When people hear “175 days of deployment in one year,” they usually ask the same questions:“How did you do it?”“Weren’t you exhausted?”“Why would anyone keep going back into disaster zones?” The truth is simple: the deployments shaped me as much as I shaped the response. They taught me leadership in places where systems were failing, resilience in moments where hope was thin, and humanity in its rawest form.

Climate change is not a future threat-it is a present emergency, especially in countries already struggling with conflict, displacement, and fragile health systems. As a disaster nurse and global health researcher, I’ve seen how climate-driven disasters magnify suffering in ways most people never see. What’s happening in Iraq, Gaza, and other conflict-affected regions reveals a critical truth:climate disasters don’t occur in isolation-they stack on top of war, poverty, displacement, and weakened systems, creating complex, compounding emergencies.

Children do not experience war the way adults do. They don’t understand geopolitical conflicts or military strategies-they only understand fear, loss, disruption, and survival. As a disaster nurse, educator, and someone who studies global health impacts, I’ve seen firsthand how profoundly conflict reshapes a child’s body and brain. Pediatric trauma in conflict zones isn’t just about injuries.It’s about developmental interruption, constant threat, and layers of grief no child should ever have to carry.

Winter is challenging for everyone, but it carries unique and dangerous risks for older adults. As a disaster and emergency nurse, I’ve seen how quickly a simple winter hazard can become a life-altering event for someone over 65. A small slip-on ice. A home that’s a few degrees too cold. A week without social contact. These are not minor issues-they are major safety concerns that often go unnoticed until it’s too late.

The holidays are marketed as a season of joy, family, warmth, and celebration. But many people experience December as something entirely different: heavy, lonely, overwhelming, or painful. As someone who has worked in emergency care, disaster response, and trauma-informed practice, I’ve seen this pattern year after year. Some people dread this time of year-and they’re not wrong for feeling that way.

Every winter, emergency departments fill with people who feel “off.” Headache. Fatigue. Nausea. Maybe they think they’re coming down with a cold or flu. But as a disaster nurse, I’ve seen too many cases where the culprit wasn’t a virus at all-it was carbon monoxide. Carbon monoxide poisoning spikes every winter, especially during power outages and cold snaps. The scariest part?

Many food banks operate out of community centers, faith-based organizations, or temporary spaces without reliable cold-storage. That means items like milk, eggs, cheese, or fresh meat can’t be accepted. Even some fresh produce spoils before it can be sorted and distributed. To ensure donations are usable, it’s important to focus on shelf-stable foods and essentials that can be stored safely and distributed quickly.

Winter doesn’t wait for you to be ready. One day it’s chilly; the next day, you’re standing in your kitchen realizing your power’s out, your phone is at 12%, and your kid just asked why the house is humming like a refrigerator that gave up. As a disaster nurse who has deployed through blizzards, blackouts, and “this wasn’t supposed to be that bad” storms, here’s the truth: winter emergencies are predictable, yet most families…

As a humanitarian responder working in complex, high-risk environments, having an evacuation plan isn’t just a “nice to have” — it’s part of your duty of care, your risk management and your personal safety net. Both MAGNUS International Search & Rescue and Global Rescue emphasize the importance of evacuation readiness: MAGNUS offers 24/7 crisis-management and evacuation services for NGOs and travelers.

Thirty days of writing about disasters sounds heavy, and it is, but it’s also hopeful. Because within every tragedy I’ve witnessed lies a thread of humanity that refuses to break. Resilience isn’t the absence of loss; it’s the courage to rebuild while still grieving. It’s the teacher returning to a damaged school, the nurse setting up a clinic in a tent, the child laughing amid rubble.

I’ve watched AI tools predict wildfire spread and drones deliver medical kits to isolated areas — proof that innovation can be as humanitarian as it is high-tech. But technology alone isn’t enough; it must serve equity, ethics, and empathy. AI-powered triage systems, remote sensing, and data analytics can transform disaster medicine, but they must complement, not replace, human judgment. The nurse’s heart and the coder’s mind are stronger together.

One of the hardest lessons in nursing-especially in disaster settings, emergency care, and humanitarian response-is accepting that you cannot always fix the situation. You can stabilize vitals.You can offer safety.You can provide comfort, resources, and support. But you cannot control outcomes, repair losses, or erase trauma. And yet, patients remember nurses not for what we “fixed,” but for how we showed up when everything felt impossible.

The young people I meet give me hope. They organize climate strikes, design sustainable tech, and challenge the rest of us to act faster. Many have never known a world without disasters on the news, yet they still believe in a better one. Youth aren’t just the future; they’re the present force for adaptation and accountability. Our role is to listen, mentor, and amplify their efforts.

Recovery doesn’t end when the last debris truck leaves. It continues in rebuilding neighborhoods, restoring trust, and addressing what made communities vulnerable in the first place. As nurses and public-health professionals, we have a unique role in recovery, not just to return things to normal, but to create something better. That means equitable rebuilding, mental-health access, and sustainable infrastructure that won’t crumble under the next storm.

FREE Training! Interested in hearing more about mental health and psychosocial support for disaster responders? Don't miss the upcoming webinar "Care Caring for the Caregivers" featuring Dr. Todd Benham on 2 December at 09:00 PST / 11:00 EST / 16:00 GMT. Presentation Summary: Disaster medicine and emergency responders face extraordinary psychological and emotional challenges as they serve on the front lines of crises.

On Saturday, December 6th, I’ll be spending the day honoring the life and legacy of 2nd Lt. Richard W. Collins III through community service, and I’d love for you to stand beside me. Lt. Collins lived a life of purpose, courage, and service. Coming together on his birthday is more than just volunteering, it’s a moment to show unity, compassion, and collective strength.

Every disaster I’ve responded to shares one constant: volunteers who show up before they’re asked. They sort supplies, comfort children, and carry hope in heavy times. Volunteerism is often underestimated, but it’s the backbone of recovery. It reminds me that while disasters break things, they also reveal what’s unbreakable, community. If you’ve ever handed out water, checked on a neighbor, or donated time, you’re part of that invisible network of kindness holding the world together.

Today marks the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women. While not a “natural” disaster, gender-based violence devastates lives and communities. In shelters, hospitals, and camps, I’ve met survivors who carry invisible wounds as heavy as any physical injury. Violence is a public-health crisis. It thrives in silence, stigma, and systems that fail to protect. As nurses and citizens, we must name it for what it is, a preventable disaster requiring coordinated response, compassionate care, and justice.

During a shelter operation, I met a mother who didn’t understand English. She stood frozen, afraid she was in the wrong place. A volunteer approached, spoke her language, and her entire body relaxed. That moment taught me: communication is the first form of care. In multilingual communities, lifesaving messages must reach everyone. When warnings are issued only in English, we risk silence turning deadly.

Every cross, candle, or roadside bouquet tells a story. Behind every crash statistic is a family forever changed. Responding to traffic trauma has shown me how split seconds define lifetimes. Road safety is everyone’s responsibility, not just drivers. Pedestrians, cyclists, first responders, all share the same fragile space. Preparedness here means mindfulness: slower speeds, seatbelts, helmets, and respect. On this day of remembrance, I think of those who didn’t make it home and the responders who tried their best to change that outcome.

FREE Webinar! November 2025Sophia SpechtDownload I’m excited to share this upcoming event featuring Sophia Specht, MSN, AGACNP-BC, CEN, VA-BC, NY-SAFE, a powerhouse nurse practitioner and global health responder who recently returned from medical missions in the Dominican Republic. Sophia will be highlighting how emergency nurses, EMS providers, and interdisciplinary teams delivered essential care, built trust with local communities, and provided health education to children and families.

As families gather for the holidays, most people don’t think about disasters. Yet house fires, cooking injuries, and carbon-monoxide poisonings peak this time of year. Gratitude and preparedness can coexist, in fact, they should. Every year, I remind myself that safety is an act of love. Checking smoke detectors before a big meal or keeping a fire extinguisher near the kitchen isn’t paranoia, it’s protection.

Mass casualty incidents are the moments when everything we’ve trained for is tested. As a nurse, I’ve learned that amid chaos, clarity saves lives. You don’t have time to debate; you act. You triage, communicate, and move forward, sometimes before you’ve had time to process what you’ve seen. These events challenge our emotional and ethical limits. They remind us that preparedness isn’t about memorizing protocols, but about practicing calm under chaos.

Every disaster response hinges on one invisible element, logistics. Without it, even the best-trained teams and the most generous donations can falter. I once stood in a warehouse filled with supplies that couldn’t reach survivors because the roads were gone. It was a lesson in how timing, coordination, and communication are as vital as compassion. Logistics is the pulse of disaster response.

I’ll never forget the sound of silence when the generators failed. Ventilators stopped. Alarms went dark. That moment taught me that power outages aren’t inconveniences, they’re medical emergencies. For patients who rely on oxygen, dialysis, or refrigerated medication, a blackout can be deadly. Families need plans for backup power, medical identification, and evacuation routes to facilities that can sustain care.