We were a select group of health care professionals who responded
to a call by the Public Health Service for volunteers to assist in the
aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. We
served on Mobile Outreach Medical Care
teams (primary care and immunization teams that reached out to the affected
communities).
We were federalized as temporary employees of the U. S. Public
Health Service at the FEMA command center in Baton Rouge Baton Rouge Louisiana School 6:45 we departed by minibus to New Orleans Methodist
Hospital New Orleans
There were no bureaucratic barriers to our delivery of health
care. Patients of all ages, races and nationalities
simply walked in, described their health problems, were examined, treated,
and provided with any needed prescriptions. No personal data was needed or obtained
- just name, symptom, city. No
waiting. No ID needed. No health insurance needed. We warmly welcomed all who showed up at the
site – there were, typically, 100 to 150 patients daily. Responsible adult
children brought in their sick, frail or elderly parents and grandparents. Patients given prescriptions could take them
to any pharmacy in Louisiana
I marveled at the resiliency, perseverance and resoluteness of
patients who came in: returning evacuees; battered victims who weathered
Katrina in their homes, churches and shelters; relief workers serving in a
variety of roles; fire, police and security people, and laborers “gutting”
structures.
Patients awaiting medical care relaxed and sensed
our compassion and support. We listened to them, treated them, and walked
with them. If they felt comfortable
doing so, patients told their stories.
They described plights overwhelmingly chaotic and challenging. Many were numb and in mild shock, or
manifesting an unsettled resignation – an acceptance of events beyond their
control. Problems were defined in the
telling – of incredible sagas of survival.
Long term solutions seemed out of reach – their priority was to meet
immediate needs and survive another day.
I provided children with crayons and paper, and asked them to draw
pictures of their families. Their
artwork reflected strong, stable families amidst crisis. This was not a clinical setting in which to
elicit deep feelings, challenge stoicism, advise or encourage people
to ventilate, or nudge them to "open up." We respected their need to hold it together cognitively,
to enable a focus on the immediate tasks of obtaining food, shelter,
employment and medical care.
Imagine all your personal records, including records of
achievement, family pictures, books, computers with phone lists, passwords,
writings, etc. were simply gone overnight.
Your home of four generations, your automobile, food, house, and keys
are under ten feet of water or gone. Your
cell phone is useless from water damage or lack of a battery. Phone numbers of relatives and friends are
gone. Bank records (and bank) are
gone. Physician and all health records
are gone. Church and congregation are
gone. Displaced relatives and friends
have been separated and bused to shelters in other states, or are still
missing. You have the concrete
foundation of your home, but all your material things are gone. Your neighborhood is now a toxic,
biohazardous soup.
Following devastation, would you have the strength of character to
rebuild your life? What has sustained
and inspired you? Do you define yourself
by your possessions and status, or by your values?
I am grateful for the grace and professionalism of the United States Public
Health Service and my 10 co-volunteers.
We were diverse – physicians, nurse practitioners, nurses, a pharmacist,
and a clinical social worker. We
functioned smoothly as a collegial, cooperative group, and were free to exercise
our professional judgment as needed.
How fortunate we were to have the freedom, health, energy and
competence to be useful in a field health care clinic, serving hurricane
victims and relief workers. In the most
direct, effective and human way, we elevated moods, provided comfort, and
alleviated suffering.
-William Walsh 2006