Irma, and Aftermath

The outer bands of Hurricane Irma pushed through eastern South Florida last weekend. The eye was supposed to pass over us.  It was predicted that we would get a Category 3 or 4.  On various maps, our coast was highlighted in shocking pink, indicating potential for catastrophic damage. It was unsettling, to say the least.  We'd been through storms before, but this looked like a real mother.  Should we evacuate? I'd never fled the Sunshine State pre-hurricane before. We decided to stay, come hell or... It's a logistical nightmare when thousands or even millions jam one of three main arteries north.  Florida is only about one hundred and thirty miles at its widest.   If you're one of those out of staters who wonder why more of us don't just "get out of dodge", let that marinate in your brain a little bit. 

Irma tracked west.  Those who evacuated to Ft. Myers and Tampa were now in the hot zone.  That must've seemed like a cruel joke, or the loser's end of a gamble.  Thankfully, by the time the eye pushed up the Gulf side, the category had downgraded.  It could've been far worse for everyone.  I realize this is little consolation to those who had to be rescued from flood water laden apartment buildings, or those who lost a roof, or the many who can't even read this this week, as they wait on FPL to restore power.  God bless those workers (and the armies of assistance who have traveled from as far as Canada), by the way.

I have no horrific tales of Irma.  The electricity flickered, but miraculously never went out.  After Frances in 2004 and Wilma in '05, I had no power for a week, especially difficult with an elderly grandmother.  This time we had no flooding or damage to the house.  There were a plethora of downed tree branches and palm fronds. I spent an afternoon cleaning out the pool, a strangely therapeutic task - the water was not "bathtub warm", but refreshingly cool.  I returned to work two days after the storm and my office sustained several disintegrated ceiling tiles on its east side, facing the Intercoastal waterway.  It reeked of mold.  Re-scheduling patients was erm, challenging.

But we were spared the undiluted fury.  We pray for the season to quiet down.  Jose will spin in the Atlantic and not be a threat to the U.S.   We always hope the storm goes elsewhere, but then we think of those in the islands.  Sometimes I think Haiti should have its citizens relocated to a less dangerous terrain, that nature never intended a human population there.  You could argue that about New Orleans.  And Florida (Read This).  Where would we go?