The Hurricane Experience
Throughout all of last week, we couldn’t turn on the local news without catching coverage of Hurricane Ike coming in through the Gulf of Mexico, having already ravaged much of Cuba and Haiti. Being that hurricane season extends from most of July through October, and the last few have been “far” misses, I didn’t begin to get really worried until Thursday, mid-day, when the entire Texas Medical Center and its 22 institutions closed down to just essential medical personnel in preparation for the hurricane. Half of the southern Texas coast had already been ordered to evacuated, and gas stations and grocery stores were up to capacity.Having no workplace to go to, we finally made our own preparations. We braved the grocery store in search of elusive water and supplies, and then went home to pack our bags in anticipation of weathering the hurricane from inside the hospital, since Sean was on emergency detail, and because it is probably the safest building in Houston, having already escaped the brunt of many hurricanes and tropical storms. After several hours of unplugging appliances, moving glass wear, and fortifying the condo as much as we could, we finally dragged ourselves, the puppies, their crates, and four days worth of food and clothing over to the hospital.
I spent the night on the floor of his office, while Sean had to work. Midday though, a circumstance with our dogs caused us to reassess our situation, and it was thought that it was best for me to go home with the dogs to our condo. In retrospect, that may have been a mistake. All night I was alone while the winds started to build and the sky began to cast an eerie shade of red over the horizon. I pulled my sleeping bag and the dogs into the hallway away from any windows, and tried to settle in for the night. Around 1AM we lost power, the wind picked up speed from 50-60, to the max, around 110 or so as the hurricane made landfall in Galveston, around 45 minutes away. As I lay there in complete darkness, all around me the walls shook with the force of the wind. The windows billowed and bowed inward. I’ve never seen glass bend like that, and I never want to again. The gusts of wind created these vortexes that howled angrily, picking up trees, light posts, roofs, and anything in its path. Unidentified debris slammed up against the sides of the building and smashed into our bay windows with a force that I could not have imagined. Then, our forty story high rise began to sway, back and forth, back and forth like a pendulum. It was terrifying. I thought that at any second either our windows would come crashing inward, letting in the slew of sloppy mess in from outside. I started to pray, and then cry.
About two hours in, the noise and disturbances were too much to take emotionally, I moved the dogs and myself out into the inner elevator hallway outside our condo, in the case that the windows did give away. We sat huddled there for the worst part of the storm, after having glanced out at the now greenish haze of sky. It was like a scene from the Wizard of Oz. Again, I prayed, and really just wanted someone there to comfort me and tell me the way a mother would, that everything was going to be okay. The uncertainty was the worst part of all. The strangest, and maybe the scariest, was that during the midst of the hurricane, the pockets of wind came by at such as speed that they emitted this whistling, almost flute-like melody. It was unnatural and frightening to hear this ghostly tune between the grumbling and tympanic bursts of debris. And then, with no reasoning at all, 45 miles away from the ocean, inside layers of concrete and steel and double-paned tempered glass, I could smell the ocean.
I didn’t know what to think of these observations, or if I’d ever even have the chance to reflect on them. But 6 hours after the first breeze took a few leaves off trees, the hurricane that ensued began to dwindle, and the rains came. I was never so thankful as when that initial raindrop fell.
But then there was the aftermath to deal with, which we’re still trying to clean up. Over 2 million people in the Houston area lost power, including us. Compound that with 90 degree, 90% humidity, and it became an incredibly uncomfortable situation. Our potable water supply became limited. People were without homes, or dealing with water up to their knees. Even on the 8th floor of our building, we had water infiltration which I had to seal emergently. It was a certified mess. Downtown became a lake, and we have a mandatory curfew. Yesterday was the first day that we were able to drive around a little to survey the damages. Power lines and stop lights were out everywhere. It seemed like only the hospitals were operational. So I returned to work today, not knowing what else to do. Still, about half of my colleagues are gone dealing with the damages to their homes.
It has been some kind of experience, and it continues to be so. We finally regained power yesterday, after three days of walking up and down double flights of stairs, using bottled water to brush our teeth, and throwing out the entire contents of our refrigerator. With everything going on, I feel guilty for having to leave on a business trip tomorrow, but there's not much I can do here. I’m glad it’s more or less over for us, but I keep in my thoughts the lives of others who were affected by this disastrous event, and I pray for them as well.
posted by Sheila @ 9/16/2008 01:24:00 PM
1 Comments:
Oh goodness - I can't even begin to imagine being in that situation! Glad to hear you are safe; hopefully there wasn't too much damage to your condo?
My aunt & uncle live about 35 minutes from Houston and were boarding everything up when I called to check on them last Friday. Scary.
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