The Great Flood

I wrote this out a week after the flood.  I am finally ready to share.  Mike and I still have some pretty bad PTSD and are discovering what our triggers are, but I think it is important to tell our story.

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The rain started on Thursday. And it just didn’t stop.

We had horrible storms overnight from Thursday into Friday, and it was still storming horribly when Mike left for campus on Friday morning.  I’m talking downpours, huge thunder and lightning—a big storm.  I asked Mike if he really thought he should go in, but being the dependable teacher and employee that he is, in he went.  I look deep breaths and waited for him to let me know he made it.  Charlie slept until 8:30 am (much later than usual).

While Charlie slept and Mike was on campus, LSU cancelled classes.  Then, the thesis defense that Mike was supposed to oversee was cancelled.  And the weather on the news was showing this yellow/orange/red storm that just was not moving.  It was just hovering. For hours.  And roads started flooding fast.

Mike decided to come home around 8:40, and let me tell you, I held my breath until he was home.  Throughout the day, we were pretty glued to the news but not super worried.  It was clear that things were starting to flood, but it wasn’t near us.

Saturday we spent the day in the house.  It was like a snow day.  It rained, but then it stopped.  Then, it rained some more.  We knew that the two main roads around the subdivision were flooded, so we didn’t even attempt going out.  I spent the afternoon working in case we lost internet, and sure enough we lost cable and internet in the afternoon.   By late afternoon, we were going stir crazy, so we went for a walk around the neighborhood.  The storm drains looked like they were starting to back up, but the ditch behind my parents’ house was still empty, so we figured everything was doing its job.  We figured we’d just be stuck in the subdivision until everything cleared up.  We went to bed at 10pm and Dad went to bed at midnight and everything was fine.

At 2am, one of the neighbors across the street rang the doorbell. I was the only one who heard it, and Mike rolled over to go back to sleep. I answered the door and saw that the water was now flowing like a river down the street, and the neighbor informed me that the water was coming up fast.  We stood, dumbfounded, for a minute, before Dad came out to see what was going on.  The panic. What do we do? Do we go into the attic or on the roof? How fast will the water rise? Do we have time to pack a bag to get out? Where would we go if we could get out (since the roads out were already flooded)?  Will anyone come to help us? Do we wake the baby up? What do we do?  We talked to neighbors, one of whom had a boat.  We told him that we hated to ask, but we had a baby, and if we needed to get out, could he help us? He said he would.  We tried to call the emergency numbers to see where he could take people if we needed to get out, but no one had those answers.

We spent the next few hours figuring out what we needed to pack in case we needed to go, moving stuff as high as we could and figuring out what was most important and should go in the attic.  Dad went over to wake up another neighbor, Kim, across the street.  Her house was starting to take on water so she and her dog, Java, came over to stay with us.  We didn’t know what was going to happen, but Kim brought her axe in case we needed to sit in the attic and then cut a hole in the roof to get out, and for some reason, her presence made us feel better.  Ramie, my college roommate, helped us monitor the weather (it was supposed to rain even MORE) and we called emergency numbers to get put on the rescue list.  Each time we called, they just told us that they were doing the best they could, they couldn’t send any crews out until morning light, and they were prioritizing those with 4-5 feet of water inside their homes.  We diligently watched the water line go from about ½ of the way up the driveway to the line outside the garage.  Then we watched as it started coming in the garage.  And we started to get pretty nervous.  Was it going to come in the house? None of the rescue boats were coming. We only had intermittent cell service if we stood justintherightcornerofthehouseanddidntbreathe.

We ate lunch and just waited. Waited for water to come in, waited to get a sense of what we should do next.  The toilets started backing up and got all the way to the top.  The neighbors across the street were outside—didn’t matter if they were inside or outside because water was all in their houses, as well.  One neighbor even took a fishing pole out and was fishing in what was his front yard.

We finally saw a rescue boat go by around 1pm.  I yelled out to them from the garage, “are you coming back to do rescues? Because we have a baby here.”  Someone from down the street yelled that an older person lived there.  The two guys on the boat exchanged a troubled look then asked, “how old is the baby?” to which I replied, “9 months.”  “How old is the older person?” “82.”  They said, “We’ll get the older person then come back for you.”  So we got ready and put our bags on and waited.  I put Charlie in the ergo carrier and had my backpack on.  Mike had Dora in the carrier, a backpack on and a duffel bag mostly full of diapers.

We waited by the front door. Another boat came by soon.  We yelled out to them, “are you doing rescues? We have a baby.” They stopped and came to the door.  It was the neighbor from across the street with the boat, Jeff, and several members of the local volunteer fire department (we later learned that one of the neighbors across the street called Jeff to come get us).  They helped us carry our bags and get in the boat.  We watched as the family across the street, Jeff’s family, sat there and watched us go (the neighbors who called to have them come get us).  We felt so much guilt.  The volunteers walked beside the boat to guide it when they could touch ground, and they hopped in the boat when it got deep enough for the motor to run.  They moved their bodies to adjust for the current so that the boat wouldn’t tip.  They told us that we would go to a house and that National Guard trucks would be coming to get us out.  We sat in the boat, clutching our stuff, Charlie on my chest in the ergo, crying, and Dora on the tip of the boat with one of the volunteers holding her carrier.  Kim was holding Java on her lap.  It poured while we were on the boat, and Jeff, the neighbor driving the boat, reached into a cubby and pulled out a rain jacket for me to put over Charlie.  He didn’t say anything, just handed it to me. We saw people standing in their garages watching, some asking for help, all the while feeling guilty for being on the boat.

We made it through the streets to a house with canopies on the front lawn.  And people huddled under the canopies, trying to stay dry, but many soaked.  I put our bags down and noticed a huge mound of fire ants.  Women were holding children, people cradled their pets.  We started hearing their stories: they had been there since 8am, the last National Guard truck hadn’t come since 11:30. It was now about 2:30. People were starting to worry and complain.  We watched as a family actually got in their boat and went back to their flooded house.  At one point, someone said something about pets not being able to get out with their owners. People were angry. We were by the front door and the owner of the house said, “ya’ll can come in.”  No one else went in, but Mike, Charlie and I went in.  There were several people on the couch and she had put down a comforter on the floor.  I nursed Charlie next to a mama nursing her five week old baby.  I talked to her and asked her how long she’d been there (since 8am), if she was scared. Neither of us could believe we were there.  When we asked the owner of the house where we could change Charlie’s diaper, she said, “pick a room.” We changed his diaper and she put a towel and my shirt in the dryer, since we were soaked.  I wrapped Charlie in the warm blanket, and he was so tired but he wouldn’t sleep.  I was wet, but I knew he was warm. We went out to the garage with my parents, Kim and Java.  We updated people as we could on Facebook and via text.  We listened as another woman called the emergency number requesting help for 30-50 adults and children and for one woman in particular who was suffering from a disease (I can’t remember which one).  We saw the helicopters start to circle and people started waving, we are here, we are here!  Someone shot up a flare.  It looked like one landed back behind the treeline.

Next thing we know, one of the guys who had helped us on the boat was now in front of the house with a megaphone in front of an ATV with a trailer hitched to the back of it.  When I say trailer, I mean a piece of metal with holes in the bottom (grate) and a railing around it.  He announced that women and children would be first priority and that they would be loading people onto the trailer and driving over to a helicopter.  We just looked stunned, and one of the girls there told us that they didn’t even know if they would be able to land the helicopter or if this would work.

It all happened so fast from there.  I looked at Mike, and started saying our goodbyes.  I asked Mom if she would be with me—I did not want to be alone with Charlie.  With tears in her eyes, she said that she would give up her seat so that Mike could go with me. I cried. She talked to one of the people who seemed like they were organizing.  I hugged and kissed mom and thanked her, and didn’t even have time to hug Dad goodbye. Next thing I knew we were throwing our bags on and trying to make it to the trailer.  It looked full, but they made room for us. We were the first trailer out.  I just kept yelling “I love you, I love you” back to Mom and Dad as we pulled away.  Watching them stay as we went was one of the hardest moments of my life.

We were balancing on the railing of the trailer, all of us, me with Charlie still on my chest.  The little boy next to me said it looked like Charlie was going to sleep. Mike had Dora in her carrier on his lap.  Because the trailer was not a sheet of metal, but metal grating, water splashed up in deep spots and soaked us more.  At one point Dora almost drowned, but Mike pulled her up in time.  The main crouching in front of me was helping me balance. He had beautiful eyes and he sort of looked like Jesus.  As we drove through the neighborhood streets, we watched as people were in their garages asking for help, pleading for us to stop or come back.  The guilt crept back. Why were we able to be on this trailer? We left Mom and Dad behind. Would they be OK? Would the water rise more? Would they be able to get out?  I told the little girl next to me to grab onto my arm if she needed to because at one point, the trailer was very jerky. 

The guy driving the ATV announced over his loudspeaker that we may not be able to bring pets with us.  Mike and I looked at each other and immediately started crying.  What were we supposed to do with Dora, just let her go in a field?  After all that?  Mike told me that he wouldn’t go without her, and I pleaded with him that I needed him. We needed him. We cried.

We pulled up to a clearing in the neighborhood, the only spot large enough and dry enough to land a helicopter, and saw that sure enough, a big black helicopter was sitting there with its spinner spinning.  The driver told us to block the childrens’ ears.  There was a line of people waiting to get on the helicopter, but a separate line for families with children.  We went into the line for families with children, and the people who were first in line waved us on to go ahead of them.  We boarded the helicopter, assisted by a soldier.  We sat on the floor of the helicopter, Charlie still on my chest and sleeping.  I asked the mama next to me if Charlie looked OK because he wasn’t really responsive.  She said it looked like he was sleeping.  Between the vibrations and noise of the helicopter I couldn’t tell if he was OK. We spent a few minutes worrying that he was not alive or that something as wrong.  Mike sat across from me and had Dora in her carrier on his lap, and our duffel bag was somewhere in the middle of our group.  We were with two other families with small children.  A soldier gave me a pair of headphones for Charlie to block the noise.  I felt him breathe more and became more confident that he was just sleeping (more like hard core passed out).

We looked out the windows and saw the devastation.  We flew over the neighborhood, houses completely surrounded by water.  We flew over Juban Crossing, the new shopping development in Denham, and it was completely submerged.  We almost didn’t recognize it.  Mike cried.  I couldn’t cry.  We just kept saying, “I love you” to each other and, “we’re safe.”  We passed Target, and could just see tops of cars in the parking lot.  We landed at Our Lady of the Lake hospital.  We didn’t know if we were staying, or what was going on.  The soldier helped an older woman from the helicopter and a few staff members helped her in.  The hospital was surrounded by flooding, almost right up to its side.

We took off again, still not sure where we were going.  We finally landed at Celtic Studios, a movie lot in Baton Rouge next to Costco turned into makeshift shelters.  We disembarked the plane, and I hurt my hip.  We were welcomed with open arms by volunteers who told us where to go.  We went to the sound stage for people with pets (#4).   People were so warm and so kind to us and ran around to help us get whatever we needed.  We grabbed blankets and pillows and made a little bed area.  We asked if they had baby clothes for Charlie, since his were all wet.  We called Mike’s mom and my brother, who said that my parents were waiting to be lifted out but that they were OK.  We finally got a hold of my parents and confirmed that they were OK.  We waited for them to join us.  We had dinner, they had baby food pouches for Charlie. They had a crate, a litter box and litter for Dora.  They found us a pack’n’play for Charlie to sleep in.  We cried.  They had everything we needed.  We left the house with just diapers, cat food, and just a few (now soaked) items for ourselves.  We suddenly were safe and had everything we needed.

Our friends, Matt and Molly, offered to come get us.  But we had no idea what was going on in the world or where was safe, so we passed.  Then our friend Jessica offered to come get us.  When we knew it was clear that Dora was freaking out and Charlie was not going to sleep, we said, yes, please come get us.  So she came, along with an neighbor, to get us.  At that point, when we were packing back up, I dug through my backpack desperately looking for my wallet.  I had put it in a ziplock bag with both sets of our car keys, and it was not there.  We went through everything 3x.  It was not there.  And neither were the credit cards, flash drive (with my dissertation), or significant amount of cash we borrowed from my parents in case we needed it.  We dug through the trash.  I cried.  We had to go.  Maybe it was at home. (Someone later called and had found my wallet, though the cash and my Costco card were missing.  I hope someone took it who needed it).

The next few days were a blur.  We stayed with Sam and Jessica the first night.  They helped us to settle in while Mike called to cancel our major charge and debit cards.  We finally got in touch with my parents, who were helicoptered to Baton Rouge Airport, where their neighbor Kim’s sister came to pick them up.  They went home with them to Morgan City, about 70 miles south of here.  We worried that the flood waters might find their way there, but they said no one there was concerned.  When we went to put Charlie to sleep, he slept for an hour and then woke up crying (he went to sleep about 3 hours past his bedtime).  He cried, and cried.  Finally, I just held him to sleep.  At 2am, I woke Mike up and said it was his turn, and he was able to put C down in the pack’n’play at 2:30.  Every time I closed my eyes I heard rain and helicopters.  We slept until about 7. 

We called Mike’s parents and checked in.  Jessica and Sam fed us delicious chocolate banana bread and coffee, and we washed our disgusting clothes and everything that had gotten wet in our bags.  Jessica let me borrow her laptop and I worked on submitting my final grades for my summer course and sending out announcements for my fall courses (because, you gotta do what you gotta do).  We ordered some clothes with next-day-shipping from Old Navy.  Because we had nothing else with us.  Jessica and Sam offered so much compassion as we cried, recounting our ordeal.  While we worried about the future. About my parents. About so much.

Jessica’s family and friends were kind enough to gift us Amazon gift cards so that we could buy any essentials we needed.  Sam took Mike to CVS so that we could pick up some essentials, since we didn’t know how long we would be away from home.  A neighbor came over with some of her son’s old clothes and I went through them and picked things out for Charlie.  Matt came over to pick us up and we drove up to Zachary with him.  We felt that would be a good decision because Matt and Molly have two sons, one of whom is just a few months older than C.

They moved their son into their room and cleaned out some drawer space for us.  We stayed with them for almost 4 days.  We spent much of those days on the phone, cancelling credit cards or talking to our builder or other companies (since we were scheduled to close on our new house the next Monday), or trying to figure out how to replace the car keys we lost.  Molly cooked us delicious dinners and we tried to help with dishes and whatever else we could.  We cried and discovered that we both have some PTSD that flares up when it rains.  We bathed Charlie and we bathed Dora, who had litter or mud or something matted into her fur.  I worked all day Thursday to build as much of my new (just picked up 2 weeks ago) online course as I could, in case we didn’t have internet access when we left Matt and Molly’s.  We found out that our new house was OK and that we may be on track to close, but that they needed a disaster inspector to come in and inspect the house.  No one knew when that would happen.  These phone calls were harrowing, not knowing whether you weren’t reaching someone because they were busy or because they were missing.  We talked to some who lost everything.

On Thursday, Molly took us to Wal-Mart.  I needed clothes (the Old Navy stuff was too big), we needed some food of our own and some other necessities.  While we were at Wal-Mart, a FEMA inspector texted Mike. We weren’t sure if he was legit, so we scrambled to call the 1-800 number to find out.  My parents had also just gotten back to the house, so we were waiting to hear what the house was like.  We knew that their next door neighbor’s house had no water in it—just flooding in the garage—and we prayed.  We waited for 45 minutes before we heard: the house was dry.  Not a drop inside.  Hallelujah, we cried.  And, Dad found my great-grandmother’s cross that fell off my necklace as we were getting ready to board the boat.  Outside the door.  Not a drop of water inside the house.

We rejoiced. And then we shifted our attention to the storage unit.  We had all of our furniture and most of our stuff in storage while we were between houses and living with my parents.  The unit is in one of the most flooded areas of our parish.  We had Mom and Dad go look at it on Thursday afternoon, but the owner could not let them in since it wasn’t their unit.  Dad saw water draining out from the unit, which is not a good sign since this was 4 days after the flooding started.  The owner said he figured there was about 3 inches of water in the unit, but no one knows.  And all our stuff has just been sitting in that water, with all of the contaminants in that water.

Mom and Dad came to pick us up today, Friday, in the morning.  We hugged and kissed and were so excited to see each other again.  We packed everything up and headed home.  It felt so weird to be back.  On the way in, we drove through the neighborhood.  Only two roads were affected, it seemed, if you were judging by the piles of insulation, sheetrock, flooring, etc. outside the homes.  But so many houses on their street were gutted.  We got so lucky.  The houses across the street are being completely and utterly gutted.  They lost nearly everything.  One of the neighbor kids came over and I asked if they needed anything.  After thinking, she said her mom had no shoes.  Her mom is the same size shoe as me, so I gave her my sneakers.  Two pairs.  And a pair of my fancy designer shoes.  I saw her mom later, and she was thrilled with them.  It was the absolute least I could do, as this woman told me she worked to gut the wall she so meticulously painted for her 2-year old daughter when she was pregnant.

We called AAA and found out that they could come get us new keys.  Kim returned to her house and did more work gutting her house.  She is sleeping on an air mattress in my parents’ living room.  We ate dinner together (ham, beans, jello salad and sweet potatoes) and laughed.  Kim is family now (and clearly the favorite child).  A man from ServPro came to check the house and told us that the conditions here are not favorable for mold growth.  So that is good news.

Tomorrow we will have AAA come out and we will visit the storage unit and see what we need to move forward.  DSLD has said that we can store our salvaged items in our garage, even if we haven’t closed on the new house yet, because we have nowhere else to put them.  We will need to be very selective when we choose items to save, as the FEMA director told us that “poop of every kind, all the chemicals from peoples’ houses, the streets, etc” are in that water.  And especially with the baby, we do not want that in our house.

So that is where we are at, at 11:11 on Friday night.

-Since then-

We got the keys made to the Yaris and had to have the Rav towed to the dealership to have new keys programmed.  They did this, but on the way home and out again later, we noticed that it was making a funny noise.  So, back to the dealer it went. Long story short, we found out water had gotten into the rear differential.  It was going to be a $1600 minimum repair, so we called the car insurance.  Thankfully, they will cover the cost of the repair.  As of yesterday (9/7), they are still waiting on the part so our car is still there.

The unit did flood—we figure it got about 3-4 inches of water.  But, all that stuff sat there for about a week until we were able to get to it.  We lost all of our big furniture (couches, entertainment center, dining table, buffet, bedroom furniture), and Mom and Dad lost their mattress set and Gram’s desk that were in the unit.  We lost some miscellaneous small things too (cookbooks, lots of decorations, shoes, etc), but nothing that can’t be replaced.  And as we were going through boxes and bins (always pack in bins in storage units, we’ve learned!), we have a lot more of the sentimental stuff than we expected to have.  We’ve started ordering replacement furniture, because people were so kind to help us out.  We ordered most of it online, so we are just waiting for it to come, put it together and be back to normal.

We just found out today that our Renter’s policy will not cover any of the losses.  We are still waiting to hear back about the FEMA appeal and the policy we took out through the storage unit company, but we are not really holding our breath since so many people whose actual homes had been damaged were turned down for assistance.

I think that’s where we stand! We are just trying to focus on the good and be thankful for the lovely four walls that surround us and work on making this place a home. J