Hurricane Dorian: Staying Focused as the Storm Moves In

As Hurricane Dorian moves through the Atlantic Ocean towards the United States and the Florida peninsula, there is no respite or escape from the constant barrage of news updates and suggestions being offered on TV, radio, print news, internet news outlets and social media.  The fierce image of the tightly curled storm is displayed everywhere.

I have been through quite a few storms starting in 1979 when the builders in our unfinished community loaned us plywood to board up our windows with concrete anchors ruining our exterior stucco finishes forever. Fourteen hours of work with a saw and hammer and screw drivers and I was too exhausted to notice the storm gracefully curled out to sea sparing us.

For Hurricane Andrew we had no shutters or knowledge, just luck. Masking tape was on the windows since no one had shutters.  A few pillows and pool floats were over the windows in the room we were closest to as we slept on the tile in a window free hall. Post-storm I volunteered to provide medical care in Dade County and was in a Ford Van that was broadsided at a Kendall intersection killing two in the other vehicle that ran what used to be a stop sign.  The impact sent our van tumbling over and over until we ended up right side up in someone’s driveway with our seat belted volunteer medical crew mercifully just frightened and sore.

Then there was the year that, as the storm passed and a curfew was in effect, we went to bed as it got dark with the power out and the windows open. The dogs started howling and there was loud knocking on the door.  I grabbed a flashlight and baseball bat and was greeted by a police officer at the door looking for “Dr. Reznick”.   ““They need you in the ER.“ he said.   “How can that be?  We have a coverage arrangement and no one is supposed to be called during the storm or immediately after?”

The poor officer told me the new administration had cancelled the plan and called into FEMA and was given a military reserve medical unit to cover the hospital.  “You are the first doc I have been able to find on my list of 20. Don’t worry about the curfew. If they stop you just show your hospital ID or driver’s license.  You’re good to go.”

I got dressed as did my wife and we threw the dogs into the car and headed for the hospital.  Every streetlight was out. Trees were down. Traffic signals were not working so each intersection was a treacherous four way stop sign situation.

As I turned onto Meadows Road my headlights lit up a big tree across the road and, off to the side, a roadblock with two military personnel in full battle gear signaling me to stop and roll down my window.  I showed my hospital ID and they told me I needed hospital ID for my passenger to proceed.  I told them it was my wife and she and the dogs would wait in the doctor’s lounge while I attended to the ER patient.

He said they were not permitted to accompany me to enter the facility area.   I told him to step aside or shoot us or get run over but I was going forward which I did. An MP met me at the entrance to the doctors’ lounge and, in language not repeatable in mixed company, I told him what he and his CO could do.  They backed off.

When I got to the ER I learned that one of my ocean front condo commando patients, who refused to heed the evacuation order, took the elevator down from the 18th floor to the lobby to view the storm. The power went out as he toured his lobby and he was trapped there.  He called 911 and was rescued by first responders and brought to the hospital because they had nowhere else to deposit him. Turns out he was constipated so they called me in to admit him.  I handled the administrative duties, told the new administrator what I thought of his decision to suspend our decade’s long program of collegially covering the hospital and each other’s patients and trudged home.

The FEMA medical team was sent packing the next morning as the medical staff chastised the administration for their poor decision making. This was one of administration’s first decisions which changed and ruined the community feeling of our small facility forever.

Staying focused prior to the storm is the hardest part.  Patients call in anxious and harried from the preparations and endless threatening updates and news flashes. Listening to the chronic complaints of your most anxious and worried patients and trying to sort out what is new, what is pertinent, what is important while your mind tries to stray to storm survival mode is a skill you are always trying to perfect.

The remaining shutters we use for the few remaining non-impact windows are ready to go. The windows have been sprayed with wasp and hornet spray so that we don’t get stung when the shutters and noise disrupt the hornet nests that pop up daily – which happened years ago. The work gloves are ready as are the work boots.  The WD40 is in great supply to make sure the Kevlar storm screen anchors easily screw in and out of their mooring holes.  We have three weeks of water and lights and batteries and nonperishable food.  The cars are full of gas. My wife is making extra ice for reasons I am not entirely certain of – but it cannot hurt to have it. The dogs have extra food ready.  Our quick escape “go bags” are packed and by the exits. Now all we can do is wait.

I head out for the office being extra careful on the wet and windy road because every driver is paying attention but distracted. The fender benders and aggressive driving due to anxiety have begun. Focus and stay safe.  That is the goal.

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