A violent storm that produced a tornado knocked out power through much of Columbus just after 5 p.m. Feb. 23, 2019.

That included Baptist Memorial Hospital-Golden Triangle, which operated on generator power for much of the night.

Injured patients soon inundated an already “relatively full” emergency room. But the storm’s timing proved a stroke of luck for a hospital staff otherwise braced for the worst: It happened during a shift change.

“So, we had our day shift and night shift nurses (still on site and) available to handle the surge of patients,” said Melissa Downey, a registered nurse on duty in the ER that night.

While hospital staff The Dispatch spoke with this week couldn’t recall the exact number of ER patients treated in the immediate aftermath of the tornado that ripped through the city five years ago, the Lowndes County Emergency Management Agency reported that figure at 18.

Dr. Lee Richardson, a physician on duty in the ER that night, said those injuries ranged from minor lacerations to broken bones to the one life the infamous storm claimed.

Ashley Pounds, 41, of Tupelo was injured inside a building that collapsed on Tuscaloosa Road. She was taken to Baptist, where she died during surgery.

“It’s very traumatic when somebody comes in talking with you, having a conversation, and then it results in a death,” Chief Nursing Officer Alicia Grant recalled.

As the patients kept coming, so too did more hospital staff.

Richardson said the extra trauma surgeons and anesthetic team members arrived soon after the storm passed. That wasn’t all.

“The admin team came in and worked the ER, did a lot of triage,” Richardson said. “… It certainly helped.”

Blood, sweat and tears

Generators provided vital support — light as well as power to most hospital equipment. What they don’t power, however, is air conditioning.

On an unseasonably warm February night, that created problems.

“All the condensation starts to build up on the floors and in the rooms,” said Sandy Holman, ER nurse manager. “Of course, you’ve got people running around, and we’re all sweating very profusely. … It’s a big deal when you’re in an ER, and you’re trying to get gloves on and off and do procedures. And we’ve got these bright lights that are making it even hotter.”

“When the walls start sweating, you start to worry about sterility of equipment,” Grant added.

Some of the medical staff lived in the areas the storm hit hardest, Grant said, so they also worried about their homes, whether their relatives and neighbors were safe, or if one of their loved ones would be the next person an ambulance brought in.

“There’s a lot of emotions involved when something like that happens,” she said.

Getting to the injured

That night, Madison Guyton was halfway through what has so far been a 10-year career at Baptist. As administrative director he oversees the ambulance service, and he rode out the storm in the hospital’s command center helping ambulances safely navigate their routes.

“Usually any type of storm that comes around, you get bombarded with a lot of extra calls,” he said. “… It was just nonstop that night.”

Ambulances are grounded until winds fall back under 55 mph, Guyton said, and dozens of calls that came in during the storm created a backlog. Many were true injuries. Others were “people who were scared.” Still others, he said, had home personal oxygen systems that stopped working when their power went out and they needed assistance switching to manual bottles.

At least six ambulances and their crews began playing catchup as soon as they could, but it was slower going than normal as they navigated around fallen trees, debris and a not insignificant number of rubberneckers out assessing the damage for themselves. Also, downed power meant no street lights.

“It’s very challenging to see roads when you’re just using headlights,” he said.

When crews arrived, they still had to “keep their head on a swivel.” Were downed power lines still energized? Was the damaged home they were about to enter still stable?

“If they end up getting hurt, they aren’t going to be available to help people,” GuyTon said. “So you have to keep them safe while you’re trying to help other people.”

Luckily no ambulance personnel were hurt that night, Guyton said. There weren’t even any close calls.

Hours, days, months, years

The last ambulance bearing a storm victim arrived at Baptist between 10 and 10:30 p.m., Richardson recalled, though patients remained hospitalized overnight.

Holman and Downey finally left about 2 a.m. Richardson didn’t head home until 6 a.m.

“I think we all have PTSD from that one,” Richardson said of the shift. “You always think about what you could have done differently, especially on the bad outcome stuff. … You think about that for hours, days, months, years.”

Zack Plair is the managing editor for The Dispatch.

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