If Hurricanes Helene and Milton haven’t already got you thinking about the long and unpredictable reach of natural disasters, maybe this example will. Damage from Hurricane Helene shut down a factory in western North Carolina that is the country’s largest supplier of fluids for IV drips and dialysis. The owner, Baxter International, says it will spare no expense to reopen, but bridges to the site are out, the plant is covered in mud, and its 2,500 employees are struggling to stabilize their lives. Hospitals nationwide are facing shortages, and some are considering cancelling elective surgeries.
Now, as Hurricane Milton approaches Florida, federal officials are rushing to preserve the supply of IV solution from B. Braun’s factory in Daytona Beach.
In short: Hurricane Helene battered Florida, flooded the Carolinas, destroyed towns, and killed dozens or hundreds of people — and now sick people 2,800 miles away can’t get surgery. And the problem may get worse before it gets better.
I’m not writing to make a point about weaknesses in the medical supply chain, or what needs to be done about product shortages now and in the future. That’s a macro infrastructure challenge for the hospital industry, economists, investors and government experts to wrangle with.
But these storms give us dramatic evidence of how our nation’s health — our public health — is interconnected, how we are a nation of independent and interdependent citizens, no matter who we are or where we live.
Hurricanes Helene and Milton are brutally vivid examples of how natural disasters are a national problem not limited by geography. The cascading IV emergency in North Carolina shows how Helene’s aftermath belongs to all of us. A devastating storm is never just someone else’s problem — because, directly or indirectly, the killer winds inevitably blow in our direction, too.
With the sharply rising frequency and ferocity of deadly storms, floods, fires and droughts around the country and the world, it’s clear that there’s no place to hide from climate change.
It’s not hard to see how this might play out. A storm or wildfire could devastate crops in a vitally important agricultural region of Florida — and put children’s nutritional health at risk across the U.S. A massive California earthquake could jolt the pharmaceutical and tech industries, putting a crimp in the supply of medicines and medical equipment. A tornado in Oklahoma or Texas could damage refineries, affecting energy prices and putting companies and families under an economic strain. Smoke and soot from wildfires in the mountain states could blow across to the Midwest and Northeast, worsening the health of people with asthma and other respiratory conditions.
In my work as a public health expert, I have always strived to make the case that we are all in this together. The world of public health is made up of dedicated professionals who cross boundaries of class, politics and demographics to serve the public good. Whether in neglected rural areas or cities, it doesn’t matter. Red or blue doesn’t matter.
These are our problems and not someone else’s. Public health is like a spider’s web, highly sensitive to vibrations across its length and breadth, where damage in any one spot affects others across the whole fragile apparatus. It’s time to recognize how interconnected we are and choose leaders who will make the investments and commitments to strengthen public-health systems for everyone.
