Tsunami account

Cambridge, England

I will put an update in a few days, but in the meantime here is an interesting account from a friend of a friend. It is long, but worth the read. Laura is currently studying for an MBA at Stanford.

Tsunami on Koh Phi Phi by Laura Wales

Since high school I have had a deep-rooted fear of tsunamis. I’m not sure what triggered it, since I had never had a terrible experience with the ocean. I was teased by family and friends whenever I admitted this fear, but it was just my thing: some people are afraid of plane crashes or spiders, I am afraid of tsunamis.

For years I’ve had recurring nightmares of trying to escape from oncoming waves. On one of the last days of the Singapore-Thailand Study Trip, I told Professor Andy Skrypacz about my fear and asked him to calculate my risk of dying in a tsunami. He laughed and told me jokingly that I had a “less than 0%” chance.

On December 23rd, Stephan Zech, Lorri Elder, James Hsu, Bonnie Liu and I went to Koh Phi Phi, a tiny island off of Phuket, for some relaxation after the Singapore-Thailand Study Trip. We picked roommates somewhat randomly, and Bonnie and James checked into the three-story Banyan Hotel on the south side of the island while Lorri, Stephan, and I checked into a bungalow at the Phi Phi Charlie Resort on the north side of the island.

For the next three days we enjoyed ourselves hedonistically—eating, swimming, shopping, getting Thai massages, and hitting the bars. On Christmas Eve we laughed at the resort’s mandatory “Gala” involving a huge buffet and Thai transvestites singing Vegas show tunes, decked out in naughty Santa costumes. At midnight there were fireworks on the beach, and I laid with James on one of the lounge chairs and we made Christmas resolutions. It did not feel like the holidays, but it was the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had.

Christmas Day passed uneventfully, except that Lorri left us to join her family in Hawaii. On December 26th, I woke up at 8:15 a.m. to insistent pounding on the door. It was Natalia Carvajal, coming to get Stephan. Natalia was not on our study trip, but was spending winter break on Koh Phi Phi because her boyfriend, Hein, was a diving instructor there.

Stephan had signed up for a diving certification program through Hein, and the 26th was his last dive. He was supposed to have met the group at 8:00 a.m., but due to miscommunication we thought the dive didn’t begin until 10:00 a.m. When Natalia came to the door, Stephan jumped out of bed and looked wildly around the room: his clothes and toiletries were strewn all over the bungalow. “Don’t worry, I’ll pack for you,” I mumbled before falling back to sleep. We were supposed to check out of the resort by 11 a.m., and Stephan’s dive would last until after 3 p.m.

Around 9:30 I woke up again, showered, and started packing. Bonnie, James, and I had decided to meet at 10:30 and hit the beach one least time before departing on the afternoon ferry back to Phuket. Around 10:25 James knocked on the door. I let him in, inquiring why Bonnie wasn’t with him. He explained that Bonnie didn’t want to get sandy before our ferry ride back to Phuket and had opted to hang out by the pool at their hotel until we left. We continued chatting as he helped me finish packing up Stephan’s belongings.

Suddenly a ferocious wind hit the bungalow, rattling the window. At the same moment, the overhead light went out. I looked out the window in time to see water rushing around the left side of the bungalow in front of ours. It appeared to be just above waist-level, and was moving with a velocity and roar that I’d never seen or heard before. I knew instantly what it meant. “Oh my God, it’s a tsunami!” I yelled to James as I grabbed his arm and jumped on the bed, pulling him up after me. Unfortunately, the water wasn’t just waist deep. What I saw must have been the very beginning of the 20-30 foot wave behind it.

When the wave hit our bungalow I was ripped apart from James and didn’t see him again. I’ve never felt anything like the force of that wave. The blow felt like a solid object striking each area of my body simultaneously. I was thrown backwards as the bungalow’s roof and walls crashed on top of us. Everything appeared dark and I was pinned down by the debris and weight of the water, unable to move any of my limbs. In retrospect, this must have been when my legs were gouged by pieces of the building, but at the time I was only aware of a general crushing sensation throughout my body.

My first thought when the wave hit was that it must be another one of my dreams. It was incomprehensible that I was actually trapped under water by a tsunami. But I quickly realized that it was real, and that my chances for survival were slim. I had been under water a few minutes, I couldn’t see my surroundings, and I couldn’t move anything except my head. The weight of the water over me didn’t seem to be lessening, so my hope that the water would recede seemed in vain. The crushing sensation intensified in my chest as my need to breathe grew stronger, and I knew if I didn’t get air I wouldn’t make it much longer.

If I had to die, I didn’t want to die scared and struggling. I thought about my family and how much my death would devastate them. In my mind, I repeated over and over to my parents, “I’m so sorry, I love you, I’m so sorry.” Then I opened my mouth and started inhaling the water. I wanted the pain to stop and after moment it did. As water filled my lungs, my vision went from dark to pure white. The weight of the water seemed to disappear and I felt light again. I was a moment away from either unconsciousness or death.

Before either occurred, something that was holding me suddenly shifted. I gave one instinctive kick with my left leg and suddenly my head was above water and I gulped a breath. The strong current of the wave grabbed me and pulled me across the small island. I struggled to stay above the river of water, and that struggle consumed most of my energy so that I wasn’t aware of where I was or of what else was happening around me. At one point I saw a building ahead.

The majority of the bottom floor had been washed away and water was racing through the newly created tunnel. The northern walls had also been knocked off, so that I could see straight into a hotel room. A Thai man in a blue shirt was standing in the room right in front of me, so I threw up my arm and he caught my hand. Another Thai man ran to his side and took my other arm. I looked up at them and cried, “Please hang on, please don’t let go,” but even as I pleaded I could feel my hands slipping away. They tried to get a better grip, but the current pushing my body was too strong and they had to let go of me in order to avoid being pulled into the water. I hope those two men know that I am alive, so that they don’t live with any guilt about their inability to rescue me.

I was swept under the hotel and a little farther before the wave died and the remaining water washed me onto a pile of debris on the beach. I immediately vomited and coughed up some water and sand. My contacts were gone and my ears were packed with sand, dulling my senses. My shoes and jewelry had been ripped off, but miraculously my bikini and sarong had stayed perfectly in place. I looked around for somewhere safer to rest. Nearby, a few feet of wreckage had piled around a palm tree. A Thai man stood on that pile, hugging the palm tree. I started making my way there, half walking, half crawling over the pieces of boats, roofs, bicycles, etc. The man pointed at my legs and shouted something in Thai. I looked down and saw that a section of my right leg was hanging off, held on by a small area of skin. “I know, I know, I’m hurt,” I replied to him—not that he understood me. When I finally made it up to the palm tree, the Thai man turned and left. Maybe he wasn’t injured and so was able to seek even higher ground. Or maybe he didn’t want to share his spot with some Western girl who might bleed to death next to him. Either way, I was alone. I took a closer look at myself and noted where I was hurt.

By this time my body had gone into blissful shock, so the pain and bleeding were subdued. The worst of the injuries was on my right leg where about a fourth of my shin was gouged out. I could see six inches of exposed bone. My ankle was also gouged and was swelling up like a melon. I assumed it was broken. I took the muscle and skin that was hanging off my shin and pressed it over the exposed bone. I tied it in place with my sarong, although the water and blood made my sarong slip off the first few times I tried.

From somewhere I couldn’t see, I heard an Australian woman shout, “Hang on, there’s another wave coming!” I struggled onto my injured legs and bear-hugged the palm tree. Luckily this was the third wave, and I was now on the sheltered side of the island. So the wave pushed debris hard into my back but didn’t reach over my head. When it receded, I lay down on the shifting rubble and realized that even if another wave came, I wouldn’t have the strength to stand up again. I was exhausted, and all I wanted to do was close my eyes and sleep. But I’d read enough to know that falling asleep while in shock could be a death sentence, so I struggled to stay awake. I remember looking at what I was lying on—some pieces of wood with rusty nails sticking out—and being grateful that I’d gotten all of the recommended vaccinations for travel. They were so expensive that I had nearly rolled the dice and gone without them.

Every few minutes I would yell, “Help!” or “Doctor!” and in the distance I could hear others doing the same. My cries were feeble because my lungs were still so full of water and sand that my breathing was quick and shallow. In retrospect I’m glad that my contacts were washed away, because I couldn’t quite make out the death and destruction around me.

Hollywood trains us to believe that when there is a crisis, the U.S. Air Force is just minutes behind, ready to airlift the injured to the nearest hospital. So even though I knew it wasn’t realistic, I kept waiting for the sound of helicopters overhead. Of course, at this point I figured the tsunami had only hit Koh Phi Phi, or perhaps a few neighboring islands. The extent of the tragedy and the need for resources elsewhere never occurred to me.                  

After about an hour, a few uninjured Westerners came down to the beach and I called out to them. They created a sling from a piece of material on the beach and half dragged, half carried me up into the second floor of a nearby hotel on a small hill. They lay me on one of the beds next to a woman whose blood had already soaked the sheets and who didn’t say a word the entire four hours I lay next to her.

A group of ex-patriots from various Western countries took turns taking care of us and going down to the beaches to help other survivors. One man tore up sheets from another hotel room and re-bandaged my leg. I allowed myself to be comforted by their cheerful assurances that everything would be all right, despite the fact that I could hear them crying once they left the room, wondering about their own loved ones. One woman found a half-empty bottle of Tylenol and offered me two. I laughed at the small dosage since I normally take four just for a headache, but accepted. The pain was seeping through the shock and becoming unbearable.

Finally we heard the sound of a helicopter and a few of the men went to find out where it was landing. The evacuation zone was on the opposite side of the island, so they had to carry the injured through streets that were occasionally piled four feet high with debris. The men managed to knock a few doors off of the hotel rooms and use the doors as stretchers to transport the injured. When my turn came, they found a park bench and laid me on it. The trip across the island took over an hour, although it could normally be done in ten minutes. The men kept stopping to lift me over obstacles or to put me down so that they could rest their arms. When we’d gone a short way I heard Hein’s voice and called out to him. He came over and assured me that he, Natalia, and Stephan were all uninjured. He helped carry me the rest of the way, got me settled, and went off to help transport other survivors.

The evacuation zone was nothing more than a relatively clear area next to a basketball court where the helicopter could land safely. All during my bumpy and painful ride across the island I had fantasies that the medics on site would be carrying shots of morphine and administering them with a heavy hand. I was disappointed to find that the medics had brought nothing with them except some gauze, iodine, and Tylenol. The area was full of bodies lying on makeshift beds or sheets and from every direction I could hear people groaning. Many of the injured had friends or family with them who were advocating for their care, insisting that their loved one be on the next helicopter or receive more Tylenol.

I was worried that I would be overlooked by the medics since I was alone and was only referred to as “Leg Wound”—which was not an impressive title in the midst of “Skull Injury” and “Broken Back” patients. My leg was still wrapped in ripped sheets, but the medics were worrying less about cleaning wounds than prioritizing who would take the limited spaces on the helicopter to Phuket.

When the sun went down the medics mandated that all the injured be covered from head to toe to keep the mosquitoes away. Already, flies were covering my legs quicker than I could swat them away. Hotel sheets and towels were used to cover the wounded, and the effect of so many bodies shrouded in white made the area look like a morgue. Sometime after dark Stephan and Natalia showed up by my side, and I’ve never been so happy to see friends.

The terrifying feeling of being alone vanished when they lifted back the sheet that covered my head and smiled down at me. They took turns taking care of me while the other went to help load patients into the helicopter, and we were able to smile and crack jokes together. But right behind each of our smiles was the fear for James and Bonnie. I was especially afraid for James. My escape was so narrow, and when James didn’t appear at the evacuation zone I was certain he didn’t make it. I felt guilty for lacking faith, especially when others reassured me that he surely okay and that lots of people were still being rescued. I tried to keep my spirits buoyed by hope and prayer, but the hope felt fake and hollow.

After each helicopter left, rumors circulated throughout the evacuation zone that it had been the last helicopter for the night and that anyone remaining would be left until morning. There were also steady rumors of another large aftershock in Indonesia and a subsequent wave coming our way. This fear made everyone jumpy and frantic whenever the wind would pick up for a moment. It underlay every movement of the night. When it appeared that I would not make it off the island that night, Stephan and Hein carried me to the second floor of an intact hotel near the evacuation site where I would be safe from a second tsunami. The hotel was only 50 feet away, but the journey took over 20 minutes due to large holes that peppered the ground and led straight into the sewers.

At last a medic looked at my leg again and realized it was worse than he’d previously thought. And Stephan, being a champion marketer, pointed out to him my ragged breathing. When the medic stopped to listen to my breath, he decided to put me on the next helicopter. His decision gave me the first moment of relief that I’d had in 12 hours. Stephan and a few of the other men put me on one of the hotel doors and carried me to the helicopter. I hated to leave without Stephan and Natalia, but they promised to find me in the hospital the next day in Phuket (Little did they know, the helicopter took us to Krabi instead, so Stephan, Natalia, and Hein wound up wasting the next day searching the hospitals in Phuket without luck).

I arrived in Krabi and they operated on my legs immediately, while I was still in the lobby of the hospital. The lobby was full of other gurneys and every square inch seemed to be packed with doctors, volunteers, or patients. A nurse cut off my bikini and threw a hospital gown loosely over me while a doctor started to unwrap my legs and feel the gouges. Amazingly, none of my bones were broken. My gasps didn’t make a dent in the overall noise level. Next to me, a man shrieked at the top of his lungs as a doctor poured disinfectant (I assume) into a hole in his arm. Luckily, my nurse must have given me pain killers because the next thing I remember it was morning, and I was laying on a hospital bed with both of my legs bandaged from knee to toe. My hair was still matted with sand and when I coughed, bits of sand came up with the phlegm. I felt ready for a night on the town.

My time in Krabi seems like a bad dream. I was wildly uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally. I didn’t know if Bonnie and James were okay, I hadn’t talked to my family, my legs throbbed, and other than the water that volunteers poured into my mouth, I was given no food or drink. I realized later how lucky I was to have a bed, but I didn’t know at that point about all the patients who were on the floor. My bed was sticking halfway into the walkway and didn’t have the standard hospital curtain for privacy. So when I used the bedpan, everyone walking through the busy room had a nice view. I was lonely and had no idea how or when I would get out of the hospital.

Fortunately, the people around me were amazingly kind and generous. One woman brought in her cell phone so that I could call my family. When I was finished talking to them she took the phone and told them—out of earshot—to get me out of the Krabi hospital, whatever the cost. She could see, better than I could, the inadequacy of the care I was receiving. Although I was no longer in shock, I was definitely still out of touch with reality. When I talked to my parents, I told them not to come to Thailand because I honestly believed I would be sent home in a day or two.

Back in the U.S., my friends and family were panicked and trying to figure out a plan of action. Lorri worked diligently from Hawaii trying to locate James and get me out of Krabi, making phone calls and searching the Internet. Finally my mother got in touch with Bryan Gaw, who was still in Bangkok. He did some research on medivac companies and got on the next possible flight to Krabi. At the hospital, he walked up and down the rows of beds, searching for me. But I was so bloated from the salt water and matted with blood and sand that he walked by me twice before a nurse helped him identify me.

Bryan stayed with me for the rest of the day and that night, calming me and keeping me as comfortable as possible. He brought the news that Bonnie was safe and James was still missing. During the day, he spent a lot of time on the phone, arranging for me to be transported to Bumrungrad Hospital in Bangkok. We visited Bumrungrad as part of the study trip, and it is regarded as one of the top private hospitals in Southeast Asia. Bryan and I, along with ten other patients and various doctors, flew to Bangkok at dawn the next morning.

I was admitted to the ICU at Bumrungrad and diagnosed with pneumonia and septicemia (blood poisoning). Septicemia is a quick killer if left untreated, so I would have been in trouble if I’d remained at Krabi. My parents spoke to the doctors and realized that I wouldn’t be coming home any time soon, so my mother made plans to come stay with me in Bangkok.

Bryan stayed with me until my mother arrived, rarely leaving to rest. My days took on a sort of bizarre routine. Every morning I went to the operating room where I was put under so the surgeons could treat my leg wounds. Every afternoon a lung physical therapist would come and hit my back rhythmically, helping me to cough up the sand that still plagued my breathing.

My mother arrived two days after I got to Bangkok, and stayed with me for two weeks. I’ve always found it comforting to be with my mom when I’m sick, and it was heavenly having her there when I was not only sick, but in a foreign country and emotionally upset as well. We had many generous visitors in Bangkok, and thanks to everyone who sent their friends or friends-of-friends to come and see me. I stayed in ICU for a week, and then was transferred to a regular room.

After 16 days I was deemed fit to fly, and my mother and I came back to California on January 11th. We flew United Airlines business class with a doctor, and the journey was easier than I expected. I was met by an ambulance that brought me straight to the Stanford Hospital, where I have been ever since.

I’m not sure how much longer I will be in the hospital. As soon as the wound has enough muscle tissue growing in it, I will receive a skin graft. In a month I should be walking on crutches, and in two months it will be as though I was never in the tsunami.

Except, of course, for the scars…on my legs, arm, and stomach, not to mention in my heart.