Day One - Special

We meet at the office and a chair van driver takes up up to the airport. There are five of us: two medics, two EMTs, and a mechanic. When we go through the ticketing the airline agent puts a red mark on our tickets and says, we're all special. I am thinking, isn't this nice. They are recognizing our efforts and are going to be upgrading us to first class or maybe giving us complimentary access to the VIP lounge while we wait for the flight.

When we go through security, we find out what the red mark means. We have been tagged as security risks (probably because we bought our tickets at the last minute). We stand with our feet spread, arms held out while we are beamed with electronic wands, and then frisked, and have to watch as they painstakingly go through every item in our bags.

The flight is uneventful. We are met at the airport by two company employees in a big yellow school bus. We find out both of them lost everything in the storm. The guy driving the bus has a tee-shirt that says "Everything is Good." The young woman tells us that the storm in their area hit rich and poor alike. People have empathy for each other.

As we head to the coast we begin to see the effects. At first it is just a few bent trees, some blue tarps on roofs, torn highway signs. We see a WA MART, a Burger King underneath a sign that has been blown out. The traffic is brutal as some regular bridges are out. In the water we see what was once a railroad bridge, but is now just unconnected trestles. We see uprooted trees. Boarded up stores. Some stores have "Open" painted on the boards or whitewashed wre windows remain. We see stores with caved in roofs. A motel appears open, but several rooms have no doors or windows. We go by a marina where a shrimp boat sits up on top of the supply store. It is not a sign boat, but a huge working shrimp boat. The woods are scattered with lumber and trash. We pass a large shopping center and see huge tents with a line or people standing outside. Small trucks pass us loaded with supplies, signs taped to their doors "Disaster Relief." They come from church groups. Volunteer fire departments. Some are just unaffiliated families who loaded up supplies from neighbors and headed South. The licence plates are from all over the US.

Another shopping center has a long line of cars in rows waiting to recieve supplies. I see pallets of food, bottled water.

People carry large bags of ice. Nearbye an entrepenuer sells t-shirts. "I survived the Big One - Katrina August 28, 2005" for $15.

We arrive at our base in an industrial park. The company headquarters has sprouted a tent city, rows of port-o-potties, decon showers, a mess, and supply areas. We are greeted and get a tour.

We are told not to drink the water. Don't even use it to brush your teeth. There are pallets stacked high with bottled water, and coolers of ice. We learn we will bunk inside in a large converted training room that now has rows of military cots. We get tetnus and hepatitis A shots, make copies of our licenses, and then are told we won't be going on the road until the next day. They are running 12 hour shifts. We will be paired with a local EMT. In disaster conditions we have full reciprosity and can practice under our own state's protocols.

It is now about four in the afternoon and they are serving dinner. I feel bad about eating without having done any work. The food is great -- steak, mashed potatoes, crawfish pasta, biscuit and turtle pie. I hear later they have hired a chef from one of the casinos that was destroyed in the storm.

I am wishing they would send us out on the road even if only for a few hours. I don't like feeling like the new guy in camp. I ask myself what am I anxious about. How different can it be? You're a medic. A call is a call. You're at home in an ambulance.

It is hot. We drink lots of water, sit about. There are people from all over the country here: California, the Northwest, Texas, Miami, Georgia, the NorthEast.

They give us tee-shirts to wear with the company logo on the front and on the back "Disaster Team Gulfport 2005."

Your car will be gassed, 02 changed, gear checked and ready to go for you in the morning, I am told. I get my shift assignment 530-1730. That suits me fine. The sooner the better.

I stay up till 10, have a good conversation with a doctor from out west who has recently been appointed the company's national medical director. He is a cheery, excitable man, passionate about his work. The medics at the table share some of the frustrations with the systems we work in. He promises the direction of the company in the future will be clinically driven. Clinical Excellence will be the focus. It sounds good to me. I know things move slowly in EMS, but I feel better about the direction of the company now. I hope the company gives him the backing he needs to reach his goal.

Many people in camp are going through caffine withdrawl. I hear something about a FEMA mandate against caffine in a disaster area because it dehydrates workers. So everyone now has intense headaches. I am going to need my Diet Coke in the morning.