KATRINA RESCUE 
By Al Knowles 

We thought we were ready.  Hurricane shutters on the front windows, storm windows all over the house, portable generator ready with extra gasoline, plenty of canned food and jugs of bottled water, and the bathtub was filled with water as well.  For the first time since we bought the house at the end of last year, I had moved around enough of the junk in the garage that I was finally able to get the car into it. 

The wind we handled.  There was just a little structural damage to the house from the wind. 

But we weren't ready for the water. 

Monday morning and Katrina is a category five."We have to go now! I tell Linda. But I can see the fear welling up in her face.  Riding in the car is really hard on her.   Unlike most of us, she can't shift positions when one gets uncomfortable. A hurricane MIGHT cause us problems, but a long ride in the car WOULD be painful without a doubt. Plus, it sounds from the TV news like the journey is likely to experience gridlock, making the ride even longer. 

I call a special needs shelter in Baton Rouge, only an hour away in normal traffic.  "But what about the pets?" she says and that stumps me. 

She reassures me  -- "My family has NEVER left for a hurricane.  We rode out Betsy, we rode out Camille, we can ride this out too." 

Some people think I give in to her too much.  I know this.  I also know that the few times I have stood up to her and really insisted on my own way I have regretted it.  Not because of any recriminations from her, but because she is older, wiser, pretty smart and usually right. 

I'm not looking forward to a long ride in the car either.  Usually we have her caregiver with us, to help keep her comfortable when we have to take her to the doctor.  Even so, those short rides are excruciating. This time it would just be us.  Her caregivers, having their own families to consider, have already evacuated. We have heard that one is stuck on the road in gridlock, and the other is looking for gasoline.  Staying put is sounding like the better idea. 

So I email those that had invited us to come stay with them that the gridlock is too much and I don't want to risk getting stuck on the road in the middle of a hurricane.  I think we are safer where we are than we would be in a shelter or on the road. 

We hunker down.

She asks me to sleep down on a mat down next to her hospital bed so I won't be in a different room while Katrina pounds on us.  My cell phone also functions as my alarm clock, so I put it beside me on the floor.  

The power is the first thing to go.  I break out the flashlights and the battery-powered portable fans and change into only my gym trunks. 

For hours, we can hear the winds and the branches from our oak trees coming loose and slamming against our aluminum hurricane shutters. I regularly patrol the house to see if anything from outside has come inside.  So far, so good.    

She has me look out and I tell her the street is flooded, but it's not even up in our yard.  I think this worry is a little foolish; after all, the house sits 30 inches off the ground.  I know this because that's the number they measured when Medicaid built her wheelchair ramp. 

She has me keep watching the water.  Over the next hour, it gets to the third step, then the second.  I am still not worried. We're further up than many houses around us, and our yard slants out to the street. There is no way the water is coming in the house. 

No way. 

I tell her I think the water has stopped coming up and she goes to sleep. So do I. With no power, there isn't much for two electronic junkies to do anyway, so we sleep for hours. I wake up first and breathe a sigh of relief.  I don't hear wind and the house is still in one piece.  We've survived. 

I check the water at the front door.  It's getting pretty close. She had suggested I duct tape the bottom of the doors, so I take care of that. 

One of the cats is yowling.  I track her down, find her hiding in a closet. Then I see there is water on the floor.  I grab a broom, trying to push it back but it keeps coming in.   Suddenly it's coming in from the bathroom as well.

My first thought is that the toilet has overflowed. I go to the living room, move her artwork on top of the sofa, thinking we might just get a few inches on the floor after all.  The cat darts all around through the water, trying to find a dry spot, finally landing on the sofa.  I grab her and the other cat and the dog and put them all up in the attic. 

The water is coming in faster now.  It didn't have to reach the doors. Its coming in from under the walls. Now it's around my ankles and filling the house. It's time to wake up Linda. 

"Linda, wake up.  I don't want you to panic, but there's water in the house." 

"Where, at the front door?" 

"No, in this room." 

She looks down and sees the water at my ankles.  Remember I said panic before? Now it's more like pure terror. 

"Al, what if it keeps coming up?  I can't climb the stairs to the attic!  I can't even swim anymore!" 

I am again reminded of how cruel MS can be.  This woman who used to teach scuba diving is now terrified of rising water.  

I try to reassure her. "I'm sure it will stop soon.  If it gets to my knees we may have to do something." 

"Get the flashlight, get the hammer, get my pee-pads, get my meds, get the radio, get the fans, get the batteries, get the food and water and put them all up in the attic!" 

As I move around the house to be sure we have everything, I can see the effects of the rising water.  Furniture is beginning to float.  Bookshelves topple. As I pass the kitchen the refrigerator floats up and falls over, the door flies open and the contents spill out.  I didn't know a refrigerator could float. Forgetting we have no power, I stupidly unplug it to be sure we don't get a short and blow a fuse. 

I report back to her that everything is in the attic. 

"Where is the cell phone?" 

Now it's my turn to panic. I'm mad at myself and cursing. 

"Al, stop and think! Where was the last place you had it?" 

Then I find it -- beside the mat, under the water. 

"Take it anyway, maybe it will work after it dries out." 

Now the water is up to my knees. 

"Linda, we have to get you up to the attic." 

"How? You can't do that!!  There's no way!!" 

"One thing we could try.  When the water gets high enough it will float you and your mattress right out of the hospital bed.  I'll pull the mattress under the attic hole and lift you up from there." 

"NO!!  Don't wait until the last minute!!" 

"OK, we'll go now."     

"How are you going to do it?  Just explain it to me." 

"Do you remember how I lift you from the bed to put you in the power chair?  Its the same process, but instead of taking you to the chair we're going to the attic stairs.  I'll sit you on the ladder and we'll inch up one stair at a time."

"That will never work!" 

"It has to!  Grab on!" 

She has one fairly good arm and she puts it around my neck while I lift her from the bed like we have done a thousand times before.  The water is just above my knees now and I somehow find the strength to slosh through it while carrying her down the hall to the attic stairs. I sit her down on the stairs. 

"Owww!!  My back!!" 

"Linda, I'm sorry it hurts, but I don't have a gentle way to do this!" 

"Okay, okay, just let me be sure I've got you!" 

One painful stair at a time, I lift, she tightens her grip, and I lift again. 

We're both slippery from the heat and the water.  We're almost to the top of the stairs when she almost loses her grip altogether. 

"Wait, stop, I don't have you!!" she says. 

"Its OK, I've got you!" And with one last heave she's on her back on the plywood floor of the attic. 

I go back down long enough to grab the latex topper from her mattress before it gets wet and roll her around to get it under her. There's copper pipe from the water heater in the way, so I can't move her much further into the attic than just beside the hole. 

"See if the cell phone works yet!" she tells me. I press the button and it vibrates, but does not come on. "See where the water is!  Is it still coming up?" 

I shine the flashlight down the attic stairs.  

"I think it may have stopped." 

"Don't lie to me!" 

"Okay, it's still coming up." 

"Al, what are we going to do if it keeps coming up?  What if it comes in the attic?" 

"Then we make a hole in the roof and go out there." 

"How on earth can you get me on the roof?" 

"You didn't think I could get you in the attic." 

"What if it comes up over the roof?  Then what?" 

"Then we grab on to something and float until someone rescues us." 

"OK, as long as we have a plan.  Get started on that hole!" 

Just above her is an attic fan (which she would later refer to many times as "that silvery twirly thing on the roof"), so a small hole, just large enough to stick my head in, is already there. I use the hammer to stop the fan and begin banging and pushing on it, trying to get it out of the way. 

I have a brief inspiration.  I grab an old floor lamp and use the cord to attach one of her pee-pads to the top, then I stop the other attic fan and stick it out of the other attic hole.  Now our house has a flag - a ridiculousflag, but a flag. 

Then followed the longest day of our lives.  It went something like this: 

Work on the hole in the roof. 

Check the water level. 

Check the cell phone. 

Listen to the radio. 

Repeat. 

Repeat. 

Repeat. 

Every once in awhile, the cell phone acts like it is going to come back on at any minute, and gives us a brief shining moment of hope. 

But it never does. 

Finally, only two steps down the top of the ladder, the water actually does stop coming up. 

First light the following morning and I can peer out through the slots in the attic fan. The first thing I see is the top of our detached garage.  I can'tsee the rest of the garage -- its under water. 

"Glad I finally got the car in the garage." I mutter and Linda laughs. 

I look past the garage to the railroad tracks a couple of blocks from our house.  Amazingly, they are built so high that the water has not covered them. 

I resume work on the hole.  Unfortunately, it's a brand-new, very well-constructed roof.  All I have is a hammer. Some of the wood splinters fall on her. The work is tedious and frustrating.   

"I bet you won't worry about a long car ride again!" I tell her. 

"What do you want me to say?  It's my fault? I was wrong? I'm sorry?" 

We could die here.  Do I really want our last words to be angry ones? 

"No, it's not just your fault.  I could have said 'Shut the hell up, we're leaving!' I suppose we are partners in mutual stupidity." 

We turn on the radio for brief periods and hear stories of other people calling the radio station for rescue-- people who had not lost their cell phones.  Each story inspires us to try our cell phone again  -- and each time it fails. 

Suddenly we hear voices from outside.  Boats?  I stick my head in the hole (still fairly well covered by the attic fan) and yell for help as hard as I can. My voice carries well over the water.   

A man answers! 

Gradually I guide him to our house and he finds his way up to the roof. 

"Stand back!"  

I duck down and cover Linda's face.  With two kicks from his boot the fan I had been working on for hours is gone!  An elderly black man in a red life jacket is standing on the roof!  He looks familiar. 

"Boy are we glad to see you! Do you have a boat?" 

"No, 'fraid not.  I'm your neighbor, McGee.  Are you alone?" 

"No, my wife is down here on the floor.  She's an invalid. Do you have anything that can get this hole bigger so we can get her out?" 

"Do you have an axe? 

"No, all I've got is this hammer." I hand it to him, thinking he might have better luck with the hole from his side.  But he hands it back.

"I'll go get some help," he says, and leaves, promising to return, 

The last I saw of him he swam to the railroad tracks and was walking down them to dryer land.     

We would not see him again.   Later, as the day wore on, Linda would speculate he was looking for people who would be easy to rescue in hopes they would pay him.  With her condition, we would not be an easy rescue. 

But that was just speculation.  Maybe he actually did try to send help, but with so many people to rescue, it just took a long time for them to get to us. 

Who knows? The one good thing we know he did for us was to knock the attic fan off the roof.      

Again attacking it with the hammer, I can eventually get my head and one arm through. 

That's when we first hear the helicopters. 

I stick my head and hand out and wave.  There are oak trees all around our house and branches have been blown down on to the roof.  Whether any of the pilots can see me, I may never know for sure.  I do know that over the course of the rest of the day and that night, I would signal various helicopters at least thirty times. 

And none of them stop or even acknowledge me. It is discouraging. 

"I know sometimes they see me, but they don't stop. Are we too close to trees and power lines or something? Why do I even bother to keep waving at them? They never stop." 

"Don't give up. It only takes one." 

So I keep trying, all day and into the night, using the flashlight when the sun goes down. I try to put some fresh water out for the pets, but we have no bowls. I check the various boxes in the attic, but I can't find anything to hold water. Finally I line a wooden box with a plastic bag, and that seems to work. It isn't much, but it will have to do. 

I find some pillows in the attic boxes and cobble together a place to sleep. 

I alternate between sleeping and signaling helicopters each time they sound close.  Eventually we learn to listen to the engine speed.  We can tell the difference between those that are searching for people and those that areon their way elsewhere.   We don't waste our time and energy with those. 

When we don't hear the choppers, we can sometimes hear the voices of other people on their roofs, screaming for help.   

Linda has a clear view of the sky through the hole in the roof. 

"The stars sure are pretty." she says.  Then it hits her.   

"It was overcast today. If we aren't rescued soon, we'll still be here when the sun starts to heat up this attic tomorrow.  And we've stopped the fans. We could die up here, just from the heat." 

"Linda, as many times as you have asked me to go get a gun and shoot you, because your MS makes you so miserable, why are you even worried about that?" 

Then she tells me a secret.  Something I've always suspected, but now she confirms it. 

"Don't you know that someone who REALLY wants to die isn't going to ask your help? I don't want to die." 

For a moment I am so mad I could kill her on the spot.  The anger passes quickly. 

"OK, but if we get out of this, I do not EVER want to hear you say that again.  I know your secret now." 

"Deal.  But you have to get us out of this." 

First light the next morning.  The sky is clear and I'm waving at yet another chopper that doesn't stop. 

"I see you over there!" someone yells across the water. 

I peer through the trees.  There's a young black man on his roof waving his white tee shirt at the chopper. 

"Hey, how are you doing?" I ask. 

"Not so good." he says, putting his shirt back on.  "I had so many chances to leave.  Thought I could ride it out."  

"Yeah, same here. Do you have a cell phone?" 

"Yeah, but the battery is dead."  

"I've got two boats." he says. "One floated away.  One is tied to a trailer hitch under the water."

"Do you have a knife?" 

"Yeah, I gotta knife.  I gotta boat." 

"Can you swim?" 

"Yeah, I can swim.  I gotta knife.  I gotta boat.  I got no balls!" 

"No what?" 

"No balls! I don't wanna go in that nasty water.  Who knows what's in it? No balls!" 

"Can't blame you.  What's your name?" 

"Lenny.  You?" 

"Al.  What do you do for a living, Lenny?" 

"I'm a master plumber." 

"What?  And you can't fix this?" 

He laughs.  "Yeah, this is one helluva leak alright." 

"Listen, what's your address over there?" 

"_ _ _ _ People's Avenue.  You?" 

"_ _ _ _ Baccich.  You get rescued first, you tell them about us.  We get rescued first, we tell them about you." 

"Sure thing. We?  Who else is over there?" 

"I got my wife up here with me.  She's an invalid. She can't walk." 

"Oh, man, that sucks.  How did you ever get her in the attic?" 

"It's amazing what proper motivation can do!" 

It's already starting to get hot. Linda calls me and I duck back down out of the hole to see to her comfort.   

The MS has left Linda with one good arm, but it's weak.  I pour the drinking water from the jug into a small container so she can lift it to her mouth.  I change the batterries in the tiny portable fan and set it next to her. 

It's getting hotter. 

"Al, I think I am getting heat-stroke.  I can hear my heart beating faster and I'm short of breath." 

"That's just anxiety.  You are NOT having heat-stroke." 

"No, its heat-stroke.  I'm getting too hot.  I could die." 

Frustration, anger and worry all well up inside me at the same time.  It's JUST anxiety, I'm sure, but I will never convince her of that. She is determined to think the worst.   We've lost our car, our house, everything we've ever owned, and we're trapped in our attic above flood waters, with no way to contact help.  You wouldn't think there could beanything left to be afraid of. But SHE manages to FIND something....wait, her face IS looking kinda red. 

I check the boxes in the attic until I find a sheet, then I dip it in the flood water near the attic stairs.  I throw the wet sheet over her body and wipe her face with it. 

Repeat. 

Repeat. 

Repeat. 

Eventually I decide the time for waiting for rescue is over.  It's time to DO SOMETHING. 

"Linda, if I can make it to the railroad tracks, or over to release Lenny's boat, maybe I can get help. I'm going to have to leave you here to do that though." 

"Can you even get out of the house?" 

"I'm about to find out." 

"Keep calling and give me water first." 

I put the container in her left hand.  She looks at it. 

"You'll have to do it.  I can't lift it." 

Heat and stress have adverse effects on MS symptoms.  With a sudden horror I realize her one good arm has stopped responding. 

Stupidly, I insist she try harder, as though that could actually make a difference. She tries, cries, and looks at me like I am out of my mind -- deservedly so. 

If I leave her, she could die.  If I stay, we could both die. 

"At least wait until it gets cooler." she says, which makes sense.  It also tells me she's not as sure she's about to die as she made out. 

So I wait, periodically dousing her with the floodwater.  

Several hours and several choppers pass without stopping.   

It's time to try. 

"Don't forget to take your glasses off," she reminds me, and I set them near the attic hole, but far enough away from it so I won't accidentally knock them into the water.

Our doorways are built in an arch shape.  I have to duck my head down into the floodwater a little as I go under each arch, but other than that I can mostly keep my head above water as I swim through my home. 

I am swimming through my home.   

Without my glasses, everything is a little blurry, and I have trouble recognizing things.  I think that might be for the best. 

I try the back door first but its no use.  I can't get it open.  I wonder if that's because it was duct-taped? 

I make my way back through the house, but its the same story at the front door. 

"Al!"

I realize I am forgetting to call out. 

"I'm alright.  I couldn't open the front or back doors.  I'll see if I can open a window." 

After some struggle I manage to open a window in our sun room and kick the screen off.  I am opening the window from the top.  To swim out, I will have to duck under the water about three feet.  Swimming around the house, occasionally holding my breath in short bursts, I think about how long it has been since I last swam underwater for any length of time.   

Too long. 

If I try this and something goes wrong, I could drown. 

I've always wanted to be a hero.  Here is my chance right in front of me. 

Isn't this what real heroes do? Risk death to save lives? 

I hold my breath and go under, timing myself but making no attempt to swim out. I come back up in a hurry.  I'm out of shape. I need more practice.   

"Al!" 

Discouraged, I turn away from the window to resume my duties as caregiver. 

I am no hero after all. 

She is admonishing me as I climb back up the attic stairs and put my glasses back on. "Damn!  You missed it!  A chopper, almost on top of us, and you weren't here to signal it!" 

I stick my head out again but there's no sign of a chopper.  I resume throwing floodwater on Linda and seeing to her comfort. 

Repeat. 

Repeat. 

Repeat. 

Sometimes there are people walking down the railroad tracks, and they talk to Lenny, who relays any news to us.  (Unfortunately, these people are in no position to help us, although they do promise to let someone know where we are.) We hear a rumor of boats in the area, but Lenny says he has not seen any. 

"I don't know what's with all these copters," I tell him.  "Have you seen them rescue ANYONE?" 

"Nope, no one." 

It is late in the afternoon (and cooler) when I first see a helicopter rescue.  It is a red chopper and it stops over a house to let a man down on a wire.  By now I have startedwaving a sheet at them, thinking they have a better chance of seeing that than my arm. But I don't bother waving at a helicopter while it is in the middle of a rescue. 

"Linda, they've finally started rescuing people," I tell her.  "Its only a matter of time before they get to us!" 

The chopper pulls the man back up then flies over our house. My waving sheet is ignored as it drops the man down again on another house far away.  It pulls him up and pulls off. In a moment, there is only silence in the area. 

"Damn!" 

"They'll be back," Linda tells me.  "I'm sure of it." 

"Yeah, I do know those choppers use up a lot of fuel, especially during a rescue. And they can only hold so many people.  They'll be back." 

Its night again, or very early morning if you prefer (12:30 am), when Linda wakes up and calls me, but she needn't have bothered.   The volume of the choppers in the area could wake up the buried dead. 

I have the flashlight in hand and can see another rescue just finishing up not far from my house.  I shine the light right at the pilot and the next thing I know I can feel the air blowing from the chopper directly above me.  The cool wind from its blades is pushing down on me and branches are blowing all around my roof.  It shines a searchlight on my house for a moment.  The wind blows a branch on top of me and I have to duck down. 

When I stand up back through the hole, the chopper is gone. 

But the waters are NOT silent this time.  I can see light on the water, flashlights probing the trees.  And I hear men's voices talking to each other.  They're coming from ON the water.  The only way they could do that is if they were in boats. 

Boats. 

BOATS!!! 

In a moment there are men on our roof.  Men with chainsaws, sledge hammers, and BOATS!!

I explain the situation and hear one of them relay it back with his walkie-talkie. 

I cover Linda's face while they use their tools to widen the hole.  A chainsaw starts up and the hole I had been working on for days expands to a neat six by four foot rectangle in a matter of minutes. 

"Guess we are a difficult rescue," Linda says. 

"No ma'am, we've been doing this all day.  You're one of the easier ones." 

"We have a dog and two cats." she says as they take her out. 

"Sorry maam, we only have room for people.  Don't worry, though, the Humane Society is already in the water.  They're right behind us."    

(Later, we would find out animal rescues weren't taking place for another week--but that is a different story.) 

"There was another guy on his roof over there.  Hey, Lenny, come out!" 

Dead silence. 

"He may have already been rescued.  There was another boat with us.  Do you need to take anything from here?" 

I grab a portable fan, a small container of water, and all of Linda's medications in a plastic bag.