Dr. Jean Lieu - Jan 7,2005 Nagapattinam

January 7, 2005

There are few times I've looked death in the eyes, and this was one of those times. For a moment, I thought I would die in India. Our team was going door to door to distribute baby formula and to provide medical care. I had been tending to a patient with severe muscle spasms and bruises. She was flung into the water as the waves smashed down on her. Somebody had thrown her a rope and by some miracle she was able to slip the noose around her waist. She showed me her waist, still bruised and cut from the tension it took to pull her to safety. The only things I could offer her were hot packs, a topical analgesic balm, and Tylenol since we had no access to narcotics. Because I was in her house, I had taken off my shoes. The rest of my team had remained at her front door. As I stepped outside a short time later, I noticed that my entire team had disappeared. There was a deafening silence I hadn't noticed before. One of the volunteers stood at the gate, looking a bit lost and confused. I asked her what was wrong and she replied in a heavy Indian accent that water was coming. I didn't quite get the full meaning of her answer. So I asked another team member as he came walking towards me. He too said water was coming. It then dawned on me that he meant tsunami. Instinctively, I ran back to the front steps to grab my shoes and bag pack, realized that I didn't have time to put on my shoes and half expecting and bracing to be swallowed by a wave of water at any minute. Yet in the back of my mind, a little voice of doubt whispered for me to grab my shoes and bag pack, just in case. If I lived, I needed the shoes…they were the only pair I brought. Why I brought only one pair, I don't know. If I died, my passport was my only form of identification. With those thoughts, I made my way to the main street. Only then did I start to panic and belief that the tsunami scare might be real.
What I encountered on the main street was a sea of people, crying, screaming and running. Trish and Brian screamed at me frantically from across the street as I fought my way over to them. Taking the tail end of the line, I ushered my team up three flights of stairs to higher grounds. We stood there, shaken, waiting for the waves that never came. All around me, the tops of building were brimming with people. A short time later, we found that it was only a hoax. The unusually high waves had caused panic and mass hysteria. There was no tsunami.

We sat there and laughed nervously at how ridiculously we had behaved as we fled for our lives. Had that been our final moments on Earth, Brian would have gone to heaven with my medical equipment and medicines, which he had guarded with his life. Trish was so disoriented initially that she ran towards the beach instead of away from it. She has lost her shoes and passport in the confusion. And me? The silly little Vietnamese doctor would have gone to heaven with her pair of shoes, tucked safely under her arms like a little baby. Even as we laughed, we couldn't help but thanked God that we were still here. It reminded us how precious life was and how dangerous our mission could potentially be. Faced with death, it's funny what we identify as our priorities. Such is human nature, I suppose.
With the tsunami scare, my team needed to calm our nerves. They didn't want to return to the village so we headed towards our headquarters at the temple. As we neared the temple, I noticed that it wasn't as crowded as usual.

Apparently, the military had taken off, as well as our driver. He was too afraid to return for us so it looked like we were going to have to hike back on foot. The only people who remained behind were the doctors and the relief workers.
Fortunately, we were able hitch a ride to the next village in an ambulance. As we drove into the camp, children and adults swarmed the ambulance. Trish and Brian kept the children entertained while Siva and I handed out baby formulas. When we were done, I set up a medical station. We tried to keep track of the number of patients I was seeing, but gave up after ten minutes. There was an endless stream of patients. Fortunately, several hours later, an Indian doctor joined me and we worked side by side, stethoscope flying and blood pressure cuff pumping at lightning speed. By the end of the night, he had logged at least 80 patients before giving up on the tally. I had started three or four hours before him. Again, we turned the rest of the patients away and promised to return the next morning