This is the final installment of social worker Pam Peterson’s experience volunteering in Houtson with Hurricane Katrina victims. A special thanks to Pam for sharing these moments and putting a human face on this tragedy.
Saturday September 17, 2005
I slept like a baby last night, utterly worn out. Bobbi is back at the hospital this morning. I never had an opportunity to get back to finish my entry yesterday as things in the Samuels home got crazy. Bobbi spent the whole day at the hospital with her father. He is not doing well, and I know it is very hard for Bobbi. This is a very tightly-knit family and what effects one, effects all.
I ended up making dinner for seven adults and one 3 year old. Chicken breasts in a mushroom, white wine and cream sauce, couscous, sautéed zucchini and tomatoes with feta, and salad. Not bad for cooking in a strange kitchen on a gas stove which I’ve never cooked on. The family again celebrated Shabbat, a scaled down version from last week. And Vic said a prayer for his father in law.
Today has been a very quiet day here at the house. Bobbi spent the morning at the hospital, and Vic watched Nathaniel’s soccer game. Hard to believe that there are soccer games for 3 year olds. Bobbi’s dad is not well. He’s lost use of his left side completely, and sleeps most of the time. He seems to know who Bobbi is, but other than that is not very responsive. She is really struggling with how to proceed. althoug she has a signed directive that no extreme measures be taken, she also has heard him say that he is to be kept alive no moatter what. She knows it’s a nursing home or hospice. You can see the sadness in her eyes.
There was a diversion this afternoon as two other grandchildren, Meagan and Jeremy, were here for a couple of hours to swim. Vic and Bobbi are so good with their grandchildren, so patient. They are both very dedicated to children’s issues in general. It’s obvious they understand that kids are the most important part of the future.
That’s the same thing Lethia was saying the other day…the importance of the children, that they are the future. I’ve seen so many children these last days. Many laughing and playing, others crying. I wonder what scars they will carry from this trauma. Just before I left yesterday, I noticed some young white women taping up drawings made by the kids. All of them were of sun and clouds, trees, houses, children and grown ups. Many had written the word “care” on the paper somewhere. These were simple drawings, but quite poignant. There was also a collage sent from an elementary school in Boulder signed by the students with things written like “We love you,” and “You are safe now.” It was addressed to the children survivors.
Sunday September 18, 2005
It’s early Sunday morning and I’ve been awake for some time. It’s going home day, and I’m ready. I imagine today will bring a range of feelings. Sadness, relief, grief, joy. It’s hard to believe I’ve only been here 10 days. It feels like much longer than that. I can’t begin to know what it must be like for the survivors, who have been “housed” for over two weeks.
I read earlier that there is such a thing as “transfer trauma.” It’s a term used to describe what the elderly go through when they are moved. It is thought that this kind of trauma can shorten a life or even kill someone. I can believe that younger people forced to “transfer” also experience this kind of trauma. Whether it shortens life may not be true, but it certainly can impact health, both physical and psychological.
The trauma survivors have experienced will stay with them a long time. Bobbi wonders how people will fare six months from now, when the true impact of the experience is felt. She worries there will not be enough/any help for them. I believe many are already experiencing PTSD symptoms. If nothing else there is depression. The blank stares, the lethargy is evident. Even some of those I came to know showed signs of depression. Raydell certainly spent most of his days either sleeping or staring off into space. Earl admitted to nightmares. Many said they couldn’t really think to long about their escape without feeling enormous grief. Many said they knew they would never be able to go back, the memories were too hard.
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I’m on the plane, we’ve just left Houston. Saying good by to Bobbi was hard. We talked a little this morning about the choices that lie ahead for her. She believes her dad will never recover enough to have any kind of life. And, she does not wish for him to live a life that has no substance. She has to decide today whether to have the feeding tube inserted through his nose. She talked with her sons yesterday to get their input, and all agree that he will need hospice to care for these last days. She was tearful describing this. She was tearful saying good ye to me. I shed my tears as well…..
It will be a while before I will clearly know the impact of this experience for me. I can only say, I don’t regret a minute……