Trial by fire is defined as a thorough test of somebody’s abilities or character under pressure. October 9, 2017 is the day that I, my neighbors, friends, patients, and coworkers were tried by fire.

This is the day when Wine Country began burning, and continued to burn uncontrolled for weeks. These fires burned 10% of the homes and businesses of my town, Santa Rosa, to the ground. It killed 47 people during, and many more after, from complications suffered in the aftermath. The fires first broke out about 10pm on October 8 in Napa and Calistoga. I was walking my dog on a warm and windy evening. The smell of smoke was strong in the air, and my neighbor joined me outside as he often does. We talked about the freakishly strong winds, and collectively wondered where the fire was. We parted ways, I turned on the news and, seeing nothing, I went to bed on what would be the last normal night I would know for quite some time.

I was awoken about 7:30 am Monday by the incessant ringing of my cell phone. I was sleeping in my sound proofed room, black out curtains tightly shut. My phone is generally on Do Not Disturb which can be over ridden by repeated calls from the same caller. My coworker had been calling and calling, and I had been ignoring it. By the time I finally answered she was in a panic, asking me if I was ok, was I on fire? I was half asleep in my cocoon like sleep cave, oblivious to the outside world. I said fire? What fire?

To this day, she will not let me forget those words, and in retrospect and in regard to how serious things got to be, they are laughable. She told me I was surrounded by fire and needed to get out. I jumped up, threw on clothes, and took my dog outside to assess the situation.

I was not prepared for what I saw. My other neighbors were wandering in a daze. It was so smoky and dark we were all choking and disoriented. Though it was well after sunrise, the light of the sun was not visible. I noticed many of them were taking photos in the distance. I turned to see what they were taking pictures of and saw, through the darkness, the glow of the hillside miles away ablaze and glowing.

Even today, that moment of trying to wrap my still sleepy head around what was happening is very surreal in my memory. I had no idea how bad the fire was, nor was there time to think about it. I realized the route to my current employer was on fire, so the first thing I did was send a text saying I could not get there. My phone began ringing again, this time it was an old friend with whom I had worked with at Sonoma Developmental Center. We had since both taken other jobs at different places, but because our hearts belonged there, we both retained part time intermittent status so that we may go back and work overtime. I asked her if she was safe, and what did she know about SDC, as that is the direction where it seemed the fire was. She said she thought the same thing, and agreed we would try to get more information and call one another back.

In the last two years I have worked nights, I have filled the slow times studying FEMA Incident Command Systems for Health care facilities. I do not know why I felt compelled to educate myself on disasters and how to handle them, just thinking it is free training, and why not? I completed dozens of trainings, and just collected the certifications. Often my coworkers and peers would tease me for wasting time on such nonsense. From that day forward…they stopped laughing. My silly training was about to become very useful.

During part of the training, I had learned to always have a contact outside of the disaster area. Often lines are down, circuits busy, and it can be a challenge communicating. I called my friend, and previous supervisor who lived in Sacramento. I asked her what the situation was at SDC, if they had evacuated, and if they could use my help. She told me they had not evacuated yet, but had the same idea and was trying to get there. She advised I call the switchboard at the facility for direction. I did, and was advised they needed to evacuate, but did not have the resources or staff to do so. I could hear the Fire Commander in the background with panic in his voice saying bring any and every one I could to help. I called my other friend back, and we decided to go. Her family agreed to keep my dog with them and take him when and if they were evacuated. I would pack some things and pick her up on the way.

Not knowing if I would have a home to return to, I had to decide what I would take. Initially I grabbed sentimental items, my sons artwork as he was growing up, baby books, & knick knacks. I grabbed all of the important memorable things and began to put them in a pile. As it got larger and larger I realized…at what point do I stop?

So, I nixed that idea and grabbed survival gear. I grabbed water, emergency food, sleeping bags and a tent. Food for my dog. Boots, tennis shoes. Lots of underwear and sports bras, and several warm and cold clothing options. Two warm coats, bedroom slippers, my nebulizer and asthma medication. I took a moment to post on facebook that I was on my way to help evacuate SDC, and I tagged both my friend whose family would have Gideon, and my son. I did this because on some level I was aware I might not survive, and I wanted him to be able to pick up Gideon if I could not. With that, I loaded my dog up and jumped in the evacuation traffic.

As I was sitting in the traffic on the side streets, I realized what I had done in that post. In that moment, I realized the full brevity of the situation, and while everyone was fighting like mad to LEAVE the canyons on fire, I was working my way up the only exit to get INTO a canyon on fire.

Adrenaline is a great soother of the mind, however, when sitting alone in your car, you are forced to think. I must be honest, at that time my heart skipped a beat, and I was scared. I thought about what it would be like to burn to death, and the idea terrified me. I thought about what might happen to me if I continued on my mission, and am I really capable of what might be required of me?

After assessing the very core of my being, I realized I do not know what I am capable of, and though I was afraid of what might become of me, I thought very carefully of what the rest of my life would look like if I fled in fear. I thought of how I would feel if I continued on in safety for the rest of my life with the knowledge that my coworkers and beloved patients and clients burned to death because they could not evacuate.

I had no idea what I was capable of, but I knew with CERTAINTY, I am not capable of living the rest of my life if something happened to any of them and I did not at least try to help. I realized then, that I needed to call my loved ones, because I may not hear their voices again.

I wanted to tell my only remaining sister that I loved her. I wanted to tell my best friend of 25 years that I loved her, and that I was making a conscious decision to do this, and regardless of what would happen, I was ok with it. I couldn’t reach my son by phone, as he was in Southern California, which was also on fire, and the home he was staying in was being evacuated at that very moment. So I sent him a text. I told him what I was doing. He advised me to trust my intuition and not do anything stupid. I told him of the conclusions that I came to, that my gut feeling was telling me to RUN in the opposite direction, but that I cannot live with myself if I give in to that fear and something happened to my people. I told him that regardless of the outcome, this was my destiny and my fate, and I accepted it. I told him I loved him and I told him that I tagged him on Facebook so he could find the people to get the dog if I did not return.

In thinking about this now, I am choked up, but in that moment, I was resolute. I remember a recording of one of the passengers on the plane that went down on 9/11. He had called his wife and left a voicemail. I remember hearing that voicemail years ago and being struck by how matter of fact he was, and how calm his voice was, knowing he would likely die. But I understand now. There is no time for great emotion. You realize you have this one opportunity and you may never have it again. This may be the end of your life, so for this ONE MOMENT, you will use it very wisely.

With that, I pulled out of the traffic, and bypassed all of the cars at considerable speed. I had work to do. I needed to drop off the dog, pick up Jenny, and we had to get people out of harm’s way. The fire was not going to wait for us, I had no time to wait in traffic. I downshifted and went for it.

It has been over a year since that day in October when the world as I knew it seemed to burn to the ground around me. I have put off the remainder of the telling of this event while I’ve watched my community begin to rebuild, as it is difficult to go back to that day mentally, and, well, you know, life goes on. That being said, I am ready now.

After coming to a conscious decision to intentionally put myself in harm’s way to assist those who were unable to help themselves, I learned a lot about myself. I learned what I am willing to die for. In this, I do not mean just the disabled clients I have spent most of my professional nursing career serving, but also the staff working the night the fire began, who were duty bound to stay on shift. ALL were in great peril. Every state employee is a civil servant, and thus we are bound to report to duty during a disaster, once our immediate family is safe. Should a disaster occur during duty, we are legally bound to stay until its resolution. Most of my coworkers that were responsible for evacuating this facility had already completed their scheduled 8 hour shifts, and were already 2 hours into their second shifts. Some of them had finished overtime shifts as well, and were into their 18th hour of duty. As road blocks were in place, their relief was not coming. I want to be clear that my actions that day and those following are in no way anymore heroic or important than anyone else’s; all of us gave ALL of ourselves in service to the population we care for, no one any more or less than anyone else.

After coming to terms with what I believed could possibly begin the chain of events that could lead to my demise, I drove to my friend and former coworker’s house to pick her up and drop off my dog. On my arrival, little was said to one another. She had her gear packed by the curb, I threw it into my car after handing my dogs leash to her boyfriend and they said their goodbyes. It was an intimate moment that probably should have been private, yet there wasn’t time for that. They had little to say to one another; except for the obvious “I love you’s” and “stay safe.” After their lingering embrace, she and I were on our way.

We sped into the canyon, speeding by stopped evacuation traffic and flashing our work badges to the officers manning the roadblocks, explaining we were headed to SDC to assist in the evacuation. They waved us through at every one, and assured us they were radioing ahead to the next. They too knew that SDC was in real trouble. The air was thick and hazy with smoke, worsening the closer we got to the facility.

Our patient census on that date was 244. All of these people are severely developmentally disabled adults who reside within this facility. Many of them are not ambulatory. Our facility has several vans capable of transporting up to 3-5 wheelchairs at a time, with several seats for accompanying staff. We also have several panel vans, used for delivery of equipment, which are not meant for transporting clients or staff. Our Medical Officer on Duty (MOD) that night has since told me she tried in vain through the night to reach out to several different transport companies to assist the evacuation. She was told on each occasion that help would not come, all resources were already in use evacuating the Acute Care hospitals which were in the direct line of fire. We truly were on our own.

When we arrived, Jenny and I reported to the Coordinator of Nursing Services (CNS) who was in the administration building. This is a building that typically few of our clients are ever in, yet in the foyer were some of our most clinically fragile clients, breathing oxygen attached to crash carts and attended to by NOC shift staff. I will never forget the looks on the faces of my coworkers that day. They all shared the same traumatized, exhausted and vacant expression. Everyone looked…lost, for lack of a better word, and everyone was on auto pilot. As soon as the Assistant Coordinator of Nursing Services (ACNS) on duty saw me, she immediately handed me the keys to the state car. This is a position I work in as well, and the ACNS is responsible for leading codes and any other situation that may occur as the nursing administrator on duty during night shift. She was exhausted after her 12 hour shift. I took them from her and asked our CNS where she could use my help and she immediately dispatched both my friend and I to the gymnasium to triage medically sensitive clients from our nursing facility. As the parking lots of these units were already ablaze, the clients had been walked from the units to the centrally located gymnasium in their wheelchairs.

I was familiar with the triage process due to the FEMA training I had previously completed. However, when tasked with the actual practice of deciding who gets the first and best chance at safety and thus life over another…that is a completely different story all together. It was many weeks before I could put that demon to bed in my mind. As a nurse there have been many times in my career when I have felt that I and my team are the only ones standing between a patient and their death, and I have learned how to reconcile the emotions if we lose the battle for said patients life. But the act of assessing one persons potential for survival over another’s and thus staging them for evacuation with the very limited resources we had was another thing entirely. As it was, a plan was still not in place for the actual removal of clients from the facility. In a flurry of expletives, our MD on duty proclaimed, “F*** this, I am NOT leaving these people here to die!” And then she ordered anyone and everyone who knew how to drive the transport vehicles to get the keys and bring them around and begin loading patients. As many of these patients respiratory systems are already compromised and we were all headed to a Middle School for immediate shelter, I thought we should send as many O2 tanks we could with each one on their wheelchairs. I grabbed the other ACNS and informed her that we were going to fill the state car with as much O2 as we could. She jumped in the car and we headed to the main oxygen bay.

Mind you, this woman is a small but mighty powerhouse and one of the best nurses I have had the privilege of working with. We backed that Chevy Impala up to the bay, I pulled O2 tanks from the racks, placed them on to the dock, and she loaded them into the car. We filled the trunk, the entire back seat, and some in the front, leaving only space for the emergency equipment and ourselves. We drove that tank filled car back to the gym and enlisted the Sheriffs that had reported from Oakland to unload the tanks, which they did bucket brigade style.

Our MOD busied herself with taking the clients we had triaged and staged, directing staff to put them on the awaiting, commandeered vehicles. It wasn’t long before all of the passenger vehicles were full, though MANY clients still waited for transport. It was then that our MOD very bravely and wisely ordered that any vehicle that could be driven be brought around to load up the rest. I learned later that employees transported ambulatory clients in their own personal vehicles. At the gymnasium, we began loading wheelchair bound patients onto panel vans meant only for equipment with the directive to the accompanying staff to be sure the wheels were locked and just hang on for the ride. The remainder of the clients and staff were loaded on those vans and taken to safety.

I found out later that our valiant MOD’s own home was burning at that time, and she knew it. Her husband (also one of our physicians) had been in contact with her through the night. Once the patients were removed to safety, she went to join her family to assess what was left of their home. When I say I work with the finest, most dedicated people the world has ever known, it is because many of our staff had experiences just like hers, and stayed on duty to ensure the safety of our patients.

I have always said I wanted to stay until the closure of our facility in December 2018. While I was following the last vehicle taking our patients to safety and driving the ACNS car, I had a surreal realization that I might quite possibly be the last person to leave our facility, as the grounds were already on fire. I took a picture of our historic building when I knew our people were all loaded up to be removed to safety.

We stayed in the city of Sonoma, our medically fragile nursing facility patients crowded in the gymnasium of a local Middle School, and our behavioral patients in the local Veterans Center. I slept in the gymnasium with the patients there, staff seeing to their needs around the clock. At one point, the National Guard had been dispatched to retrieve hospital beds from our facility, part of which had burned. My old boss, working with Headquarters, asked me to take two other people to locate, tag, and stage beds for the National Guard operation. Getting through the roadblocks this time, was quite a feat, necessitating the use of the Governor’s office authorization to the Highway Patrol granting me access. The bed movement operation was a success, and the Middle School gymnasium was turned into a very compact Nursing Care Facility.

Once the bed movement had been orchestrated, I returned to the Middle School, where I found my prior boss (who now worked at headquarters) leaving in a van to make a medical supply run back to the facility. Knowing what she faced there, as I had just left it, I couldn’t help but accompany her and the other person she had enlisted for help. I think in total, we made 6 supply runs through the night onto the burning and smoke filled grounds. The needed supplies were obtained.

However, the next day, we were informed that we would need to move again as the fires raged towards the city of Sonoma which was to be under mandatory evacuation. With multiple state and federal organizations collaborating via conference call, the decision was made to begin our exodus to Dixon Fairgrounds, 70 miles safely away. The idea was that we were given the preemptive notice to move everyone before the mandatory evacuation took place, so that we could transport the patients before the massive evacuation traffic began. Again, I was asked to be the point man in touring the grounds and assigning placement of the units. My friend Jenny and I sped off to Dixon, hoping to beat the ambulances and set up the area before the patients and staff got there.

What a wild ride that was, as the roadways were already filling with people preemptively evacuating. Jenny drove my little Honda, as fast as it could go, with flashing lights and me hanging out the passenger window, waving my stethoscope like a mad woman. Jenny drove like an Andretti, and got us there with plenty of time to set up. Again, working with officials from many state and federal departments, assignments were made, tents were ordered for staff rest areas, radios were acquired from Homeland Security, and our Fire Camp was established.

Once the Dixon Fairgrounds were well under way into being transformed into a temporary SDC shelter, Jenny and I returned back home and our respective jobs. Fortunately, my residence was spared, as was hers. However, my city of Santa Rosa looked apocalyptic, and its residents were suffering. My Home Health nursing patients were still in their homes in Napa valley, which was also still burning. I worked with them in that valley for a month before I had to give in to the malaise that Pneumonia, Pleurisy, and upper airway infections brought. I was very ill, and required hospital based treatment. This necessitated taking a full month off from work of any sort.

It was during this time that I found out what I was willing to LIVE for. I left my Home Health job in Napa, and returned to SDC full time, and have stayed to see the facility close permanently at the end of December 2018. All of our patients returned to their homes in November 2017 following the fire, with some moving to different residences on their return, as the smoke damage was beyond repair in many home units. The farm at SDC, along with many outbuildings, burned to the ground, though with quick thinking and heroic efforts of other off duty employees, all of the animals were saved.

As we saw fires in Redding and Paradise this last year, SDC opened its doors to evacuated members of this population as well, to sort of ‘pay it forward’, and give back what was so graciously given to us during our fire. The staff and patients we work with share a bond now that is unlike any other. We have fire forged bonds, that will last our lifetimes.

Waking up to Hell Fire 7:30 am, October 9, 2017

What is left of a burned home near SDC.





Our valiant MOD evacuating patients. (SF Gate, 2017)

Oakland Sheriffs offloading O2 tanks. (SF Gate, 2017)

Leaving after the last patient October 9, 11:00 am.

Moving beds onto National Guard trucks.

Operation bed movement with the National Guard.

In shelter at the Middle School, Jenny looking at camera.

N95 became the new norm

working while Napa continues to burn

Fire camp

Overhead view of SDC’s Dixon Fire Camp

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