When I was 22 years old, I enrolled in the Tulane University School of Public Health and Tropical Medicine as a master’s student studying health policy. The 24-story building towered above the French Quarter in New Orleans, Louisiana. My office as a graduate assistant in the Health Policy wing overlooked bustling Canal Street and the since-abandoned Charity Hospital that Tulane would later purchase to expand their downtown campus. Under a mile from there sat the Orleans Parish Prison, where prisoners were abandoned during Hurricane Katrina in 2005.
Charity Hospital and the Orleans Parish Prison are ghostly facades looming above the Crescent City. To me and many others in the health care sphere, they serve as a reminder that disaster may only be one storm away.
The first hurricane I encountered in New Orleans was Hurricane Zeta, which made landfall on October 26, 2020, and reached the city as a category 2 storm. When the eye of the storm bellowed over my 187-year-old shotgun-style house, my roommates and I went outside to observe before our concerned neighbors told us to go back in. Unbeknownst to us, the storm wasn’t even close to over. Although rainfall would cease early the next morning, we did not have power for nine days. Parts of the city didn’t have it for nearly a month. Clean water was hard to come by, roads were littered with debris for weeks after the storm, and grocery stores were out of nonperishables due to shipments into the city being disrupted.
The aftermath of a hurricane often does far more damage than the storm itself. Hurricane Katrina entered New Orleans on August 29, 2005. It would take two days for the levees to fully break, thus submerging over 80% of the city in up to 20 feet of water. It took 43 days to dredge the city, but insurmountable damage remained in New Orleans and surrounding areas of the Gulf. Overall, Hurricane Katrina caused over $125 billion in damage and the city’s population decreased by 29%. Many have returned, but in 2020, it was reported that the city’s population was still 20% lower than it was before Katrina struck.
In 2021, during my second year as a graduate student, Hurricane Ida made landfall as a category 4 storm directly south of New Orleans on the 16th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.
On Friday, October 27, as I wrapped up classes for the week, Hurricane Ida was upgraded to a category 4 storm with a projected direct hit over New Orleans. My professor told us all to go home early and get out of the city as quickly as possible. At this point, we were not under a mandatory evacuation. I questioned whether it would be better to just stay behind. I had no car, my closest family lived 1,100 miles away, and all of the hotels within Louisiana and Alabama were starting to book out, not to mention flights out of Louis Armstrong International Airport. I walked back to my apartment under a deceptively sunny sky wondering what I should do. My roommate booked a flight home to Washington DC that cost well over $1,200 and other friends decided it was best to stay.
A few blocks from my apartment building, a friend of mine texted me saying “Pack a bag, we’re driving to Atlanta in an hour. No excuses.” Reflecting on that moment, she probably saved my life.
In the hour before an evacuation, it is so hard to decide what to do, what to bring. In a panicked rush, I shoved my mattress as far away from my window as possible, placed my valuables in my bathtub, and packed a small backpack with enough clothing for a long weekend. By 5 pm that night, we crossed the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway as the same water that submerged New Orleans 16 years ago lapped the bottom of the bridge.
From Atlanta, we watched the storm wreak havoc on New Orleans. Weathermen captured a 2,000-foot radio tower falling into the water, debris whirled over Canal Street, and water once again spilled over Lake Pontchartrain. The next morning, once the storm headed North, it became clear that the damage had just begun.
We received an alert from the city saying that if we evacuated, we could not return until further notice. The local government projected months-long power outages, a severe lack of resources, and at the same time, all eyes were on the levees that were only reinforced after Katrina a few years ago. We didn’t know if they would break. We didn’t know when and if we would be able to return to the city.
It would be over a month before we drove back to New Orleans. After the storm, things widely returned to normal for us. My ninth-story apartment in the Central Business District was ok. The people I cared about were alive. I could return to my job and school. But I’m fortunate. Many lost their home, lost their job, and even lost their life.
Hurricane Ida would go down in history as the second most destructive storm to ever hit Louisiana after Hurricane Katrina. However, the damage wasn’t just to the Gulf. The storm made its way to New York City where tornadoes and flash floods caused mass destruction. Ida was the fourth-costliest Atlantic storm to ever hit the United States, costing almost the entirety of the East Coast a whopping $75.25 billion in damages. The majority of deaths attributed to Hurricane Ida happened in New Jersey, nearly 1,300 miles from where the storm first made landfall.
In the wake of Hurricanes Helene and Milton, I am reminded of Hurricane Ida and once again ask myself what I, as a member of the public health community, can do to help. Unfortunately, I don’t have an easy answer. But as storms become more powerful and destructive, especially for places once considered a “climate haven” like Western North Carolina, it is essential to have an emergency plan in place, be prepared, and stay attentive no matter where we live.
A Natural disaster is not a siloed issue. Hurricanes can be destructive whether a city is on the coast like New Orleans or 500 miles inland like Asheville, North Carolina. In the health care field where evacuation is often not an option for emergency workers, be ready to keep those around you calm in light of disaster and have plenty of resources readily available.
In the wake of Hurricane Ida three years ago, all I could think about was the shortcomings of my city and my government. Frankly, I was mad. I sought someone or something to blame. However, when it comes to a disaster, destruction is often a blameless tragedy. Preparedness is critical, but in the direct aftermath, community is the essential force that saves us and upholds us. Lean on each other, place trust in your neighbor, and if you do stay behind, stay as safe as possible so that emergency workers, including health care professionals, can focus on those who need help the most.
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Sources
Charity Hospital Redevelopment Set to Open in 2027
Abandoned and Abused: Orleans Parish Prisoners in the Wake of Hurricane Katrina
Hurricane Katrina Floods New Orleans
Hurricane Katrina: Facts, FAQs, and how to help
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