"Hey!  Can somebody please help me get on the train?!" Hurricane Floyd was roaring up the Eastern seaboard while I was traveling south.  Alone with my severely handicapped daughter, I wondered how I'd get her aboard with her stroller, car seat and our luggage.

            I recently returned to Rockland County, NY, from Maryland, after an absence of twenty years.  I remembered well as a teenager that nothing exciting ever happened here. We rarely even got snow days.  Maryland had violent thunderstorms that were thrilling to watch and there was always a possibility of a little tornado.

            When I realized that Hurricane Floyd was due to hit the day I was scheduled to take Amtrak to Maryland, I was filled with anticipation.    I was taking my youngest and we were going to help my husband Jim complete our move up North.  Now, traveling with my daughter Elizabeth means no ordinary trip - hurricane or no.  At nine, her cerebral palsy is so severe, she cannot speak, hold up her head, is still in diapers, and can only eat soft foods.  What Elizabeth does have, however, is a ready smile and the love of adventure.  She likes nothing better than going places by car or stroller.  Sitting on my lap in the train would be a special treat.

            Behind schedule, the cab driver dumped us off in the pouring rain where I was left alone struggling with Elizabeth and all our stuff.  We made it to the platform just in time.  Despite my panic, the train did stop long enough to get her and myself on.  A kind stranger helped me drag her stuff through the crowded isles to a seat. 

            We felt warm and cozy watching the winds blow and the rains come down. I took Elizabeth to the dining car so I could stock up on cookies and other necessary supplies, just in case we got stuck .  The food man, seeing my daughter, let me cut in front of everyone.  Traveling with Elizabeth does come with some fringe benefits.  I asked him not to sell the last yogurt.  That was the only thing Elizabeth would be able to eat.  He promised.

The water on the tracks grew deep.  We plowed slowly through it then stopped.  We stopped and started several times, as they had to keep clearing the tracks of falling trees.  Eventually an announcement was made that we would be stopped for what was again referred to as an indefinite period of time.  Signals were down and we could not cross over the bridge, which was just ahead.  We were told to remain calm-- that's always a confidence booster--and to go to the dining car for free food.  One woman actually started screaming hysterically that they had no biscottis.  A true New Yorker!

Elizabeth, of course, was having a ball.  All this stalling meant more time cuddling in Mom's lap.  She'd turn her head up to look at me and smile contentedly, fully unaware that no one else around her felt such joy.  When forced to leave her in her car seat to forage for food, the bored woman across the isle seemed pleased to watch her for me, glad to have some purpose in life.   

When my turn arrived at the dining car, I was alarmed to learn that all the yogurt was gone.  What if Elizabeth starved?  Perhaps I could prechew her food for her.  What if we were there over night?  Could I keep her warm enough?  What if, Heaven forbid, I ran out of diapers? 

I felt like a distraught mother in one of those disaster movies, enduring all kinds of perils to keep her child alive.  Suddenly I noticed someone with an uneaten yogurt on her lap.  I paused before asking --but this had to be done. "Excuse me," I said, "I have a handicapped child, and yogurt is the only thing she can eat.  Can I trade my sandwich for that?"

"Of course," she said unhesitatingly. 

Another woman overheard us.  "Here, take mine, too."

My disaster movie got better as more of these previously apathetic people came forward with their yogurts.  One old man, who shared my sense of adventure, went around taking pictures of our plight.  He took a picture of me standing in the aisle with my pile of yogurts.

After being stalled for several hours we began to move. But we got stuck again on a low bridge over a wide body of rising water.  The wind blew fiercely and I couldn't help pondering the problem of getting Elizabeth off a flooded train. And the worst fear of all: How would I hold her head above water?  Maybe this wasn't fun after all.

Eventually we reached Baltimore. We were told that it was the end of the line.  They just could not go any further.  We would have to take a bus.  Again I was faced with the chore of getting Elizabeth and our stuff through a crowd, this time full of tired and angry people. When the next bus came, I just couldn't plow through the waiting, angry throng in time to catch it.  This was too much excitement, even for me, and I started to cry. 

Seeing my distress, one bus driver, who wasn't even headed where I was going, got out of his seat and carried Elizabeth aboard. Fearing he'd just plop her down, assuming she could sit up by herself, I frantically shoved my way through the packed aisle yelling, "Please be careful!  She can't sit up by herself!"

I heard a woman yell forward, "Don't worry, I'm holding her up."  Saved again.

My husband, Jim, was pacing with anxiety when we finally pulled in to New Carrolton, MD. What should have been a three-hour train trip, ended up taking ten hours as a result of Hurricane Floyd. I guess things can be exciting in New York after all.  Well?  We were on our way to Maryland.