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May 2005 Tsunami on Koh Phi Phiby Laura Wales Swept across the island by a wave five times her height, Laura Wales’ nightmare had only begun.Since high school I have had a fear of tsunamis. I’m not sure what triggered it, since I had never had a terrible experience with the ocean. It was just my thing. Some people are afraid of plane crashes or spiders; I am afraid of tsunamis. On the Singapore-Thailand study trip with other Business School students during the December break from classes, I told Professor Andy Skrzypacz about my fear and asked him to calculate my risk of dying in a tsunami. He laughed and told me “less than zero percent.” On December 23, after the study trip, Stephan Zech, Lorri Elder, James Hsu, Bonnie Liu, and I went to Koh Phi Phi, a tiny island off Phuket, while other members of the Class of 2005 headed to their homes or other destinations. Bonnie and James checked into the three-story Banyan Hotel on the south side of the island, while Lorri, Stephan, and I stayed in a bungalow at the Phi Phi Charlie Resort on the north side. For three days we enjoyed ourselves. On Christmas Eve at midnight there were fireworks on the beach, and James and I made Christmas resolutions. Christmas Day passed uneventfully, except that Lorri left to join her family in Hawaii. On December 26, I woke at 8:15 to insistent pounding on the door. It was our classmate 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 and was supposed to have met the group at 8. He jumped out of bed and looked wildly around the room: His clothes and toiletries were strewn all over the bungalow. We were supposed to check out by 11, and Stephan’s dive would last until after 3. “Don’t worry; I’ll pack for you,” I mumbled before falling back to sleep. Around 9:30 I woke again, showered, and started packing. About an hour later James knocked on the door. I asked where Bonnie was. He explained she had opted to hang out by the pool at their hotel until we left. We continued chatting as he helped me finish packing 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 bungalow in front of ours. It appeared to be just above waist level, and was moving with a velocity and roar 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- to 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 every area of my body simultaneously. I was thrown backward 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. This must have been when my legs were gouged by pieces of the building, but at the time I was aware only of a general crushing sensation throughout my body. My first thought was that it must be one of my dreams. But I quickly realized that it was real and 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 crushing sensation intensified in my chest 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. Just then, something that was holding me shifted. I gave one instinctive kick with my left leg and my head was above water. I gulped a breath. The strong current grabbed me and pulled me across the small island. I struggled to stay above the river of water and wasn’t aware of where I was or what was happening around me. At one point I saw a building ahead. Most of the bottom floor had been washed away and water was racing through the newly created tunnel. The northern walls also had 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 I’m alive, so they don’t feel guilty they didn’t rescue me. I was swept under the hotel before the wave died and I washed onto a pile of debris on the beach. I immediately vomited and coughed up water and sand. My contacts were gone and my ears 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 the pile, hugging the tree. I started making my way there, half walking, half crawling over pieces of boats, roofs, bicycles. 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, held on only by a small area of skin. When I finally made it up to the tree, the man turned and left. I don’t know why. 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 6 inches of exposed bone. My ankle was also gouged and was swelling like a melon. 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 the sarong slip off the first few times I tried. From somewhere, I heard an Australian woman shout, “Hang on; there’s another wave coming!” I struggled up and bear-hugged the palm tree. Luckily this was the third wave and I was now on the sheltered side of the island. 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 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 I’d gotten all of the recommended vaccinations for travel. They were so expensive 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. I’m glad now my contacts were washed away, because I couldn’t quite make out the death and destruction around me. The extent of the tragedy and the need for rescue 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 some fabric they found on the beach and half dragged, half carried me to the second floor of a nearby hotel. They put me on a bed 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 expatriates took turns taking care of us and going down to the beaches to help other survivors. One man tore up sheets and re-bandaged my leg. I allowed myself to be comforted by their cheerful assurances that everything would be all right, despite the fact I could hear them crying once they left the room, wondering about their own loved ones. Finally we heard the sound of a helicopter. The evacuation zone was on the opposite side of the island, so they had to carry the injured through streets that were sometimes piled 4 feet high with debris. The men found a park bench to use as my stretcher. The trip took over an hour, although it could normally be done in 10 minutes. Somewhere along the 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 other survivors. 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. Sometime after dark Stephan and Natalia showed up at my side. I’ve never been so happy to see friends. They took turns taking care of me while the others helped load patients into the helicopter. We were able to smile and crack jokes, but behind our smiles was our 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 he was surely OK 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. At last a medic looked at my leg and realized it was worse than previously thought. And Stephan, being a champion marketer, pointed out my ragged breathing. When the medic listened to my breath, he decided to put me on the next 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. When I arrived in Krabi, my legs were operated on while I was still in the lobby of the hospital. A nurse cut off my bikini and threw a hospital gown over me while a doctor unwrapped my legs. Every square inch of the lobby seemed to be packed with doctors, volunteers, or patients. 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. The next thing I remember it was morning, and I was lying on a hospital bed with both 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. Krabi seems like a bad dream. I realized later how lucky I was to have a bed, but I didn’t know then about all the patients who were on the floor. 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. One woman brought in her cell phone so I could call my family. When I finished talking 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, the inadequacy of the care I was receiving. Back in the United States, my friends and family were panicked and trying to figure out a plan of action. Finally my mother got in touch with my classmate Bryan Gaw, who was in Bangkok. He did some research on medevac 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. I was so bloated from the salt water and matted with blood and sand 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. He brought news that Bonnie was safe and James still missing. He arranged for me to be transported to Bumrungrad Hospital in Bangkok. The study group had visited Bumrungrad as part of the study trip and learned it is regarded as one of the top private hospitals in Southeast Asia. Bryan and I, along with 10 other patients and various doctors, flew to Bangkok at dawn the next morning. At the ICU at Bumrungrad I was 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 days took on a 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 physical therapist would hit my back rhythmically, helping me to cough up the sand that still plagued my breathing. Bryan stayed with me until my mother arrived two days later. On January 11, she and I and a doctor flew back to California. I was met by an ambulance that brought me straight to Stanford Hospital. As I write this, I am out of the hospital. As soon as the wound has enough muscle tissue growing in it, I will receive a skin graft. By the time you read this, it should 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. Epilogue |
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