Natural disasters, including Helene, can put patients at risk

As I’m writing this column on Tuesday, Oct. 1, I’m relatively safe from the aftermath of Hurricane Helene’s battering here in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, which is in a fairly central part of the state. But I can just picture what it was like for residents to the west of me when the storm hit. Can you?

Just imagine: Winds howl, battering the trees outside. Rain pours, sounding like buckets of water thrown onto roofs. The lights flicker a few times, and you freeze as you look up at them, holding your breath. A low electrical hum begins and gets progressively louder until a boom that sounds like an explosion or a lightning strike. Then all the lights go out as your power transformer is down.

You spend the rest of the night lying in the dark and trying to sleep. You can’t play on your phone because you need to conserve your battery life. You can’t sleep much anyway, because all night you’re hearing the ominous sounds of trees snapping, emergency vehicle sirens, heavy rains, and wind.

The news predicted this excess rain from the remnants of Hurricane Helene. But you’re in Asheville, the major city of Western North Carolina, and no prediction could’ve helped you imagine what’s happened. You’re over 300 miles from the coast, surrounded by mountains, after all. “It’s just heavy rain like any other hurricane, right?” you said.

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Continue to imagine. See yourself rubbing your eyes as sunlight pours into your window. You can’t remember when you fell asleep, but you’re glad you could rest. You go to the bathroom and discover the power is still out. You flush the toilet and realize the water isn’t refilling the tank. You check the sink to wash your hands. No water.

You head outside as you grab your phone at 67%. You wander outside while checking social media, texts, and messages, then look up to see your neighbor’s house down the hill is gone. And so is the house next to it. All your neighbors’ homes are gone. Somehow your home is still standing.

Now I’ll see myself in that situation.

Let’s say I was supposed to have chemotherapy that day, as well as a hematology appointment to refill medications for my rare disease, atypical hemolytic uremic syndrome (aHUS), just as I do every other Wednesday. Without those treatments, my immune system will destroy my free-flowing red blood cells (hemolytic anemia) and cause tiny blood clots in many of my organs (thrombocytopenia). That’s a death sentence, I know; I nearly died from this problem in September 2020.

Chronicling the devastation and danger

Facing a major natural disaster is hard for anyone. But for people with chronic illnesses who depend on chemotherapy, medication infusions, blood pressure medications, oxygen machines, breathing treatments, and so many other things, it’s much harder.

I shifted from another topic to write this column about Hurricane Helene and its consequences, as they exist now. Parts of Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Western North Carolina have been devastated by this storm. Some parts of the latter received four to five months of rain in three days, The Washington Post reported. Asheville is my hometown, and I’ve never seen anything like it. Even the blizzard of 1993, when I was a child, wasn’t this bad.

There are cities that appear wiped off the map. Major highways, gone. Homes with people in them, gone. And my parents are still missing and have been since Friday, Sept. 27, near Swannanoa. Many people still have no power, no water, no cellphone service, no internet, and no food.

As patients with chronic illnesses, what do we do when our entire infrastructure fails? We can’t just run by Walgreens to pick up our prescriptions because the entire store is gone. We can’t run our oxygen machine if we have no power for an indefinite period of time. I just can’t fathom what the western side of my state is going through.

I wish I had a perfect answer wrapped up in a bow for this situation, but I don’t. Society needs to work to create better plans for when disasters occur. It’s true that while almost everyone in Western North Carolina needs care, sick people are at an especially huge risk.

As I continue to search for my parents, I’ll make every effort to help anyone I can. I feel helpless in this situation, but it’s good to know I’ve prayed for others, given what little guidance I have.

Be kind and prepare as much as you can for a natural disaster. Have a small supply of extra medication on hand if that’s possible. Store away extra medical supplies and equipment, as well as battery banks and backup chargers for phones. These things may sound small, but they can make the difference between life and death.

Note: aHUS News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of aHUS News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to aHUS.