On Sunday afternoon, August 28, Hancock Medical Center’s department managers and supervisors reported to the hospital for a planned “Code White” briefing on the approaching, still-strengthening Hurricane Katrina. Seasoned professionals with checklists in-hand, faces around the room looked concerned as latest coordinates were released on the enormous red mass on the tracking map.

Little did they know, 24 hours later they would reflect on a catastrophic event that called on all the courage, strength and endurance they could muster. And there was little time for reflection.

The “lockdown” period began that Sunday afternoon, with 35 patients unable to be discharged to other facilities. Included in that number were five intensive care, 30 medical/surgical patients and one newborn. A decision had been made to locate all patients on the main floor of the building for staffing efficiency and in the event of roof damage. Flood was not a consideration, as the hospital is located on high ground, far from water.

After an uneventful night, staff noted significant wind activity outside the facility early Monday. About 9:30 a.m. a call from the medical staff president, checking on the hospital’s status, would be one of the last communications with the outside world for days.

Employees watched in disbelief as rising water, complete with whitecaps, washed through the parking lot and up to the doors. Initial attempts to sandbag were unsuccessful; the need to move patients to the second floor became apparent and urgent.

Moving water resembling the Gulf of Mexico swirled automobiles around the parking lot, and staff worked feverishly to transport critical patients by elevator. A 600-pound non-ambulatory shelter evacuee included in the number was the last person to be transported before generators succumbed to flooding. Darkness swept over the building, and remaining patients were carried up the stairwell to safety on the backs of physicians and facilities services staff.

Wind-driven rain prohibited use of several patient rooms on the second floor, forcing patients to be cared for in the hall. Needs were met by assigned nurses, while other staff attempted to retrieve essential medical supplies, linen and undamaged food from the first floor in the dark. A bucket brigade was formed to obtain water to flush toilets as the water pumps failed.

Staff waited and prayed for the hurricane eye-wall to pass; knowing winds would shift and force waters back to their origin. Eerily, sunshine appeared…winds were calmed, and waters began to quickly recede over the next hours. Fish, crabs and a snapping turtle were deposited in the hospital along the way.

Part two brought more violent winds, but the knowledge that all had survived.

An inspection of the Emergency Department revealed still receding, calf-deep waters…and the first battered community survivor (a woman in her mid-80s with a visibly broken arm, shivering on a door used as a makeshift stretcher). Still locked-down, with no generator power, doctors and nurses never looked back from that moment.



Adrenaline, compassion and desire to heal fueled the next 48 hours until the first Disaster Military Assistance arrived Wednesday.

ER physicians Sean Appleyard, Ronnie Ali, Collins Knight and Jeff Giddens wasted no time setting up a triage area to assess and treat what would become a never-ending influx of patients. General surgeon Brian Anthony repaired a man’s severed radial artery while a scrub tech held a flashlight overhead.

Heroism took the stage, and Hancock Medical Center’s tired staff never quit. Teamwork…resolve…the Hippocratic Oath honorably kept. All of this underscored by each employee’s inability to communicate with loved ones; each living with fear for safety and survival of family, friends and home.

Hundreds of community residents, many surviving by hanging on trees, walked miles to seek medical care. HMC’s staff was there. The U. S. Coast Guard began rescuing survivors from rooftops and transporting them by helicopter to the hospital. In return, they flew the hospital’s critical patients to accepting facilities.

Late Monday and through the night scared residents came pleading for water, shelter, food and safety. Staff managed the best they could with limited salvageable supplies; and a school bus shuttled families not needing medical care to a local high school. Maintenance staff hung multi-colored emergency glow-lights to mark the path down darkened corridors and stairwells. The HMC team held tough.

No air conditioning…no communication…no running water… A mantra that repeated for several days.

These were some of healthcare’s finest hours…lovingly, selflessly, fearlessly showcased by my co-workers and physicians…a hospital family of survivors responsible for the survival of countless residents.

Footnote: Some 75% of HMC’s staff and physicians lost residences and/or possessions to violent winds and water. Included in that number are Administrator Hal W. Leftwich, DBA, FACHE, and Facilities Services Director Hank Wheeler, who both spent the first 14 nights after the storm on air mattresses under the canopy of the hospital’s business office. The two spent the next month in patient rooms on the second floor. Both purchased travel trailers, and now live on the hospital campus until their residences are rebuilt.