On Richie Splitt's second Monday at Norman (Okla.) Regional Health System in 2013, an EF5 tornado swept through Central Oklahoma, killing 24 people and injuring more than 200.
The tornado also destroyed Norman Regional's Moore Medical Center, one of the three inpatient centers he oversaw as the system's new chief administrative officer. In a city of 57,000 people, the facility recorded more than 30,000 emergency department visits a year before the tornado hit.
Eleven years later, Mr. Splitt is applying the leadership lessons he learned responding to the natural disaster to a new challenge: the closure of the system's flagship hospital. Norman Regional Hospital closed July 28, relocating services to a facility about 4 miles away.
Mr. Splitt, who was named the system's CEO in 2016, drew parallels between the two experiences during a recent conversation with Becker's.
Despite the different circumstances, Norman Regional is seeing history repeat, he said: "One was destroyed by a tornado, the other one was just darkened by progress."
Mr. Splitt shared how he has led his community through both times of uncertainty and responds to pushback.
How a tornado taught authenticity
On May 20, 2013, Mr. Splitt was less than two weeks into his new executive role and watching the weather worsen.
"We were going through our day as normally as possible, but it was different," he said.
When a tornado met ground, he and other executives raced to the hospital in Moore, Okla., which was in the storm's path. The protocol was to shelter in place, but "things were so different that our safety and security leader made a remarkable request, and that was to relocate patients," Mr. Splitt said.
Most of the staff and patients sheltered in the cafeteria, the center of the hospital.
One patient, a mother in labor, and a few clinicians did not move from her room. The child was safely born and named Braeden Immanuel Taylor. He still carries the nicknames "Twister" and "Nado," short for "Tornado."
The extreme winds stole and crushed the outer parts of the building, but community members still sought care at the destroyed hospital immediately after the tornado dissipated.
Mr. Splitt said it was amazing to see workers at the hospital, no matter their job role, climb out of the rubble and care for people: "Man, it was just, it was inspiring. It was overwhelming. It was heartbreaking."
Over the next few years, Norman Regional rebuilt the location, and Mr. Splitt further shaped his optimistic leadership style.
"As we rebuilt, we started talking about hope and healing for our community through the hospital's rebuild," he said. "Over time, that began to crystallize in my mind that all of us have the ability to heal or to harm, and pending what we choose, we can truly make a difference in someone's life."
After the devastation, Norman Regional began calling all employees "healers," according to Mr. Splitt, who has since realized the importance of genuineness.
"We needed to know that it was going to be OK, even if we didn't know how," he said. The 2013 event "gave me the confidence to say those things out loud. Maybe you didn't have to be a stoic leader who was measuring every word but you can actually speak from the heart."
"You can really be even more authentic and realize that you are vulnerable, just like everybody else is vulnerable."
Closing a hospital after 78 years
That vulnerability and transparency was again necessary for Mr. Splitt as he responded to community members' worries about the closure of Norman Regional Hospital, which has provided care since 1946.
"One of the things that we heard was, 'You're creating a doughnut hole in the middle of our city for healthcare; you're going to abandon us,'" Mr. Splitt said. "We have not; we never intended to."
Those transparent conversations spurred more opportunities. After hearing concerns about the loss of the hospital's emergency department, Norman Regional opened a freestanding emergency department in another part of town.
Sharing the system's vision has been paramount, he said, but open communication and proactive planning cannot resolve everything.
"You can't please all the people all the time," Mr. Splitt told Becker's, "because there are people who say that it's going to impact their lives because they live across the street or within walking distance of a hospital [that is] now closed. I'd like to invite every one of them to meet with me, so I can hear their concerns, and then also reassure them that we've thought about that: Here's how it won't change."
After turning off the flagship location's lights, services relocated to what was formerly known as the HealthPlex, which was renamed Norman Regional Hospital. The system converted the flagship's former emergency department to an urgent care clinic called Porter Health Village, and in the fall, it will open a $2 million educational center.
Other services at Porter Health Village include health information management, oncology care management, medical oncology, positron emission tomography and computed tomography.
It's the start of a new healthcare chapter for Norman Regional. The hospital focused on inpatient and sick care, but Porter is centered on proactive health and wellness, Mr. Splitt said.
"It's a nondescript building that was built so many years ago, but [there are] memories and the life-changing events that occur there," he said.
Norman Regional might be where people delivered their first child, where a parent received cancer treatment, where a grandparent went through rehabilitation or where they held their first job. All those stories began in a now-closed hospital. As community members and healers work through a bittersweet transition, Mr. Splitt carries optimism for the future.
"The building has to come down in order to make way" for progress in health and wellness, he said.