on the chair beside it.
“Gosh, you two look worse than I feel.” June’s eyes were black holes in her dark face. “You’d better get yourselves mattresses somewhere and have a bit of shut-eye. Tomorrow will be here all too soon, and it’ll all start again.”
I rubbed my gritty eyes. “You’re right. We’re absolutely whacked. Everyone seems blessedly peaceful here though.”
“Yes, now all those noisy ventilators have gone. You’ve done well to get the critical patients evacuated.”
“Is there anyone you want me to see before we go?”
“No, I don’t think so. Although your subarachnoid hemorrhage lady was a bit upset before. Janet, isn’t it? She wasn’t feeling too good, but I think she’s just frightened that she and her baby mightn’t be able to get out. I gave her a sleeping pill.”
I groaned. “Poor woman. What a time to have a hemorrhage. I thought about getting her evacuated today, but she was stable, and I was concerned about the stress of getting her up to the helipad in this heat, and then the helicopter flight with that aneurysm not clipped yet. Perhaps we’ll be able to evacuate her by boat tomorrow.”
“Where will she go?” Lara asked. “She needs to go somewhere she can have her surgery soon, doesn’t she?”
“That would be best, but goodness knows where. All the hospitals near here are chock-a-block, and I don’t suppose there are many neurosurgeons with free space on their operating lists.”
“Couldn’t you do it if you went with her to some hospital that still has a working operating theater?” June said.
My stomach knotted. “I probably shouldn’t even be doing this general medical stuff. I do have a Massachusetts’s license from a stint of guest teaching I do every year in Boston, but as far as I’m aware that doesn’t permit me to work here. Certainly not to operate.”
“Surely it’s OK in this crisis,” June argued. “Given the bloody mess the city’s in, I can’t imagine anyone would care who does what. Although Nagin and Blanco and bloody Bush are all so wrapped up in their petty rules and regulations and keeping control of their own little empires, I wouldn’t be surprised if they allowed a young woman with a new baby die rather than allow a top neurosurgeon from England operate.”
My eyebrows rose. “Heavens, June, where did that all come from?”
“From the reports that have been coming through today. Sixty thousand folk are holed up in the Superdome without any real chance of being evacuated any time soon, and people are dying there. There are looters and shootings and heaven knows what, and no one at the top seems to know what to do. It’s criminal.” She banged her fist down on her desk, angry tears gushing from her eyes.
“Hey, it will be OK.” I got out of my chair and put my arm around her. June turned and burrowed into my breasts, her shoulders shaking. “What will become of our beautiful city?” she whispered, as I rubbed her back.
“Nothing will ever sink New Orleans. She’ll come through this horror and be even stronger than before.” Even as the placatory words come out of my mouth, I knew I was talking bullshit. It was hard to see how any city could recover from this—especially one built in such a crazy place.
June sat back and blew her nose loudly. “Sorry about that; I’m so tired and worried. My family has lived here for generations. For us, there’s nowhere else.”
“Oh June, that’s terrible. Is your family safe, do you know?” Lara asked.
“I pray they are. Our house is in the Ninth Ward, and that has been completely submerged as far as I can work out. Thomas and our three kids went to the Superdome on Sunday, when I came here.” Her tears were starting again. “I haven’t heard from them since we parted, and with all that’s going on at the Superdome, I’m so frightened.”
“I know, I know. I can’t imagine how scared you must be feeling,” I said. “And here you are being strong for everyone else. But you’ve got to hang on to the thought that they’ll be fine. How about I stay here tonight and you try and get some rest? I’ll take Lara back to Stork’s office first and be right back.”
“You’re a honey, and thank you. But I had a nap this afternoon, and anyway I’d rather be here with something to do than lying about thinking.” She straightened her back and flashed her white smile at us. “Off you go. You need some shut-eye so you can evacuate the rest of our patients tomorrow.”
Swallowing the ball of whatever was stuck in my throat—tears perhaps for June, loneliness for Adam and Finbar—I grabbed Lara’s hand and we stumbled like zombies through the maze of corridors, stairwells, and catwalks to Stork’s office. I heard Lara’s stomach grumble. Gawd, we can’t possibly be hungry. The stench was enough to put a blowfly off food. Now my stomach rumbled. Yep, we’re just a touch peckish. In Stork’s office, there on his desk were two granola bars, two oranges and a large bottle of beautiful crystal clear water. Lara read out his note. “Sleep well, angels. Tomorrow the sun will shine again and we’ll all get out of here. xxx.”
The phone on Stork’s desk was still dead. What I’d give to hear Adam's voice. But there seemed no chance of that until we somehow got out of New Orleans. Adam must be out of his mind with worry. My parents too, if he’s told them.
Lara was already on her mattress and I dropped heavily onto mine. Alone with my thoughts at last, my emotions almost overwhelmed me—the desperate scenes I’d witnessed today, Lara’s face when Savannah kissed her, Adam and Finnie, probably glued to the terrible news as it was repeated endlessly on the BBC. Rolling onto my stomach, I let my tears soak quietly into my pillow.
Chapter 20
We were woken at eight by Stork, dressed in crumpled scrubs with theater clogs on his feet. A few days of stubble and a generous black eye made him look even more gaunt than usual.
“What’s the situation in Memorial today, do you know?”
“I’ve just come from the early morning crisis meeting. The lower floors are under water and the floods outside are up to eight feet deep. Apparently the water hasn’t r
eached the first floor. That’s where the ER is, so they’re going to try and evacuate by boat from the ER ramp, as well as by chopper. Goodness knows where to. But the hospital is desperate. We’re running out of food and water, and the chapel is stashed high with bodies. The bathrooms are overflowing and a major health hazard. We’re praying that the National Guard will start evacuating us today.”
Lara groaned and opened bleary eyes.
“Hi gorgeous,” Stork said, as she sat up. “Ain’t this a fabulous mother-daughter experience? Some folk pay good money for this sort of adrenalin buzz. Are you ready for another day of bonding?”
“Bloody right I am.”
“Lara, language,” I said. “Just because you got covered in oil yesterday doesn’t mean it is OK to swear like a mechanic.”
“Says you who never swears. I’m going for a pee.”
“How is your lot?” I asked, as she disappeared.
Stork rocked his hand back and forth. “Better this morning but both the kids woke up with nightmares last night.”
“Heavens, I’m not surprised. But they’ve got the best parents. They’ll come through it once you’re out of this horrific situation.”
“They will. And we’re the lucky ones. Those poor bastards still in the hotel, and in the Superdome...” Stork screwed up his face and was silent for a moment. Then he seemed to pull himself together, and when he spoke his voice was thick with anger. “And the Ninth Ward has really taken a hammering; there’ll be a huge loss of life. Someone’s going to swing for this.”
Pauline met us as soon as we entered the ICU corridor, a worried expression on her drawn face.
“Georgia, thank goodness you’re here. We didn’t know how to get hold of you. None of our pagers are working, so we couldn’t even page Stork.”
“What’s the problem?”
“It’s Janet McKenzie. We think she’s had another bleed.”
“What makes you think that?” I saw the screen around her bed.
“She had a sudden severe headache about thirty minutes ago, and became drowsy and confused, but she responds to her name and seems to know she’s in hospital. She keeps asking for her baby.”
I turned to Lara, who had insisted on volunteering her services again. “Can you ask Betsy, the nurse on the desk over there, if there is anything you can do to help out?” I could see she was on the verge of asking if she could follow me, and I shook my head. “You can’t tag along when I’m with patients I’m afraid. But you could probably keep some of the other patients company; the ones who don’t have any family with them. Check with Betsy first though.”
“OK. I hope Janet’s going to be all right.” Her face was screwed up with worry.
“Me too. I’ll catch up with you later. Please don’t overdo it though. If you start to feel tired, can you find your way back to Stork’s office?”
She nodded and trotted obediently over to the nurses’ desk, and Pauline and I made our way to Janet’s bed.
“Is her husband here?” I asked.
“No, we don’t know how to get hold of him. But he’ll be here soon, I’m sure. He’ll bring the baby in for feeding.”
I moved around the screen, nodding to Angela, the nurse by Janet’s bed. Janet was lying on her back, whimpering, a wet towel over her eyes.
“Hullo Janet,” I said, touching her gently on the hand. “It’s Dr. Grayson. I hear you had another bad headache and you’re not well again.”
Janet’s whimpering turned to sobs and she turned on her side, away from me.
I moved around the bed and squatted down. “I’ll give you something to help with the pain in a minute, but I want to check you over first. Is that OK?”
Janet’s sobs hiccupped to a stop. “Where’s my baby?” she whispered. “I want Brad. Where is he?”
“Your baby is fine and Brad will be here with her very soon. Now I’m going to take this cloth from over your eyes.”
“My eyes hurt, it’s so bright,” she sobbed, keeping them closed and covering them with her hand.
“I know. Let’s turn you over on your back, and then try and open your eyes for me, just for a minute.”
Janet complied, and taking the torch Pauline handed me, I quickly checked her pupils. Her eyes immediately closed again.
“Janet, can you tell me where you are?” I said, speaking loudly.
No response.
“Janet, open your eyes and tell me where you are,” I said again, my voice firm.
Janet’s eyes opened. “Baptist hospital,” she whispered.
“That’s what all the locals still call Memorial,” Angela said.
“That’s good, Janet. Now tell me what day it is.”
“I don’t know. Sunday I think.”
“Can you remember what happened in New Orleans?” I asked, as Janet’s eyelids flickered and closed.
“It’s flooded,” Janet whispered. The tears trickled from beneath her tightly shut eyes.
“Do you remember why it flooded?”
“I think we had a hurricane.”
“That’s right. But it’s over now. Can you tell me what the hurricane was called?”
Janet was silent, except for her quiet sobs.
“The hurricane had a girl’s name. Do you remember what it was?” I persisted.
“No, I don’t know,” Janet whimpered.
“It was Katrina. Do you remember now?”
“Yes—I don’t know. I have such a dreadful headache, I can’t think.”
“You’re doing well, Janet. I’ll give you something for your headache in a minute. Do you remember how you were feeling before the headache?”
“No. I just remember it happening like it did before. I was feeling all right, just lying here waiting for my baby, when I was bashed on the head with a sledgehammer again. I thought the ceiling must have fallen in and hit me. It’s so bad. Please give me something to stop it.” Janet was crying in earnest now.
“Pauline will sort that out right away.” I nodded to Pauline. “Now I need to check you over to make sure everything is OK. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
I completed my neurological exam and the Glasgow Coma Scale in record time, and helped Janet sit up so she could swallow the pain-relief pills Pauline had managed to find. Janet began to retch and Angela quickly shoved a bowl under her chin, catching most of the vomit that exploded from her mouth. As the nurse wiped her pale, sweaty face and helped her to lie down again, Pauline and I moved away from the bed.
“She’s got no focal signs and her Glasgow Coma Score is thirteen.” I kept my voice low. “We need to get her to a hospital where she can have that aneurysm clipped. She’s had a lucky escape with this second bleed, but if she has another one her chances of surviving are slim.”
“Where can she go?” Pauline seemed about to burst into tears. “She’s just had her first baby. We can’t let her die after she’s got through all this.”
“We’ll get her out of here, one way or another. Can you go up to the helipad and find a doctor who has some authority? Explain that Janet must get to a hospital with a viable neurosurgery theater as soon as possible, and she’ll need an Air Ambulance.”
“OK, I’ll go right now.” Determination replaced her momentary lapse into despair.
I returned to Janet’s bed, and, taking the cloth the nurse had been soaking in a bowl of cold water, squeezed it out and laid it back over Janet’s eyes.
“I don’t want to die. Who will look after my baby?” Janet’s voice was blurred with pain.
“I know you feel bad but you’re not going to die. You’ve had another little hemorrhage, but you’re doing well. We’re trying to organize air transport to a hospital as soon as possible, so we can get you sorted out.”
“But where’s Brad? What about my baby?”
“If he doesn’t arrive in the next fifteen minutes I’ll get someone to go and find him. He’s probably with your baby. Have you decided what you’re naming her yet?” I wanted to take her mind off her
more pressing problems.
“I think so. We were going to call her Maybelle after my mother, but Brad thought we should call her after the hurricane. What was it again?”
“Katrina,” I reminded her.
“Oh, yes. Do you think we should call her Katrina?”
I saw Janet’s mouth curl up a little at the corners, and smiled at her. “She has certainly earned that name.”
“What’s happened? What’s the matter?” Brad sounded scared as he appeared around the screen. Handing his baby to the nurse, he knelt on the floor beside Janet’s bed. “Honey, are you OK?”
“I think so,” Janet croaked. “Where’s our baby? Is she all right? I’ve had another awful headache.” The words tumbled out. She pulled the cloth from her eyes and squinted at Brad.
“Our baby’s right here, and she’s fine. But what’s happened to you?” Brad glanced across at me.
“I’m afraid her aneurysm has bled again, but she’s doing quite well and we’re going to try and get her to a hospital outside New Orleans today so she can have the aneurysm sealed off. Then she’ll be safer.”
The baby had begun to mewl. The nurse rocked and hushed her to no avail.
“Can I feed her?” begged Janet.
“OK. The nurse can help you; I want you to keep lying flat and as quiet as possible. If you start to feel worse you must stop feeding straight away. The baby can always have a bottle until you’re well enough to breastfeed her again.”
I nodded at Angela, and the nurse laid the child across her mother’s chest.
“I’m going to see what arrangements we can make to get you out of here. Brad, if you need to ask me anything, I’ll be at the desk.”
“But I can’t leave without Brad and my baby,” Janet wailed.
“I’ll do my best to get all three of you out together. Now you stop worrying and leave it to us. Your job is to stay quiet and nurse that hungry little girl.”
Pauline was back thirty minutes later, looking somewhat happier. “The doctor in charge on the helipad was lovely. She said to get Janet up there as soon as possible and they’ll put her on the next chopper. Brad and the baby too. She doesn’t know when one will come though; they have to take what they can get. Once they’re in the air they’ll have to go to the nearest hospital that can take her.”