by Jenni Ogden
“Good work, you.” I almost cheered, but thought I’d better keep it to a grin. The show isn’t over ’til the fat lady sings. “We’d better get Janet’s chart and her MRIs together. They’ll need everything; they mightn’t have MRI or radiography facilities available at short notice. No other aneurysms were evident when they did the angiogram, so it’s almost certain to have been a re-bleed of the anterior communicating artery aneurysm.”
“Lordy, I hope she’s all right.” Pauline sighed. “She’s so young. It seems so unfair.”
“If she’s OK during the chopper ride and they can operate soon, somewhere, she’ll have a good chance.” I mentally crossed my fingers and toes.
“Oh, and the doctor up there said you will have to go with her. They can’t risk her going without a specialist, and they haven’t seen any ambulance choppers yet today. She’ll probably have to be evacuated in a military chopper and they don’t even have paramedics on them.”
“Curses. There’s a lot more to do here. But I guess she’s right. I wonder if I’ll be able to return on the helicopter?”
“I asked her that and she said you’d have to play it by ear. Apparently the choppers don’t know what hospital they’re going to next, so you might end up somewhere else. If I were you I’d stay with Janet wherever she ends up; we’ll probably finish evacuating everyone here today anyway. Patrick and I can manage the rest of the patients.”
I looked along the corridor at the remaining few beds. “You’re right. Surely there’ll be a major evacuation effort today. Stork thought they’d be getting a lot of people out by boat as well.” My gaze caught Lara, sitting by Barry, an overweight middle-aged man who’d been recovering from a heart valve replacement when Katrina hit. He was one of the healthiest patients in our care, and as a consequence would be one of the last to go, along with the sickest patients, the ones with ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ on their charts. Two of those had already died. “Cross fingers the helicopter will take Lara as well. Stork and Marcie have enough on their plates without having to look out for her as well.”
“They’re big helicopters,” Pauline said. “They’ll squash her in somehow. Do you need to go back to Stork’s office to get anything? Your toothbrush? I can get Janet’s charts together and Patrick should be here soon.”
“I’ve got my handbag here,” I said. “I don’t think we’ll bother wading over to the Park Plaza right now to collect our suitcases. Goodness knows if we’ll ever see those again.” I hit my forehead with my fist. “Damn it, our passports are locked in the safe in our hotel bedroom. I should have thought to get them when we were on our rescue mission.”
I went over and tapped Lara on her shoulder. Barry managed a smile, his face white and sweating. “This girl of yours knows more about N’Orleans jazz than I do, and I was born here.”
“She doesn’t know much about anything else though. Lara, I need to go with Janet when they evacuate her, so you have to come too. We’re booked on the next helicopter out.” I smiled back at Barry. “You should be getting out too, sometime today.” I hope.
With the massive fuel tanks under water, most of the generators had now run out of fuel, plunging the hospital into darkness and halting the remaining elevators. Getting Janet down to the second floor via the stairwells was going to be a serious mission. Fortunately Patrick had arrived, and after a quick discussion we decided we would leave Pauline in charge of the remaining patients. Patrick, Brad, Lara and I would take turns carrying Janet’s stretcher from the sixth floor up to the roof, five flights of stairs, rather than using yesterday’s route, which had relied on taking the now defunct elevator down to the second floor to access the crawl-hole into the parking garage. The two of us not on stretcher duty would light the way through the dark, sweltering, stinking stairwells, carrying the baby and Janet’s important charts and MRI scans.
I left a note for Stork with the nurse, said goodbye to the staff who were still slogging their guts out, and hugged Pauline. We’d become friends, real friends. I took a last look at the ICU corridor. So familiar. I felt a crazy affection for it and for this old hospital. Would it be scrapped, like the Do Not Resuscitate patients? The tears I held back weren’t only tears of relief; they were tears of thanks as well; gratitude for a nightmare that had reminded me how much I loved working with patients, and not with their files.
Most of the refugees remaining in the hospital were now down on the second floor, waiting to be evacuated by boat from the ER ramp, or transported by truck up to the helipad. So the stairwells were almost free of people, but the smell of fear was everywhere. It was fifty minutes before we finally puffed up the steel stairs to the catwalk. The mood there was despairing and the heat almost unbearable. Twenty or so patients sat quietly on chairs and boxes, or on the filthy ground, their eyes closed. Most of the sickest had been evacuated the day before, but there were still some dialysis patients waiting. Without dialysis for four or more days they were growing weaker and more lethargic with every long minute. Two porters were moving people aside as they smashed in the remaining Plexiglas windows, allowing a small breeze to waft through the confined space.
Patrick shook Lara’s hand and then extended his hand to me. “Good luck, Georgia. I can’t thank you enough for all the help you’ve given us. We couldn’t have saved as many people without your expertise, especially the neurosurgery patients.” He glanced at Janet, nursing her baby.
“I’m glad I could help. It seems wrong to be leaving when there’s still so much to do; I feel like a deserter.” I reached up and kissed him on his stubbly cheek, and he straightened a little. “I can’t begin to tell you what it has meant to me, being part of your team. It’s me who should be thanking you. If you ever get to London, or want a job there, I hope you’ll let me know. We could do with staff like you, and Pauline too. Please tell her goodbye and thank her; she’s been phenomenal, and June too.” I sniffed, and managed a shaky smile. “I’m going to miss you all so much; I feel as if I’ve known you for years.”
As Patrick disappeared down the steel steps, I wove through the queue to the front of the catwalk and onto the helipad. Spotting a woman who appeared to be in charge, I explained about the urgent need to evacuate Janet, Brad, the baby and Lara and I. The woman was clearly doing an amazing job in spite of her obvious fatigue and the hot and dusty conditions on the helipad. How on earth she’d managed to keep everyone calm and focused so that the evacuation could proceed safely I couldn’t imagine. And now here she was, giving me the warmest smile, as if nothing was wrong, or could possibly go wrong.
“Good, I’ve been expecting you. Your nice young resident told me all about your mother with the brain hemorrhage. Poor mom and poor baby. What an entry into the world.” She sighed, genuine sympathy in her eyes, in spite of the tragedy all around her. Then she continued, her voice measured.
“Get your patient and her family and your daughter to the front of the catwalk, and I’ll put you on the next chopper that has room to take you. Unfortunately the Arcadian Air Ambulance doesn’t seem to be evacuating from here today, and in order to make the airspace over N’Orleans safer, our smart government has stopped all private helicopters from helping out in the evacuation.” She grimaced and looked to the heavens. “So now we’re relying mainly on military choppers, and so far only two have arrived, so I don’t know how long you’ll have to wait for one that can take a stretcher.”
I made a quick decision. “Janet can manage in an ordinary seat if we can carry her aboard. Apart from a Foley catheter from her emergency caesarean on Saturday night she hasn’t any other tubes and bits of equipment attached to her. And the father can carry the infant—she’s absolutely fine. A right little cutie.”
“That’s great. Hopefully you can get to the Thibodaux Regional Medical Center—it’s an acute care hospital with neurosurgery facilities, and only about sixty miles from here. It seems to have been spared any serious damage from Katrina.”
With the help of a nurse on duty in the catwalk, w
e made our way to the front of the queue. A couple of people glared at us as we pushed past, but most seemed to realize that Janet was sicker than they were, and that the newborn infant needed to get out.
Ninety minutes later a military helicopter hovered above us and decided to land. The nurse and I somehow managed to push, pull and carry Janet up the narrow steps into the chopper, followed by Lara, then Brad with the baby. Janet’s charts and scans were shoved in after us. A dialysis patient squashed into the remaining seat and the door closed, dulling the noise of the whirring blades. Lara grabbed my hand as we lifted straight up into the sky, hurtling our stomachs into our mouths. Far beneath, the brave Memorial staff waved from the helipad, and, below us, as far as the eye could see, rolled a sea of horror.
Chapter 21
The chopper circled once before heading southwest, away from the drowning city. To the north I could see Lake Pontchartrain, now seemingly extended south and east in a great sweep of filthy water to join the Mississippi. Ol’ Muddy was truly muddy now. The French Quarter sat on the edge of the lake, but City Park and the Fair Grounds were completely under water. Tall buildings poked out everywhere, and I could see tiny figures on top of some of them. To the east the roofs of the houses of the Ninth Ward seemed to float in the lake, surrounded by all manner of boats and debris.
I twisted in my seat as I felt a tap on my shoulder. The co-pilot was holding out his headset, indicating that I should put it on. Settling it over my ears I adjusted the mouthpiece.
“I’m trying to contact Thibodaux Regional,” the pilot said. “If I can get them, you’ll need to explain about your patients and see if they have room for them. Good luck.”
“OK, thanks,” I shouted into my mouthpiece, hardly able to hear myself over the noise of the chopper. The crackling in my headphones became a man’s voice identifying himself as the Thibodaux Regional Medical Center Air Evacuation Control Officer. Was this important-sounding title a recent invention or permanent? The latter alternative suggested that the hospital was well prepared for mass evacuations like this. The pilot was introducing me as the doctor in charge.
“Hullo. I’m Georgia Grayson. We have a young woman and her four-day-old infant in the chopper. The woman suffered a subarachnoid hemorrhage during labor and her baby was delivered by caesarean section. The aneurysm re-bled this morning before it could be clipped, so she urgently requires neurosurgery because of the risk of it bleeding again. She’s stable now, but we need to get her on land as soon as possible. The infant is full-term and healthy. Over.”
“Good grief, that sounds bad,” said the Air Evacuation Control Officer, sounding reassuringly human. “We’re full up, and I doubt you’ll be able to get a neurosurgeon here to operate. Where else have you tried? Over.”
“You’re it, I think,” I yelled. “We need to get her down. Can we at least bring her there until we can find a hospital that can operate? Over.”
“Who am I to deny her a chance? What is one more, and how much room can an infant take up anyway? I’ll blame you if I get into trouble. Over.”
“Thanks. And we also have a patient who hasn’t had dialysis for four days. Over.”
“Bring them all; we’ll fit them in somehow. We’ll meet you with wheelchairs at the helipad. Or do you need stretchers? Over.”
“One stretcher for Janet, please, and a wheelchair. Over.”
“Right-o. Anything else? Over.”
“No, that’s it for now. Over.” I wanted to whoop.
“OK, doc. Over and out.” The crackling stopped as the headset went dead.
Giving the co-pilot the thumbs up I handed back the headset and repeated the gesture for the benefit of the other passengers. Brad had one arm around Janet, and was cradling the baby in his other. Poor guy. What a way to learn about fatherhood. Janet had on a pair of non-functional headphones to protect her aching head from the noise. She had fed her baby just before the helicopter arrived and the infant was fast asleep, blissfully oblivious to the drama around her.
I indicated to Brad that I could take the child to give him a break, and he handed her over carefully before stretching his arm in relief. Holding the warm body wrapped in a still-whitish shawl, I gazed at the innocent face. Her rosebud mouth was making sucking motions and I could see her eyes move under her closed, almost transparent eyelids. So tiny. My heart fluttered and without thinking I bent and kissed her downy forehead. I had a sudden flashback—holding my own new babies, feeling that total surrender to them. I turned and smiled at Lara, and she touched the infant’s cheek.
“I wonder what life will bring you, sweet little Maybelle Katrina,” I murmured, under the noise of the helicopter. “All good things, I hope. You’ve had enough drama already to last a lifetime.”
Below us now was a storm-battered, watery landscape, but no longer an infinite lake. I could see a town ahead, and to our south stretched the marshy swamp country bordering the Gulf of Mexico. Even from this distance the enormous waves that still pounded the Gulf were evident. Minutes later the helicopter was circling the hospital, and then we were on the helipad.
“Thanks, Duncan.” I shook the hand of a large black man with a big smile. Lara and I had been taken to see the Air Evacuation Control Officer while the hospital staff admitted Janet, her baby, and the dialysis patient.
“No problem, doc. We can treat the dialysis patient here, but I’m not sure about your aneurysm lady. After I talked to you on the radio I got hold of Donald Matheson—he’s a neurosurgery resident—and he told me that he and Karen Jenkins, the only neurosurgery attending in the hospital, are already overloaded with a list of acutes; mainly traumas that are still being evacuated here. When Katrina hit we were already low on neurosurgeons—two were in New York at a conference and one had left for Houston for the weekend. Until they can get back, Donald and Karen are it.”
“Thank you for taking them in, anyway. Janet really shouldn’t have been flying and I wanted to get her into an Intensive Care Unit as fast as possible. If we can keep her still and quiet, she’ll hopefully stabilize and not bleed again until we can get her somewhere where she can have the surgery. Or perhaps when things settle down a bit here your neurosurgeons will be able to operate?”
“We’ll do everything we can to help,” boomed Duncan. “And the pair of you look as if you could use a shower.”
“With actual hot water?” Lara said.
Duncan nodded and grinned at her.
“That would be bliss. Any chance we could borrow some clean scrubs?” I asked.
“I can do better than that. This whole town has been billeting evacuees, and we have a heap of folk willing to help.” Duncan picked up a wad of paper from his cluttered desk and scanned a list of names. “Tell you what, you two and the young woman’s husband can stay at Cheryl and Louie Ryan’s place. They’re good friends of mine and they haven’t got any billets yet. They’ve got two spare bedrooms and they don’t live far from here. Cheryl’s about the same build as you guys, so I bet you can get some high-fashion rags from her.” Duncan winked at Lara. “I’ll give them a call and before you know it, you’ll be smelling like roses again.”
“It sounds like heaven. I’ll see if Brad’s ready to leave his family for a while.” I rubbed the dry, itchy skin on my arm, the sensation of hot, clean water sliding over it impossible to imagine. “I don’t know if it would be possible, but is there any chance I could use a phone to call my husband in London? I haven’t been able to contact him since Sunday and he’ll be frantic with worry. My mobile is still dead.”
“Lordie, he will be worried. Use my secretary’s phone. You might have a bit of trouble with an international call; the system is overloaded and a lot of our lines are down. But give it a go.”
Duncan’s secretary managed to connect me to London and disappeared out the door, telling us she was desperate for a cup of coffee. Lara collapsed on a chair, her face pale with exhaustion. Thank goodness Adam couldn’t see her like this.
But it was Finbar wh
o answered on the second ring. “Hullo?” he said, his dear voice bringing me to instant tears. “Hullo? It’s Finbar here.” He sounded upset.
“Finnie darling, it’s me. It’s Mum.”
“Mum?” I could hear his shaky intake of air and some little squeaks and hiccups as he tried to say something.
“It’s all OK sweetheart. We’re fine; Lara and I are both fine.”
“We thought you might be… might be drowned. Dad has been trying and trying to find out where you are and no-one would tell him.”
“Finbar, is that Georgia?” I heard Adam’s voice getting louder as he came closer. Then Lara pulled the phone off me. “Finnie, it’s me. We’re still in America but we’re out of New Orleans and we truly are perfectly OK. There were no phones working or anything working and this is the first time we’ve been able to call you. Finnie, don’t cry, it’s all right, we’ll be home soon.” She was sobbing so much I could hardly make out her words.
“Dad, Dad, I’m sorry we couldn’t phone you before but we can now and we have so much crazy stuff to tell you.” She turned to me. I was hanging onto her arm, straining to hear Adam’s voice. “Here’s Mum,” she said and pushed the phone, wet with her tears, into my hand.
“Adam?” I managed, before I choked up.
“I’d almost given up. I thought we’d lost you both.” I heard his shaky intake of breath and then silence as we both struggled to compose ourselves.
“Are you sure you’re all right? Where are you?” he said, his voice trembling.
“We’re good, love. We’re fine. This is the first time we’ve been able to get a phone connection out. We’ve just been evacuated to Thibodaux; it’s about sixty miles inland from New Orleans, and has escaped most of the damage and flooding. We were evacuated from Memorial Hospital by helicopter to a hospital here.”