Susan Snyder of Roselle looked skyward and smiled. Perfect day for a bike ride, she thought. But 10 minutes into her ride, the weather changed. Black clouds swirled overhead. Strong winds kicked up dirt and debris. Tree branches swayed and snapped. A tornado siren wailed.
Heart pounding, head down, Snyder pedaled hard for home. She didn’t make it.
Rescue workers found Snyder on the lawn of Fellowship Church at 130 W. Shawnee Drive in Carol Stream. Pale, trembling and badly bruised, Snyder was lucky.
“When the tornado hit, it took down a power cable. I rode over it on my bike,” she whispered. “These burns on my thighs? They’re where the electricity came in and out.”
Workers placed a yellow tag around Snyder’s neck. Then they rushed to help Arthur Socha, a senior at Addison Trail High School in Addison. Sheet white, moaning, Socha had sustained two femur fractures when the tornado threw him from his car. Socha received a red tag.
At least that’s what the script said.
Socha and Snyder were just two of the many “victims” participating in Operation Thunderhead, a mock disaster drill conducted in April by Central DuPage Hospital in Winfield. Months in the making, the elaborate production required the assistance of Carol Stream village employees and officials, members of the DuPage County Office of Emergency Management and emergency personnel from Carol Stream, Hanover Park, Oak Brook, Winfield and Wheaton. Students from Glenbard East High School, Addison Trail High School and the College of DuPage volunteered as victims.
Each year, thousands of hospitals conduct similar disaster drills to prepare their staffs for the unexpected. The drills, scheduled four to eight months apart, simulate everything from bombings, fires and child abductions to chemical spills and tornadoes. External drills, like Operation Thunderhead, simulate large-scale disasters originating off hospital grounds.
“An external drill involves an influx of patients,” said Marty Warrick, safety coordinator at Central DuPage Hospital. “The challenge with an external drill is getting all the municipalities to participate.”
Warrick, who masterminded Operation Thunderhead, said such drills are organizational nightmares. Normal hospital operations cannot be interrupted, and, should a real hospital emergency occur during a drill, the drill must be aborted immediately. Scheduling conflicts outside the hospital also arise. As a result, drill postponements are common.
Though an internal drill is smaller in scope and originates on hospital grounds, it also requires cooperation from outside government and emergency agencies. On May 12, Delnor-Community Hospital in Geneva conducted its annual internal drill, working closely with bomb squad members from the Kane County Sheriff’s Department. Joan O’Connor, trauma nurse coordinator and disaster drill coordinator at Delnor, organized the drill, which involved two bombs.
Shortly before 2 p.m., a briefcase with a flashing red light and toggle switch was placed in the hallway outside the hospital’s administration offices. A second bomb, hidden in a duffel bag, was placed behind a plant in the hospital’s glass-enclosed atrium lobby.
Roughly 10 minutes later, an employee discovered the briefcase and notified security. Immediately, a Code 88, a disaster drill, went into effect. As dictated by hospital procedure, employees filed into the central staging area: the hospital lobby.
The crowd talked and relaxed until the bomb squad arrived with Thor, the squad’s bomb-sniffing dog. Within a matter of minutes, Thor had sniffed out the second bomb, only a few feet away from the crowd. Surprised, the crowd grew silent.
“Illinois is No. 2 in the nation for bombings,” said the bomb squad’s leader, “and, unfortunately, the second-bomb scenario has become fairly common.”
The first device, explained the squad leader, who asked to remain anonymous because of his occupation, is meant to draw people to the central staging area. Usually, this bomb is a dummy. Once everyone has congregated, the bomber sets off the second device, designed to injure as many people as possible.
O’Connor was surprised by this information. Obviously, she said, the central staging concept will be now be scrapped.
Disasters place many internal demands on a hospital. That’s why clear heads and a well-defined plan are crucial. Nothing, said O’Connor, can be overlooked.
“You have to anticipate running out of things like catheters, carts, food and towels,” O’Connor said. “What happens if the power goes out or your water and sewage is cut off. All these things have to be worked out ahead of time.”
When a Code 88 is issued at Delnor, staff members immediately report to their departments. If not needed there, they report to the hospital disaster staffing pool. They may be asked to serve food, handle the phones, monitor traffic flow in the parking lot, console distraught relatives of the injured or move equipment.
“In a disaster, staff members may be placed in areas totally out of their realm,” O’Connor said.
At Edward Hospital in Naperville, the disaster code is called a Code 99. When it’s issued, employees go where they’re needed.
“Your job in a disaster is not necessarily what your normal job is,” said Jan Slonski of the Emergency Services Department at Edward Hospital. “For example, the people in accounting and human resources become baby-sitters. They are immediately sent over to our fitness center, which becomes a disaster day-care center.”
All outpatient services cease during a hospital disaster. Patients scheduled for release that day are sent home early. Meanwhile, every effort is made to provide existing patients with uninterrupted care. But a disaster creates pandemonium.
“A disaster taxes the whole hospital system,” said Scott Pence, an emergency room nurse and the trauma disaster coordinator at Rush-Copley Medical Center in Aurora, “And you’re never really sure how someone will react in a disaster. It has been reported that only one out of four people will react appropriately. That’s why drills are so important.”
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Operation Thunderhead began shortly after 5 p.m. on April 28. But to make each mock disaster site look realistic, eerie scenes were created early in the day by Carol Stream village workers. As curious residents, notified of the drill in advance, watched from their lawns, crews turned their neighborhoods into mini-disaster movie sets.
At Site 2, Fellowship Church, large tree limbs were brought in and pushed into the street. Mangled cars were towed into the parking lot. The church’s rear basement entrance was crammed with splintered wood. A downed power line (disconnected) was placed in the street and church driveway.
At 3 p.m., 25 volunteer student victims congregated at the Carol Stream Public Works Center to undergo moulage. Moulage is a makeup technique used to simulate a wide range of injuries from burns and compound fractures to decapitations.
“You can have clotted blood, drippy blood. There are special clays and all kinds of different makeup you use to create the effect you want,” Warrick said. “For weeks before a drill, Grace Loving, our trauma coordinator, saves (barbecue) rib and chicken bones to use in moulage.”
A couple of Loving’s bones poked through Arthur Socha’s bloody, ripped jeans. The Public Works Center is where Socha received his femur fractures and had his face painted white. Socha was also given his script.
“It says I have no radial pulse and that I’m going into shock. I’m triaged (categorized) red, meaning my injuries are pretty serious,” he said.
Like victims at a real disaster site, these volunteer victims were labeled according to the severity of their injuries. Victims needing immediate attention were labeled red. Those with significant injuries but not close to death were marked yellow. Victims tagged green were considered walking wounded. Victims with no hope of survival were labeled black.
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Believable victims are an essential element in a disaster drill. At Edward Hospital, Slonski often calls on members of a local Kiwanis club, but he occasionally recruits victims from other sources.
“Several years ago, we conducted a great disaster drill in Bolingbrook involving a gunman,” Slonski said. “The man who played him was a former Chicago policeman. All I can tell you is he was very believable and very scary.”
Rush-Copley Medical Center in Aurora used to use staff members as volunteer victims in its disaster drills, but in 1996 it started using students from Oswego High School.
“If you don’t know the victims, you’re less likely to joke with them and more apt to take the drill seriously,” Pence said.
On May 11, Hinsdale Hospital conducted a drill involving bleachers collapsing at a local high school. When a disaster code was issued, its disaster plan went into effect. Staff members responded appropriately, but, knowing it was a drill, casually. The following day, another disaster code was called. This time it was real.
“Someone sprayed pepper spray in the ventilation system at Hinsdale Central High School,” said Sue Smith, assistant director of ambulatory and emergency services at Hinsdale Hospital. “At first, some of the staff thought we were still drilling. But once they realized we weren’t, they reacted very well. That’s the good news. Most people tend to react better in a real emergency than a drill.”
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By 5:30 p.m., emergency crews had cordoned off the streets surrounding Fellowship Church in Carol Stream. Scattered on the lawn and in doorways were a dozen or so victims in full makeup. One of them was Socha. From a concrete doorstep, Socha moaned till a rescue worker appeared and tagged him. But Socha, who was having fun now, kept up the act.
“Oh, help, help,” he moaned again.
“Hey, I tagged you. You can stop moaning,” said the worker, slightly annoyed.
By 6 p.m., victims began arriving at Central DuPage Hospital’s emergency room. The first victim wheeled in was Socha. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. He appeared to be in distress.
“These bandages are really tight,” Socha said, turning to emergency room physician Tom Moran. “One of my legs is numb.”
Grimacing, Socha started to sit up. Thinking it was part of the act, Moran restrained Socha saying, “Don’t sit up or we’ll have to sedate you.”
Then Moran looked more closely at Socha and his leg.
“Hey, you guys,” he said turning to the paramedics, “you really did wrap his leg too tight.”
