it's a bright spring day, 1988, and i can actually feel the hot edge of summer approaching -- something we have all to infrequently here in the pacific northwest. i can tell it's going to be a great day and i let ted, my partner on the ambulance, know it. he frowns and flips me off.
people think i'm a pessimist, (i prefer to be called a realist), but they haven't met ted. ted will complain about anything and everything -- work, our chief, his friends, his enemies, my driving, my patient care -- i know he'll complain to the undertaker at his own funeral. at least he doesn't complain about anybody behind their back. he's got no problem telling you exactly what he thinks about you. which probably explains why his nose is bent just slightly to the right.
it's been a busy morning. ted and i have just finished the paperwork on our last three calls -- all between 0800 and 1200. each one required a transport to the hospital and just as we were clearing the hospital we would get the next call. i love this work, but sometimes you want a little down time between calls just to catch your breath or pee.
we decide to go to the chicken drive-in for lunch. it's on the west edge of the fire district, but well within our response area. actually, the whole fire district is in our response area today because we're the only two on duty. the drive-in is a well-know landmark here. for years kids have been stealing the giant white chicken that perches on the roof, observing all in its sight with a slightly bemused look and smirk on it's face -- yes, bemused and smirk -- and hiding it as a senior prank. but like a homing pigeon, it always finds its way back about a week later, usually just a little banged up.
but just as we leave the station our pagers squawk again: man down, unknown medical. these types of calls can be anything -- a guy sleeping in his yard, cardiac arrest, electrocutions, assault, overdose -- anything. as we go en route dispatch has little more to offer, stating that the calling party seems confused.
it's ted's turn to tech, and mine to drive, and we come up with a game plan while responding; ted will grab the jump kit and defibrillator, i get the oxygen, suction, clipboard and portable radio. we'll both start with patient care if ted needs help, and then i'll get more info from family and bystanders, if there are any.
it's any easy drive -- mid-week, mid-day, and little traffic. we're headed to the most rural area of our fire district, and ted is double-checking our route in the map book. sometimes in this area the roads stop and start again in a different block. avenues become drives and streets become places, and then start over again.
as we get close i slow down, looking for the address on the mailbox, and i still almost miss the driveway. this house obviously gets very few visitors. the trees and brush are overgrown on the edges of the driveway, it's full of chuckholes, and the yellow grass growing down the middle is tall and gone to seed. there's no way we can avoid scratching the ambulance and we both know we'll be spending some time re-waxing the rig during the next week. the drive to the house is long and slow and i know it will be uncomfortable for the patient strapped to our gurney when we drive out.
suddenly, rounding a tight corner, we break into a clearing and find the house. this place is old, maybe well over a hundred years, and i'm pretty sure that this house was built when the property was first homesteaded. it's worn, but well-maintained -- part log cabin, part lean-to, part shed -- as each addition was added over the years. there's no paint left on the siding and the cedar shake roof has a couple inches of moss crowning it.
the driveway brings us to the back porch where we see a man lying on the porch, face down, near the neatly-stacked woodpile, a wheelbarrow on it's side near him. there's an elderly woman standing over him, holding her hands to the side of her face. i can hear her calling to him, but he's not answering -- or moving.
i bring the ambulance to a stop and we grab gear and head to our patient. but there's nothing we can do for the man. it looks like he's been down for quite some time. he's pale and cool, with some mottling. no pulse. no respirations. ted calls me off, and it's decided ted will take care of contacting the medical examiner and law enforcement -- protocol in this type of call -- and i will take care of the elderly woman.
i introduce myself and ask her her name. then i explain that i'm sorry, but there's really nothing we can do for the man, who i find is her husband, as we had expected. she appears confused, and i'm not sure if she can't hear me or is in shock from the experience.
i lead her into the house to get us out of the sun. the inside is just like the outside -- old, well worn, and well taken care of, very clean. the furniture might have been new in 1950. we step into the kitchen and sit at the table. there are only two chairs. she moves comfortably to one chair, the one she's probably sat in every morning for the last 50 years. i hesitate, but eventually sit in the other. i can smell the soup on the stove she was cooking for lunch. she tells me the vegetables in the soup are from last year's garden.
and i ask her what happened.
she tells me that her husband went out to work in the garden this morning. she thinks he must have come back and laid down on the porch to sleep because he was tired. she couldn't wake him so she got him a glass of water and set it beside him for when he woke up. hours later he still wasn't awake, she became afraid, and called 911.
i reach across the table and take her hands, which are folded in front of her. i stare at them and see how knotted and arthritic they are and i think about how much work they've done and how hard it must have been.
not knowing what to say, i look across the kitchen into their living room. there are no pictures of family, only a few old photos of her and her husband, taken when they were very young -- one, probably a photo of them at their wedding. no pictures of children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren. above the mantle are a few knick knacks, shells, and driftwood. i realize it's just been the two of them all these years. no children, maybe just a few friends.
i look back at her and study her face. she's quite old -- at least 80 -- and very frail. she had trouble walking to the kitchen and now i clearly see the crippling arthritis which has taken her. her back is curved, shoulders drooped, and has that hump on her back that always reminds me to stand up straight whenever i see it. when i look into her eyes i understand her confusion -- she has dementia. she's looking back at me, through me really, and i can see the pleading in her eyes, wanting to know and understand what has happened.
your husband has died, i tell her. he collapsed on the porch. there is nothing we can do to bring him back. can i call somebody to help you, i ask her. she still doesn't understand that her husband is dead, but she gives me the name and phone number of a friend of hers.
when i call the number it rings busy. i hang up and try again. still busy. dammit. i dial the operator. i've never done this before, and have not done it since. i don't even know if it is possible -- to call the operator and have her break into the call. i've only seen it done on tv and in movies. i identify myself to the operator and explain what has happened and what must be done. she takes our number and the number i'm trying to call. i hang up and wait. within minutes the phone rings and it's her friend. i explain that this woman's husband has died and i can't seem to make her understand what has happened. she tells me she'll be here in 15 minutes and hangs up.
i step back to the table and sit down, taking her hands again. when i tell her that her friend is on her way here, her mind seems to clear. again i explain that her husband has died and there is nothing we could do. now she understands. her eyes widen, she sighs, her breathing becomes slow and deep, and her grip on me tightens.
she wants to see him.
we walk to the porch, hand in hand. her grip is surprisingly strong and i can feel her bony knuckles pressing against mine. ted has covered her husband with a white blanket from the ambulance. i notice the water glass is still next to his head, right where she placed it.
she stares at the body. there is nothing i can do but wait. ted asks her if she wants us to take the blanket off him so she can look at him again. she says no, looks away, and drags me off the porch.
not looking at me, but still holding my hand, she begins telling me their story.
her husband bought this property from his father, 20 acres, as a wedding gift for her 60 years ago. my assumption was right, it had been homesteaded by the family. together they built the log cabin and the additions. she miscarried once and they never had children. they've outlived most of their friends and all of their family. for 60 years it's always been just the two of them. and more recently only the two of them.
she points our their garden, maybe a 100-150 feet from the back porch. near their small orchard -- i can see a couple of apple trees and a cherry tree. it appears too large for just the two of them. i see where he's been working the soil and already he has a few plants in, although i'm too far away to tell what they are.
she tells me about their garden, the different vegetables they've planted. what worked. what didn't work. how they store what they grow. how they used to trade with their friends and neighbors. how the garden became their baby, their child. how they nurtured it until it matured.
amazingly, her early memories of their lives together are sharp and clear and she would go into fine detail about small, though important, details. the color of their first pickup. what birds come at what time of year. the family of squirrels they would hand feed. what to plant to feed the deer so they would stay out of the main garden and orchard. the years the cougar and bear visited. occasionally she would repeat herself and ramble off on a different, unrelated, topic. but always she came back.
as i listened i began to wish i had known her and her husband sooner, and in better times. these were great stories and told of their life together. then she stopped and turned to me, her grip tightened again. i can't walk very far anymore, my legs and back hurt too much, she told me.
i waited for her to continue talking, but she just kept staring at me. i realized she was waiting for me to say something. as she waited, looking at me, i began to feel the sun burning the back of my neck and the loud buzz from the dragonflies. stumbling on my words, i finally said that a garden this large must have been a lot of work for her husband. she told me no, that they still worked it together. that each morning after breakfast he would pick her up and put her in their wheelbarrow and roll her to the garden so they could be together.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
the perfect call ...
september, 1992.
today is my 42nd birthday. my wife and i are spending a leisurely indian summer day preparing for a family birthday party tonight. right now we're at the grocery store, in the parking lot, loading groceries into the department's staff car. it's not that unusual that i would have a staff car on my day off. i occasionally go on calls when i'm not dispatched for qa purposes, or to assist with the overhead on the bigger incidents.
it's hard to believe that fall and winter will soon be here. today is warm and sunny -- shorts and t-shirt weather -- and i notice, with just the hint of a slight smile, that there are plenty of ladies taking advantage of today's sun.
as i'm closing the trunk after loading the last bag of groceries my pager shrieks to life: "car/pedestrian accident, subject down, not moving, unconscious, breathing not verified." the address given by dispatch is about midway between me and our outlying station. we slide into our seats, buckle up, i hit the emergency lights and siren, and put myself in route.
it's an easy drive, not too far off the highway. traffic is light. we're making good time. i call dispatch and ask for an update. i'm given the same information as before, but this time she adds that our patient is a 10-year-old boy. i have dispatch put airlift on standby and make sure that in addition to the engine, rescue, and ambulance that was originally dispatched, a medic unit is also responding. disptach assures me they are and that we also have an additional engine responding.
my gut is starting to churn. this could be a difficult call for everybody.
i arrive ahead of the engine and ambulance, driving past the incident and parking just behind the vehicle and patient to block the road and give the crew a safe working area. this is a dangerous piece of road with a long downward hill and a blind corner above that. the ambulance and engine are coming from the opposite direction. i tell the ambulance to pull past the incident and decide to have the engine block both lanes of travel behind us. there will be a lot of work to do here and we'll need all the road to do it.
as i drive slowly past the incident i see that the car has significant front end damage and that the driver is still in the car, holding onto the steering wheel with both her hands. she looks young and very scared. i tell her i'll have somebody taking care of her as soon as we determine the needs of the boy. our primary patient, the 10-year-old, is lying mostly beneath the rear bumper, legs sticking out, not moving.
i give a quick short report to dispatch and request that they fly airlift to our location. they should be here in under 20 minutes.
the ambulance crew arrives with their equipment, slides the boy carefully but quickly out from beneath the car onto a backboard and determines that he has a pulse and is breathing. the engine crew has blocked the road behind us, set up flares to warn oncoming traffic, and is now also with us.
the trauma exam reveals that the boy has significant head and facial injuries, lacerations, avulsions, abrasions, bruising, and a possible fractured arm. he beings to regain consciousness, but also becomes combative -- not necessarily a good indicator. a witness tells us the boy was hit, thrown over the car, somehow caught on the rear bumper, and dragged approximately 50 feet. from the mechanism we all suspect he has significant internal injuries as well.
the incoming engine company notifies me that they are about a mile out and asks for an assignment. i tell them to find a place for airlift to land and give them the job of command of the landing zone. it's their job to find a safe and suitable landing area, establish communications with the helicopter pilot, and then report weather and landing zone situations. today is extremely clear, there will be no weather issues, but we are in a fairly heavily wooded area and most likely they will end up using somebody's yard or field for the landing zone.
the emt's on the ambulance are doing an extremely good job, as are the emt's from the first engine. we train hard at keeping our skills intact. and the taxpayer's have given us good equipment to work with. this is teamwork and there is little need for discussion or direction as to what needs to be done. our patient is on a backboard, with full cervical spine precautions taken. his wounds are exposed and treated. i can hear the siren from the medic unit arriving and i give them a quick short report as they pull up to the scene.
i step back and survey the incident. we now have plenty of hands on scene and work is going well. i assign an emt to take care of the driver. a landing zone has been established and i hear the airlift pilot talking with the landing zone engine company officer. the medics are dropping a tube in the boy's trachea to keep him breathing and prepare him for the flight to harborview, our state's trauma center.
as i turn i notice my wife talking with a woman in the driveway behind us. she's pale, shaking, and sobbing. this is obviously the boy's mother. shit! i should have seen her earlier and taken care of her too. i know how frightened she must be. emergency medicine is not pretty. she should have been told what we found and what we were doing. i promise myself i will do a better job next time.
my wife doesn't really know what i do either, or what emergency medicine and firefighting is all about. this is the first time she has been on a bad call with me. but she's been doing a great job with mom.
i introduce myself to mom and tell her that her son has some very serious injuries and that the best place for him will be at harborview hospital. we will be flying him there in a helicopter. before we finish the conversation we feel the beating of the helicopter's blades and then see the helicopter hovering overhead. they land about a half mile from us and the medic unit leaves to meet up with them to transfer the patient to the flight nurses for the trip to seattle.
mom tells me that her son asked if they could bake cookies together. she told him that first he needed to check the mail then they could bake. our witness told me that as the boy stepped away from the mailbox to cross the road, he looked in his direction but not the other, and started to run across the road, with the mail in his hand, back to the house. he never saw the car coming down the hill. and it was too late for the young driver to react and stop in time to avoid hitting the boy.
i asked mom if she was able to get someone to drive her to harborview -- she was too shook up to drive herself. she told me her husband was at the husky game and there was no way to get to the hospital. my wife suggested we drive her there. and so we do.
on the way to the hospital she tells me a lot about her son, how he's doing in school, sports, his brother, and again about baking cookies. she's crying quietly, and i search for comforting words -- few are found. i stay in touch with dispatch and advise them of our trip to harborview and that dad is at husky stadium and ask if they can find a way to contact him so that he can meet us at the hospital.
traffic is light on i-5, and we make it to harborview in good time. thankfully so, i've run out of words.
as we walk into the emergency department, dad is there! dispatch was able to call the stadium and have him paged. i cannot imagine how horrible it must be to hear your name over the stadium speakers, asking you to come immediately to the office for important news. you know it can't be good news -- they wouldn't page you because you just won the lottery.
their son spends little time in the emergency department getting an exam, blood draws, x-rays, and scans before being sent to the operating room. harborview is quick and efficient. there are more docs, nurses and techs working on him here than we had on-scene. a doc comes out of the er and tells them what injuries they found, what they've done, what they are going to do, and what they expect to happen. i listen in. i feel good about his outcome. we leave quietly, allowing mom and dad their needed moments together.
in the months that follow the boy makes good, but slow, progress. it takes a long time to heal that many wounds. mom and him stop by the station occasionally to say hello and thank us for what we did. months later he is still in a wheelchair, but his neuro and motor function are returning to normal and soon he'll be up and walking on his own. i think that there will always be slight defecits from the accident, but nothing traumatic enough to slow him down.
in the years that follow i lose touch with him and his parents, but i think often about how perfectly everything went that day for him. we had a witness that called 911 immediately and gave a good report and a valid address. the fire department was on-scene quickly and gave great basic life support care, followed by the medics with advanced life support. after a quick transport by airlift to harborview, he saw some of the best doctors available. and after his treatment at the hospital he received expert physical therapy. and love from his parents and family.
perfect. that is how it is supposed to work.
january, 2001.
i'm on shift today as battalion chief. it's just after midnight. we're bolted from our sleep by our pagers. one-car motor vehicle accident. vehicle on its top. utility pole sheared. occupant trapped, unconscious and not responding. the address is just a half mile from our outlying station. i know the crew will be there quickly, going to work and giving me a good short report.
i'm on the road, asking dispatch for an update. they don't have any more information than that given earlier. i have them put airlift on standby.
the rescue and ambulance from the outlying station arrive and give their short report: pickup on its top, pole sheared abut 4 feet from the ground. major damage to pickup. driver of vehicle pinned beneath pickup. no pulse, no respirations. major trauma to driver.
i arrive and establish command, giving directions to the incoming units before stepping out of the command car. when i open the door to get out it hits me -- the feeling of death in the air.
it's like the taste of a bad penney. chewing on aluminum. staring into the sun. biting odors. it fills my senses -- smell, taste, feel. i don't know where it comes from or how long i've had this horrible super power. but i know i'm not alone -- many others in the emergency services have the same feeling.
for a moment i'm stunned. my adrenal gland goes into hyperdrive. i can feel my pulse and breathing quicken and my brain goes prehistoric, telling my body to flight or fight. i concentrate on the tasks at hand and bring myself to action.
i have the ambulance crew re-check for a pulse. there is none. and by the injuries i can see i know there will be no attempted resuscitation of our patient. he is doa -- dead on arrival.
i cancel airlift and the medic unit and have the incoming fire engine block the road well away from the scene. i want to keep everybody away that doesn't need to be here. this is not a pretty sight. the police will be arriving soon and will want information to begin their investigation.
looking around i see a car-load of kids standing by the road near the overturned pickup. i walk over to them and ask what they know. they tell me the pickup was passing them, lost control, and rolled into the ditch, striking and severing the pole, throwing the driver from the pickup and trapping him beneath it.
they know who he is and tell me his name.
for a moment i can't breath. my eyes blur. i'm unsteady and want to sit down. i don't want to be here -- but i do want to be here.
this is the same boy who was hit by the car after getting his mail in 1992. the one we airlifted out. who, with his mother, visited us at the station to thank us and show us his recovery progress. our perfect call.
i steady myself against the ambulance and have the crew check for a pulse again. i so want there to be one. but i know there won't. there can't be. not with those injuries.
i survey the scene again, making sure we're doing everything we possibly can. i see a car stopping near the scene. it's his mom and dad. one of the kids drove to their house and told them about the accident. they live nearby. i don't want them here. nobody should see this.
they park where they can see the pickup but can't see their son lying beneath it. i run through the mess of people, vehicles, and debris on the road and meet them as they are getting out of their car. i remember how poorly i handled the call years ago and how i promised it would not happen again. they look worried -- no, it's not worry, it's terror. "what is happening?" they ask. but i think i know that they know exactly what is happening.
i explain to them what we found and what we are doing, but that it doesn't look good. he has no pulse and he isn't breathing. and we can't get him out from under the pickup quickly. i have to tell them the truth. lying wouldn't do anybody any good. they ask if we've done everything -- if we could check him just one more time. i send a firefighter to check his pulse again. but we know what the answer will be. they hear the firefighter's reply as he radio's back to me.
i ask them to go back home. to wait. i will be there just as soon as possible. and i will bring our chaplain to help with phone calls and arrangements. there is nothing they can do here. there is nothing we can do here.
today is my 42nd birthday. my wife and i are spending a leisurely indian summer day preparing for a family birthday party tonight. right now we're at the grocery store, in the parking lot, loading groceries into the department's staff car. it's not that unusual that i would have a staff car on my day off. i occasionally go on calls when i'm not dispatched for qa purposes, or to assist with the overhead on the bigger incidents.
it's hard to believe that fall and winter will soon be here. today is warm and sunny -- shorts and t-shirt weather -- and i notice, with just the hint of a slight smile, that there are plenty of ladies taking advantage of today's sun.
as i'm closing the trunk after loading the last bag of groceries my pager shrieks to life: "car/pedestrian accident, subject down, not moving, unconscious, breathing not verified." the address given by dispatch is about midway between me and our outlying station. we slide into our seats, buckle up, i hit the emergency lights and siren, and put myself in route.
it's an easy drive, not too far off the highway. traffic is light. we're making good time. i call dispatch and ask for an update. i'm given the same information as before, but this time she adds that our patient is a 10-year-old boy. i have dispatch put airlift on standby and make sure that in addition to the engine, rescue, and ambulance that was originally dispatched, a medic unit is also responding. disptach assures me they are and that we also have an additional engine responding.
my gut is starting to churn. this could be a difficult call for everybody.
i arrive ahead of the engine and ambulance, driving past the incident and parking just behind the vehicle and patient to block the road and give the crew a safe working area. this is a dangerous piece of road with a long downward hill and a blind corner above that. the ambulance and engine are coming from the opposite direction. i tell the ambulance to pull past the incident and decide to have the engine block both lanes of travel behind us. there will be a lot of work to do here and we'll need all the road to do it.
as i drive slowly past the incident i see that the car has significant front end damage and that the driver is still in the car, holding onto the steering wheel with both her hands. she looks young and very scared. i tell her i'll have somebody taking care of her as soon as we determine the needs of the boy. our primary patient, the 10-year-old, is lying mostly beneath the rear bumper, legs sticking out, not moving.
i give a quick short report to dispatch and request that they fly airlift to our location. they should be here in under 20 minutes.
the ambulance crew arrives with their equipment, slides the boy carefully but quickly out from beneath the car onto a backboard and determines that he has a pulse and is breathing. the engine crew has blocked the road behind us, set up flares to warn oncoming traffic, and is now also with us.
the trauma exam reveals that the boy has significant head and facial injuries, lacerations, avulsions, abrasions, bruising, and a possible fractured arm. he beings to regain consciousness, but also becomes combative -- not necessarily a good indicator. a witness tells us the boy was hit, thrown over the car, somehow caught on the rear bumper, and dragged approximately 50 feet. from the mechanism we all suspect he has significant internal injuries as well.
the incoming engine company notifies me that they are about a mile out and asks for an assignment. i tell them to find a place for airlift to land and give them the job of command of the landing zone. it's their job to find a safe and suitable landing area, establish communications with the helicopter pilot, and then report weather and landing zone situations. today is extremely clear, there will be no weather issues, but we are in a fairly heavily wooded area and most likely they will end up using somebody's yard or field for the landing zone.
the emt's on the ambulance are doing an extremely good job, as are the emt's from the first engine. we train hard at keeping our skills intact. and the taxpayer's have given us good equipment to work with. this is teamwork and there is little need for discussion or direction as to what needs to be done. our patient is on a backboard, with full cervical spine precautions taken. his wounds are exposed and treated. i can hear the siren from the medic unit arriving and i give them a quick short report as they pull up to the scene.
i step back and survey the incident. we now have plenty of hands on scene and work is going well. i assign an emt to take care of the driver. a landing zone has been established and i hear the airlift pilot talking with the landing zone engine company officer. the medics are dropping a tube in the boy's trachea to keep him breathing and prepare him for the flight to harborview, our state's trauma center.
as i turn i notice my wife talking with a woman in the driveway behind us. she's pale, shaking, and sobbing. this is obviously the boy's mother. shit! i should have seen her earlier and taken care of her too. i know how frightened she must be. emergency medicine is not pretty. she should have been told what we found and what we were doing. i promise myself i will do a better job next time.
my wife doesn't really know what i do either, or what emergency medicine and firefighting is all about. this is the first time she has been on a bad call with me. but she's been doing a great job with mom.
i introduce myself to mom and tell her that her son has some very serious injuries and that the best place for him will be at harborview hospital. we will be flying him there in a helicopter. before we finish the conversation we feel the beating of the helicopter's blades and then see the helicopter hovering overhead. they land about a half mile from us and the medic unit leaves to meet up with them to transfer the patient to the flight nurses for the trip to seattle.
mom tells me that her son asked if they could bake cookies together. she told him that first he needed to check the mail then they could bake. our witness told me that as the boy stepped away from the mailbox to cross the road, he looked in his direction but not the other, and started to run across the road, with the mail in his hand, back to the house. he never saw the car coming down the hill. and it was too late for the young driver to react and stop in time to avoid hitting the boy.
i asked mom if she was able to get someone to drive her to harborview -- she was too shook up to drive herself. she told me her husband was at the husky game and there was no way to get to the hospital. my wife suggested we drive her there. and so we do.
on the way to the hospital she tells me a lot about her son, how he's doing in school, sports, his brother, and again about baking cookies. she's crying quietly, and i search for comforting words -- few are found. i stay in touch with dispatch and advise them of our trip to harborview and that dad is at husky stadium and ask if they can find a way to contact him so that he can meet us at the hospital.
traffic is light on i-5, and we make it to harborview in good time. thankfully so, i've run out of words.
as we walk into the emergency department, dad is there! dispatch was able to call the stadium and have him paged. i cannot imagine how horrible it must be to hear your name over the stadium speakers, asking you to come immediately to the office for important news. you know it can't be good news -- they wouldn't page you because you just won the lottery.
their son spends little time in the emergency department getting an exam, blood draws, x-rays, and scans before being sent to the operating room. harborview is quick and efficient. there are more docs, nurses and techs working on him here than we had on-scene. a doc comes out of the er and tells them what injuries they found, what they've done, what they are going to do, and what they expect to happen. i listen in. i feel good about his outcome. we leave quietly, allowing mom and dad their needed moments together.
in the months that follow the boy makes good, but slow, progress. it takes a long time to heal that many wounds. mom and him stop by the station occasionally to say hello and thank us for what we did. months later he is still in a wheelchair, but his neuro and motor function are returning to normal and soon he'll be up and walking on his own. i think that there will always be slight defecits from the accident, but nothing traumatic enough to slow him down.
in the years that follow i lose touch with him and his parents, but i think often about how perfectly everything went that day for him. we had a witness that called 911 immediately and gave a good report and a valid address. the fire department was on-scene quickly and gave great basic life support care, followed by the medics with advanced life support. after a quick transport by airlift to harborview, he saw some of the best doctors available. and after his treatment at the hospital he received expert physical therapy. and love from his parents and family.
perfect. that is how it is supposed to work.
january, 2001.
i'm on shift today as battalion chief. it's just after midnight. we're bolted from our sleep by our pagers. one-car motor vehicle accident. vehicle on its top. utility pole sheared. occupant trapped, unconscious and not responding. the address is just a half mile from our outlying station. i know the crew will be there quickly, going to work and giving me a good short report.
i'm on the road, asking dispatch for an update. they don't have any more information than that given earlier. i have them put airlift on standby.
the rescue and ambulance from the outlying station arrive and give their short report: pickup on its top, pole sheared abut 4 feet from the ground. major damage to pickup. driver of vehicle pinned beneath pickup. no pulse, no respirations. major trauma to driver.
i arrive and establish command, giving directions to the incoming units before stepping out of the command car. when i open the door to get out it hits me -- the feeling of death in the air.
it's like the taste of a bad penney. chewing on aluminum. staring into the sun. biting odors. it fills my senses -- smell, taste, feel. i don't know where it comes from or how long i've had this horrible super power. but i know i'm not alone -- many others in the emergency services have the same feeling.
for a moment i'm stunned. my adrenal gland goes into hyperdrive. i can feel my pulse and breathing quicken and my brain goes prehistoric, telling my body to flight or fight. i concentrate on the tasks at hand and bring myself to action.
i have the ambulance crew re-check for a pulse. there is none. and by the injuries i can see i know there will be no attempted resuscitation of our patient. he is doa -- dead on arrival.
i cancel airlift and the medic unit and have the incoming fire engine block the road well away from the scene. i want to keep everybody away that doesn't need to be here. this is not a pretty sight. the police will be arriving soon and will want information to begin their investigation.
looking around i see a car-load of kids standing by the road near the overturned pickup. i walk over to them and ask what they know. they tell me the pickup was passing them, lost control, and rolled into the ditch, striking and severing the pole, throwing the driver from the pickup and trapping him beneath it.
they know who he is and tell me his name.
for a moment i can't breath. my eyes blur. i'm unsteady and want to sit down. i don't want to be here -- but i do want to be here.
this is the same boy who was hit by the car after getting his mail in 1992. the one we airlifted out. who, with his mother, visited us at the station to thank us and show us his recovery progress. our perfect call.
i steady myself against the ambulance and have the crew check for a pulse again. i so want there to be one. but i know there won't. there can't be. not with those injuries.
i survey the scene again, making sure we're doing everything we possibly can. i see a car stopping near the scene. it's his mom and dad. one of the kids drove to their house and told them about the accident. they live nearby. i don't want them here. nobody should see this.
they park where they can see the pickup but can't see their son lying beneath it. i run through the mess of people, vehicles, and debris on the road and meet them as they are getting out of their car. i remember how poorly i handled the call years ago and how i promised it would not happen again. they look worried -- no, it's not worry, it's terror. "what is happening?" they ask. but i think i know that they know exactly what is happening.
i explain to them what we found and what we are doing, but that it doesn't look good. he has no pulse and he isn't breathing. and we can't get him out from under the pickup quickly. i have to tell them the truth. lying wouldn't do anybody any good. they ask if we've done everything -- if we could check him just one more time. i send a firefighter to check his pulse again. but we know what the answer will be. they hear the firefighter's reply as he radio's back to me.
i ask them to go back home. to wait. i will be there just as soon as possible. and i will bring our chaplain to help with phone calls and arrangements. there is nothing they can do here. there is nothing we can do here.
Friday, March 27, 2009
trophy
it's been two weeks since i've seen her, and my first thought, which i unknowingly say out loud -- loud enough that a guy who i'm walking past replies "what?", which startles me -- is "jesus, she is one hell of a dirty girl." and I think, quietly to myself this time, "yeah, she may be dirty, but she's all mine."
it has been a tough winter. too much snow, too much cold, and always, as usual here in the pacific northwest, too much rain for way too long. and the weather has taken its toll on her. but today the sun is shining and i'm looking forward to spending some time alone with her.
as i grab a railing and step on board i always remember one of the golden rules of boating -- one hand for the boat. i've fallen out of boats before, always into lakes, but never into the cold puget sound. it wouldn't take long to drown or die from hypothermia here. the water never changes much from around 45 degrees. and the one other guy on the dock has left, leaving me alone, as i'd hoped. if i had to fall, i'd much rather fall in the warm caribbean, or in the waters off cabo, where we vacation. but that too would scare me. i've caught great gilled monsters in those dark deep waters and the thought of being with giant toothy creatures, who i'm sure recognize my stink, taking their well-earned vengeance on me, makes me shiver.
my wife, the best catch of my life by the way, and i bought this 20 foot trophy barely a year ago. we bargained a good price with the owner, although with the economy the way it is now, it's probably not worth what we paid for it. but it's ours. and we've put lots of wonderful hours on her. it wasn't exactly the boat we were looking for. we wanted a 24 footer. but when we found this 20 foot hard topper, almost brand new with less than 15 hours on the 4-cylinder cummins diesel, we changed our minds and made an offer.
bow to stern. port to starboard. i give her a good look-over.
yes, i'd rode her hard and put her away wet. her deck is scuffed with black marks from the rubber coating that covers the wire mesh on the crab pots, which are lashed to the top of the boat, reminding me of the dungeness crab feasts we enjoyed last year. there's green mold in the corners of the deck near the scuttles and in the two fish coffins, along with a bit of dried blood. the windows have some salt caked in the edges where the winter rains haven't hit to wash it away. nothing soap and water won't fix -- and a good waxing -- when i pull her from the water.
while in the back of the boat i open the battery box and switch on the batteries, then step into the small, narrow cabin and kick over the diesel. she starts almost instantly even though it's been two weeks since she last ran. she blows a light, wispy-white smoke from her exhaust until she warms up. the smoke is annoying and i wish i knew how to keep it from happening. maybe some day i'll check my owner's manual.
i unlock the cuddy and step down inside. the carbon monoxide alarm is sounding like a fucking banshee, not from the poisonous co gas, but because the boat's batteries are low. with the engine running to recharge the batteries it'll stop its shriek in about 10 minutes. i tell myself to wire the damn thing through a switch so i can shut if off -- but i know it'll probably never happen, just not high enough on my priority list.
the small cuddy is dry. i keep an electric heater going down here to drive the moisture out and keep mold away. sometimes i find a bit of water in the cuddy -- fresh water, not salt, so i know the hull doesn't leak -- but not this time. every time i step into the cuddy i remember that the reason we were looking for a 24 footer was to find a boat with a larger cuddy. one we can fish and water camp in comfortably. but the small cuddy will do for us now. there's room for the fishing gear when it's not being used, a porta-potty, and cushions to sleep on. and the boat has a heater that works off the diesel when it's under way so the cuddy and cabin are always toasty warm when we're on the water during lousy weather.
climbing back out i settle into the captain's chair in the cabin. the day is sunny, but cool. there's not a lot of heat in our low washington march sun, so i switch on the diesel heater to low and open the vent into the cabin. in less than 15 minutes i'm warm enough to shed my jacket, and as an added bonus the co alarm finally shuts up.
i switch on the marine radio and listen for boating traffic. it's pretty sparse, not many pleasure boats out today in the middle of the week. eventually a commercial ship comes up on channel 16, announcing to the mukilteo ferry that she is coming through their waters, and then the radio goes silent again.
"amanda" by boston is playing on the stereo when i push its power button. how strange and intriguing. boston is one of my favorite groups. and there was an amanda, many years ago, in one of my past lives. i find myself singing along and smiling with the memories.
i snap open the one can of cold beer i brought along. usually tequila is my drink of choice when boating -- sometimes too much tequila, i have to admit -- and yes, i am aware of the dangers of drinking and boating. but now the slight alcohol buzz, the smell of saltwater, the diesel's hum, and the breeze all combine with the sun beating into the cabin. i remember fish caught and lost. stories told. friends come and gone. adventures had and hoped for. this is reality.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
code 4
code 4: firefighter radio slang for cpr in progress.
it's outdated slang. and the only ones who still use it are the old dinosaurs, like me, or the newer firefighters who like to carry on the tradition and heritage. i also still tell dispatch to "start me a card" when we have walk-in aid calls at the station. i know that dispatch has not been using time-stamp cards for almost 20 years now, using instead computer-driven dispatch systems that automatically record times and addresses from the moment the 911 call is received to the time a vehicle is back in service ready to respond to the next call.
but it's muscle memory in my brain. all of the dispatchers know what i mean and respond back "received, cpr in progress."
it's just after 4 a.m., 0409 hours by the time on my pager. the lights in my room come on and the station alarm is sounding, or at least they should be, telling us that somebody is having a bad day and expecting us to make it better. for some reason the lights and alarm aren't on -- which is unusual -- usually the system works. but my pager is making enough racket to wake me.
"female, unconscious, not breathing." we'll empty the station on this call.
within moments we're all up and heading to our rigs. i have a two-man engine company, a two-man aid unit, a three-man medic unit (including our rookie), and me on the battalion car, at our station. i also have another station east of town with three personnel ready to respond if we need the manpower.
the call is close to the station and we arrive in just a few minutes and find police doing a pretty good job of cpr in the bedroom. i think we have a great relationship with our police department. they help us out a lot and i hope they feel we return the favor when it's needed.
overall, the call doesn't look good. the patient is mid-50's, somewhat overweight, and obviously has an underlying medical history. fifty-year-olds don't just suddenly collapse and quit breathing. but we go to work. doing our best. always expecting a good outcome.
we move the furniture around to give us some working room. there's never enough room or enough light. the medic gets the monitor hooked up and his meds out while the emts get an airway in place so that they can breath for the patient and then start compressions. the cops move out of our way. asystole -- no heart beat.
the patient has poor veins, so after a few attempts at the arm, an iv is started in the patient's leg using an io gun. this line will feed directly into the inner space of the patient's bone -- where the blood cells are made. the medic gets a good line, and it flows freely. this is where the meds will be injected.
the emts are doing a good job of cpr. compressions are a lot of work and i make sure that the personnel rotate out before tiring. thankfully we have a lot of people on this call. i send somebody out for additional oxygen bottles and also call dispatch to request a chaplain to our scene. the medic drops a tube down the patient's throat to make breathing for the patient, with our bag-valve-mask, easier and more efficient. we are ventilating the patient with 100% oxygen, giving her the best chance of survival.
the person who called 911 is not giving us as much medical information about our patient as we would hope. we're not sure of her previous medical history and have no idea what prescribed meds she may be taking. this is not unusual. often family members and friends are too grief-stricken to talk with us, or simply just don't know. if only everybody wrote this information down (like the vial-of-life program), and put it where we could find it -- the refrigerator is where we always look -- valuable time would be saved.
finally a chaplain arrives and i feel much better. our chaplains are trained in caring for the family members and always seem to be able to get the info we need for patient care.
now the team is working like the proverbial well-oiled machine and the medical magic is starting to happen. but after a few rounds of meds things aren't looking all that good. the patient is not responding as hoped. we just can't seem to get a heart rhythm going and the medic is considering calling medical control at the hospital and asking for guidance. after another round of meds and a change to a fresh bottle of oxygen he makes the call to the on-line medical control doc.
it's been a long call. we've been on-scene now for 30+ minutes, which is the norm for a cpr call. we're starting to run low on meds. we're starting to wear out. we carry the same meds in our medic unit that the hospital uses during cardiac arrests -- epi, atropine, bicarb, and more. if this incident had occurred in the hospital the timing and application of meds and procedures would be the same.
the medic is on the phone with the doc discussing the call. we stop cpr again to check for a heartbeat -- what? we've got a rhythm on the monitor. not a life-sustaining rhythm, but one that we can work with. the medic tells the doc "looks like i got work to do" and hangs up. our pace quickens and our mood brightens. the patient is still not breathing on her own so we continue to use our bag-valve-mask and oxygen.
as the medic goes to work the heart rhythm gets stronger and better. we load her up on the stretcher and get her into the ambulance. i assign personnel to accompany the medic in the back of the ambulance for compressions, ventilations, and charting. once again i'm glad we have enough well-trained people on the call. the rig speeds away with lights and siren for the 15 minute ride to the hospital. she continues to improve on the way in.
it's an hour later and the crew pulls back into the station. the medic still has to complete his paperwork and enter the call into the computer. our patient is still critical, but has been admitted to the hospital for further treatment and observation. we discuss the call and talk about what went right and what we could have done better. all in all, we're pretty satisfied with how it went and how she's doing.
my dad died of a heart attack eight years ago. he lived in another town. i know many of the firefighter/emts and medics who worked his call. the scenario was similar, but unfortunately with a different outcome. i was in seattle when he collapsed and mom called 911. during the incident i received a call from the captain of the crew, a friend of mine, that was working his code. as i was driving to mom and dad's house he explained everything to me that was happening. i could actually see what was taking place. i knew they were doing everything that could be done. and i knew what the outcome would be. and also that they would feel bad, for me and themselves, for not being able to bring dad back to life.
since dad's death, every time i go on a cpr call i can see my dad lying there with the crew working on him. and it makes me want to work that much harder and push the crew that much harder too. it's not a sad thing, it's just a vision, a reminder of what you expect of us and how hard we train and work to make it happen. sometimes the magic works, sometimes it's just smoke and mirrors.
one of the things i've realized, after 25 years of doing this, is that we -- or maybe just me -- see way too many dead people. and it can make us indifferent, hardened, soft, emotional, a bit nutty, and combinations of all of these and more. it's kinda like a multiple-choice question with the correct answer being "d - all of the above." but my hope is that it gives us the respect for life -- in those around us and in ourselves -- that we deserve. and it reminds me that life is not forever. that i need to make the most of it.
and that i need to remind those around me of that too.
it's outdated slang. and the only ones who still use it are the old dinosaurs, like me, or the newer firefighters who like to carry on the tradition and heritage. i also still tell dispatch to "start me a card" when we have walk-in aid calls at the station. i know that dispatch has not been using time-stamp cards for almost 20 years now, using instead computer-driven dispatch systems that automatically record times and addresses from the moment the 911 call is received to the time a vehicle is back in service ready to respond to the next call.
but it's muscle memory in my brain. all of the dispatchers know what i mean and respond back "received, cpr in progress."
it's just after 4 a.m., 0409 hours by the time on my pager. the lights in my room come on and the station alarm is sounding, or at least they should be, telling us that somebody is having a bad day and expecting us to make it better. for some reason the lights and alarm aren't on -- which is unusual -- usually the system works. but my pager is making enough racket to wake me.
"female, unconscious, not breathing." we'll empty the station on this call.
within moments we're all up and heading to our rigs. i have a two-man engine company, a two-man aid unit, a three-man medic unit (including our rookie), and me on the battalion car, at our station. i also have another station east of town with three personnel ready to respond if we need the manpower.
the call is close to the station and we arrive in just a few minutes and find police doing a pretty good job of cpr in the bedroom. i think we have a great relationship with our police department. they help us out a lot and i hope they feel we return the favor when it's needed.
overall, the call doesn't look good. the patient is mid-50's, somewhat overweight, and obviously has an underlying medical history. fifty-year-olds don't just suddenly collapse and quit breathing. but we go to work. doing our best. always expecting a good outcome.
we move the furniture around to give us some working room. there's never enough room or enough light. the medic gets the monitor hooked up and his meds out while the emts get an airway in place so that they can breath for the patient and then start compressions. the cops move out of our way. asystole -- no heart beat.
the patient has poor veins, so after a few attempts at the arm, an iv is started in the patient's leg using an io gun. this line will feed directly into the inner space of the patient's bone -- where the blood cells are made. the medic gets a good line, and it flows freely. this is where the meds will be injected.
the emts are doing a good job of cpr. compressions are a lot of work and i make sure that the personnel rotate out before tiring. thankfully we have a lot of people on this call. i send somebody out for additional oxygen bottles and also call dispatch to request a chaplain to our scene. the medic drops a tube down the patient's throat to make breathing for the patient, with our bag-valve-mask, easier and more efficient. we are ventilating the patient with 100% oxygen, giving her the best chance of survival.
the person who called 911 is not giving us as much medical information about our patient as we would hope. we're not sure of her previous medical history and have no idea what prescribed meds she may be taking. this is not unusual. often family members and friends are too grief-stricken to talk with us, or simply just don't know. if only everybody wrote this information down (like the vial-of-life program), and put it where we could find it -- the refrigerator is where we always look -- valuable time would be saved.
finally a chaplain arrives and i feel much better. our chaplains are trained in caring for the family members and always seem to be able to get the info we need for patient care.
now the team is working like the proverbial well-oiled machine and the medical magic is starting to happen. but after a few rounds of meds things aren't looking all that good. the patient is not responding as hoped. we just can't seem to get a heart rhythm going and the medic is considering calling medical control at the hospital and asking for guidance. after another round of meds and a change to a fresh bottle of oxygen he makes the call to the on-line medical control doc.
it's been a long call. we've been on-scene now for 30+ minutes, which is the norm for a cpr call. we're starting to run low on meds. we're starting to wear out. we carry the same meds in our medic unit that the hospital uses during cardiac arrests -- epi, atropine, bicarb, and more. if this incident had occurred in the hospital the timing and application of meds and procedures would be the same.
the medic is on the phone with the doc discussing the call. we stop cpr again to check for a heartbeat -- what? we've got a rhythm on the monitor. not a life-sustaining rhythm, but one that we can work with. the medic tells the doc "looks like i got work to do" and hangs up. our pace quickens and our mood brightens. the patient is still not breathing on her own so we continue to use our bag-valve-mask and oxygen.
as the medic goes to work the heart rhythm gets stronger and better. we load her up on the stretcher and get her into the ambulance. i assign personnel to accompany the medic in the back of the ambulance for compressions, ventilations, and charting. once again i'm glad we have enough well-trained people on the call. the rig speeds away with lights and siren for the 15 minute ride to the hospital. she continues to improve on the way in.
it's an hour later and the crew pulls back into the station. the medic still has to complete his paperwork and enter the call into the computer. our patient is still critical, but has been admitted to the hospital for further treatment and observation. we discuss the call and talk about what went right and what we could have done better. all in all, we're pretty satisfied with how it went and how she's doing.
my dad died of a heart attack eight years ago. he lived in another town. i know many of the firefighter/emts and medics who worked his call. the scenario was similar, but unfortunately with a different outcome. i was in seattle when he collapsed and mom called 911. during the incident i received a call from the captain of the crew, a friend of mine, that was working his code. as i was driving to mom and dad's house he explained everything to me that was happening. i could actually see what was taking place. i knew they were doing everything that could be done. and i knew what the outcome would be. and also that they would feel bad, for me and themselves, for not being able to bring dad back to life.
since dad's death, every time i go on a cpr call i can see my dad lying there with the crew working on him. and it makes me want to work that much harder and push the crew that much harder too. it's not a sad thing, it's just a vision, a reminder of what you expect of us and how hard we train and work to make it happen. sometimes the magic works, sometimes it's just smoke and mirrors.
one of the things i've realized, after 25 years of doing this, is that we -- or maybe just me -- see way too many dead people. and it can make us indifferent, hardened, soft, emotional, a bit nutty, and combinations of all of these and more. it's kinda like a multiple-choice question with the correct answer being "d - all of the above." but my hope is that it gives us the respect for life -- in those around us and in ourselves -- that we deserve. and it reminds me that life is not forever. that i need to make the most of it.
and that i need to remind those around me of that too.
Monday, March 2, 2009
gracias por sus rezos
i'm home safe.
another successful mission to guatemala.
another life-changing experience.
on february 11th, just before midnight, i boarded a continental 737 for my destination of el paraiso, guatemala. included on board the plane were 20+ others in our mission group -- doctors, nurses, dentists, nutritionists, pastors, techs, assistants, people looking to help. some, like the doctors and dentists, have specialized training. others, like me, a pa (plain-assed) firefighter, just want to help in some way.
after a change of planes in houston and a long layover, we landed in guatemala city and easily made our way through customs. all our meds, equipment, and handouts had been packed in large plastic crates and were labeled with their contents. guatemala customs barely took notice of what we were bringing in. i think they are pretty used to having mission groups visiting -- and there are always other groups on our plane heading to different locations.
a bus was waiting for us, along with our guatemala hosts, susy and helmer, and we were on our way to antigua for a day and a half of sightseeing and aclimating to the time and cultural differences.
antigua is a beautiful city. guatemala's ancient capital. it is surrounded by volcanoes, one of which is active. there are numerous schools teaching spanish for the traveler and is the recommended jumping off point for guatemala visitors. guatemala city is large, dirty, and sometimes dangerous. antigua is small, clean, and set up for the tourist trade.
but antigua has changed a lot since i first visited in 2001. gone are the masses of street peddlers and beggars. now the streets are cleaner and the peddlers fewer and more polite -- not harassing you, but still applying just enough pressure to make the bartering fun. but gone too are the students from all over the world. i remember walking down the streets hearing german, dutch, english, japanese, and many languages i didn't recognise, along with the spanish of the citizens. i hope this is only a temporary thing, maybe due to the poor global economy. if you ever get a chance to visit guatemala, antigua is a must-see -- especially during easter week.
i made my self-required visit to frida's, a local hangout for ex-pats and travelers. i have never seen any locals in here, unless they were accompanied by visitors. the food, drinks, and atmosphere are great, and i brought along gary (our mcgiver) and joel (one of the dentists). we were soon accompanied by more of the group. they know just where to find me.
that evening i had dinner with claritza and her family. claritza is my spanish teacher from my 2001 and 2002 visits to antigua. she teaches through a spanish school called probigua and also on-line through skype. i'd give her a plug here but i can't find her business card.
i must digress ... i need to thank those who make my trips possible. first, my wonderful and loving wife, for not only allowing me the time away from home and duties, but also for her encouragement in me searching out new adventures. my employer and fellow chiefs, for rearranging their time to cover my shifts, which gives me the extra time off needed. my family, my two daughters -- both health care professionals -- for their love. and my friends, for your prayers. thank you.
after dinner that night, a good sleep, my last hot shower for a week, and the next day sightseeing and souvenir shopping, we'll be heading to el paraiso on a 10-hour bus ride into the jungle.
the bus ride isn't all that bad. although the roads here are mostly dirt, full of chuckholes, and the drive is long, the countryside is beautiful, and my fellow missionaries (funny, i don't think of myself as a missionary), pass the time talking, sightseeing, and sleeping (along with some vertigo just to keep it exciting). we stop for lunch at a mall (mall? it seems so out of place), and continue on our way, finally arriving in el paraiso late afternoon after changing buses in the town of fray.
our clinic will be set up sunday in the village's nazarene church, after services. we will move the pews around, forming areas for greeting, vitals, nutrition, exams, dental, and pharmacy. it will take us all sunday afternoon. we also unpack all the crates and set up the equipment.
it's sunday morning, sunday school for the kids at 0800 and then full services at 0930. church here is a bit different, especially because it's in quiche, the local language, but also because: the women and children sit together, the men all sit to one side, and kids are allowed to roam freely -- and the men are very passionate during prayers, crying and sobbing.
a translator is supplied so that we can understand what is being said, and he invites us to the front so that we can sing a song and be introduced. cindy, doctor mark's wife, plays the electric piano and we sing along. i know nobody here understands what we are singing, but they probably recognize the tune. it's a good thing i have a booklet with the words in it because i don't know the hymn. i think we sound pretty good and everyone claps for us.
after services we break for lunch. we bring in our own cook, food, and bottled water and we are fed very well all week. meat, potatoes, rice, tortillas, beans, lasagna, cereal (with soy milk), eggs, ham, spam (i love spam), and the regular foods we eat at home. we've brought a propane stove and this time a refrigerator. three squares a day.
setting up the clinic goes pretty smooth -- after we've broken open the cases and figured out where everything is supposed to go. about half the people on this mission are new, but they seem to have a sense of what needs to be done and we all work well together. putting together the pharmacy always takes the longest. we put the meds in alphabetical order -- mostly -- but group items like the pediatric meds, cough suppresants, and lotions.
while everybody is setting up their areas, the locals watch through the windows and doors. pretty soon there's a group of kids in the church and someone has blown up balloons and exam gloves for them to play with. everyone's excited, both us and the villagers, to get the clinic going monday morning. we're finally done around 1900 hours, tired, dirty and ready for dinner.
this is our third year in el paraiso. the first year we had pit toilets and bucket showers from rain water collected in cisterns, taken behind black plastic curtains. before we arrived our second year we were told they had a surprise for us and when we arrived last year we found flush toilets and real showers. the village had devised a method to pump water into overhead cisterns and use gravity and head pressure to supply the water for the toilets and showers. two real toilets with real seats to sit on. two real shower heads (although the water was cold), to stand under. pretty close to heaven! we do have to sleep in tents inside the area of the church that is the school rooms. this part of guatemala has scorpions, tarantulas, malaria mosquitoes, and lots of other big and nasty bugs. we found two scorpions in the sleeping areas, and one in the kitchen. one tarantula was captured in the clinic and are almost always found in the bathrooms.
clinic starts first thing after breakfast monday morning. we're all set to go. this year i'm assigned as half a doc -- i do patient histories and chief complaints, after which i pass them on to doctor mark for physical exams. in the past i worked taking vitals and in pharmacy. it's all fun and hard work too. when taking vitals you get to meet all the patients. pharmacy is taxing in making sure you're filling the right prescription. patient histories and complaints is triage. doctor mark asks me what i think is wrong with the patient and what i would prescribe. by the last day, and with doctor mark's help, i'm getting pretty good at figuring what is wrong with the patient and what they should be prescribed. it's similar to what i do as an emt, but here i get to carry through and diagnose and prescribe, which i don't do as an emt. one year one of the docs had me suture, which was cool.
our patients run in age from babies to the elderly. almost all of the children and adults complain of headaches and muscle pain -- from working all day in the fields in hot weather -- plugged ears and stomach complaints. the babies have fevers, measles, scabies, giardia, and chronic diarrhea. many are constantly tired and i prescribe iron to boost their energy.
i must use an interpreter because of the quiche language. some speak of bit of spanish, and i also speak a bit of spanish. so we're able to practice together. it's fun, but sometimes heartbreaking. i always ask about their diet, what they are eating, and if they have a good appetite. it wasn't until the third day that i realized that what was being interpreted to me as "poor appetite" actually meant that they weren't able to eat because they had no money for food. when i visited guatemala in 2001, with rita, my spanish teacher from shoreline cc (and the best teacher anyone could every have -- thank you rita), it was the first time i was exposed to a third world country and true poverty. here were people living in mud shacks, dirt floors, with thatched roofs. no fresh water. no fresh food. everything they owned, which wasn't much, was within their reach. some had farm land to work. some goats or chickens. everyone bartered and everyone, at times, went hungry. no health care. no education. no security. i've seen poor conditions here at home, but nothing like this. and this is why i return.
between the medical and dental clinics we saw 1010 patients. most with the normal illnesses you and i put up with day to day and simply go to the grocery store and buy over the counter medicine. i can't tell you how many teeth the dentists pulled, but it was a lot. we also saw patients who had strokes and cardiac issues, who probably wouldn't make it until our visit next year; one fractured forearm on a boy from falling during a soccer game; a machete wound on a foot; a hernia; many lymphomas; ob/gyn issues; breathing problems; pretty much a little bit of everything else that comes through a busy er.
i think the best thing we give these people is an education in nutrition and hygiene. maureen and her crew do an excellent job at this. it seems to me that each year the people are a bit less sick than the previous year, which means they are eating a broader diet, washing their hands, and not drinking water unless it's been boiled. it wouldn't do much good to keep coming back year after year without the education.
this post has become way too long, and maybe too boring, so i'll finish here. but i do want to plug two websites. the first is kiva.org. at kiva you can make a difference by donating money for mini-grants to people and groups in third world countries. and when you get boared and need diversion, instead of playing solitaire, go to freerice.com. at freerice you can learn a language, or math, or another topic, and in so doing make donations of rice to feed a hungry world.
thanks for staying until the end.
another successful mission to guatemala.
another life-changing experience.
on february 11th, just before midnight, i boarded a continental 737 for my destination of el paraiso, guatemala. included on board the plane were 20+ others in our mission group -- doctors, nurses, dentists, nutritionists, pastors, techs, assistants, people looking to help. some, like the doctors and dentists, have specialized training. others, like me, a pa (plain-assed) firefighter, just want to help in some way.
after a change of planes in houston and a long layover, we landed in guatemala city and easily made our way through customs. all our meds, equipment, and handouts had been packed in large plastic crates and were labeled with their contents. guatemala customs barely took notice of what we were bringing in. i think they are pretty used to having mission groups visiting -- and there are always other groups on our plane heading to different locations.
a bus was waiting for us, along with our guatemala hosts, susy and helmer, and we were on our way to antigua for a day and a half of sightseeing and aclimating to the time and cultural differences.
antigua is a beautiful city. guatemala's ancient capital. it is surrounded by volcanoes, one of which is active. there are numerous schools teaching spanish for the traveler and is the recommended jumping off point for guatemala visitors. guatemala city is large, dirty, and sometimes dangerous. antigua is small, clean, and set up for the tourist trade.
but antigua has changed a lot since i first visited in 2001. gone are the masses of street peddlers and beggars. now the streets are cleaner and the peddlers fewer and more polite -- not harassing you, but still applying just enough pressure to make the bartering fun. but gone too are the students from all over the world. i remember walking down the streets hearing german, dutch, english, japanese, and many languages i didn't recognise, along with the spanish of the citizens. i hope this is only a temporary thing, maybe due to the poor global economy. if you ever get a chance to visit guatemala, antigua is a must-see -- especially during easter week.
i made my self-required visit to frida's, a local hangout for ex-pats and travelers. i have never seen any locals in here, unless they were accompanied by visitors. the food, drinks, and atmosphere are great, and i brought along gary (our mcgiver) and joel (one of the dentists). we were soon accompanied by more of the group. they know just where to find me.
that evening i had dinner with claritza and her family. claritza is my spanish teacher from my 2001 and 2002 visits to antigua. she teaches through a spanish school called probigua and also on-line through skype. i'd give her a plug here but i can't find her business card.
i must digress ... i need to thank those who make my trips possible. first, my wonderful and loving wife, for not only allowing me the time away from home and duties, but also for her encouragement in me searching out new adventures. my employer and fellow chiefs, for rearranging their time to cover my shifts, which gives me the extra time off needed. my family, my two daughters -- both health care professionals -- for their love. and my friends, for your prayers. thank you.
after dinner that night, a good sleep, my last hot shower for a week, and the next day sightseeing and souvenir shopping, we'll be heading to el paraiso on a 10-hour bus ride into the jungle.
the bus ride isn't all that bad. although the roads here are mostly dirt, full of chuckholes, and the drive is long, the countryside is beautiful, and my fellow missionaries (funny, i don't think of myself as a missionary), pass the time talking, sightseeing, and sleeping (along with some vertigo just to keep it exciting). we stop for lunch at a mall (mall? it seems so out of place), and continue on our way, finally arriving in el paraiso late afternoon after changing buses in the town of fray.
our clinic will be set up sunday in the village's nazarene church, after services. we will move the pews around, forming areas for greeting, vitals, nutrition, exams, dental, and pharmacy. it will take us all sunday afternoon. we also unpack all the crates and set up the equipment.
it's sunday morning, sunday school for the kids at 0800 and then full services at 0930. church here is a bit different, especially because it's in quiche, the local language, but also because: the women and children sit together, the men all sit to one side, and kids are allowed to roam freely -- and the men are very passionate during prayers, crying and sobbing.
a translator is supplied so that we can understand what is being said, and he invites us to the front so that we can sing a song and be introduced. cindy, doctor mark's wife, plays the electric piano and we sing along. i know nobody here understands what we are singing, but they probably recognize the tune. it's a good thing i have a booklet with the words in it because i don't know the hymn. i think we sound pretty good and everyone claps for us.
after services we break for lunch. we bring in our own cook, food, and bottled water and we are fed very well all week. meat, potatoes, rice, tortillas, beans, lasagna, cereal (with soy milk), eggs, ham, spam (i love spam), and the regular foods we eat at home. we've brought a propane stove and this time a refrigerator. three squares a day.
setting up the clinic goes pretty smooth -- after we've broken open the cases and figured out where everything is supposed to go. about half the people on this mission are new, but they seem to have a sense of what needs to be done and we all work well together. putting together the pharmacy always takes the longest. we put the meds in alphabetical order -- mostly -- but group items like the pediatric meds, cough suppresants, and lotions.
while everybody is setting up their areas, the locals watch through the windows and doors. pretty soon there's a group of kids in the church and someone has blown up balloons and exam gloves for them to play with. everyone's excited, both us and the villagers, to get the clinic going monday morning. we're finally done around 1900 hours, tired, dirty and ready for dinner.
this is our third year in el paraiso. the first year we had pit toilets and bucket showers from rain water collected in cisterns, taken behind black plastic curtains. before we arrived our second year we were told they had a surprise for us and when we arrived last year we found flush toilets and real showers. the village had devised a method to pump water into overhead cisterns and use gravity and head pressure to supply the water for the toilets and showers. two real toilets with real seats to sit on. two real shower heads (although the water was cold), to stand under. pretty close to heaven! we do have to sleep in tents inside the area of the church that is the school rooms. this part of guatemala has scorpions, tarantulas, malaria mosquitoes, and lots of other big and nasty bugs. we found two scorpions in the sleeping areas, and one in the kitchen. one tarantula was captured in the clinic and are almost always found in the bathrooms.
clinic starts first thing after breakfast monday morning. we're all set to go. this year i'm assigned as half a doc -- i do patient histories and chief complaints, after which i pass them on to doctor mark for physical exams. in the past i worked taking vitals and in pharmacy. it's all fun and hard work too. when taking vitals you get to meet all the patients. pharmacy is taxing in making sure you're filling the right prescription. patient histories and complaints is triage. doctor mark asks me what i think is wrong with the patient and what i would prescribe. by the last day, and with doctor mark's help, i'm getting pretty good at figuring what is wrong with the patient and what they should be prescribed. it's similar to what i do as an emt, but here i get to carry through and diagnose and prescribe, which i don't do as an emt. one year one of the docs had me suture, which was cool.
our patients run in age from babies to the elderly. almost all of the children and adults complain of headaches and muscle pain -- from working all day in the fields in hot weather -- plugged ears and stomach complaints. the babies have fevers, measles, scabies, giardia, and chronic diarrhea. many are constantly tired and i prescribe iron to boost their energy.
i must use an interpreter because of the quiche language. some speak of bit of spanish, and i also speak a bit of spanish. so we're able to practice together. it's fun, but sometimes heartbreaking. i always ask about their diet, what they are eating, and if they have a good appetite. it wasn't until the third day that i realized that what was being interpreted to me as "poor appetite" actually meant that they weren't able to eat because they had no money for food. when i visited guatemala in 2001, with rita, my spanish teacher from shoreline cc (and the best teacher anyone could every have -- thank you rita), it was the first time i was exposed to a third world country and true poverty. here were people living in mud shacks, dirt floors, with thatched roofs. no fresh water. no fresh food. everything they owned, which wasn't much, was within their reach. some had farm land to work. some goats or chickens. everyone bartered and everyone, at times, went hungry. no health care. no education. no security. i've seen poor conditions here at home, but nothing like this. and this is why i return.
between the medical and dental clinics we saw 1010 patients. most with the normal illnesses you and i put up with day to day and simply go to the grocery store and buy over the counter medicine. i can't tell you how many teeth the dentists pulled, but it was a lot. we also saw patients who had strokes and cardiac issues, who probably wouldn't make it until our visit next year; one fractured forearm on a boy from falling during a soccer game; a machete wound on a foot; a hernia; many lymphomas; ob/gyn issues; breathing problems; pretty much a little bit of everything else that comes through a busy er.
i think the best thing we give these people is an education in nutrition and hygiene. maureen and her crew do an excellent job at this. it seems to me that each year the people are a bit less sick than the previous year, which means they are eating a broader diet, washing their hands, and not drinking water unless it's been boiled. it wouldn't do much good to keep coming back year after year without the education.
this post has become way too long, and maybe too boring, so i'll finish here. but i do want to plug two websites. the first is kiva.org. at kiva you can make a difference by donating money for mini-grants to people and groups in third world countries. and when you get boared and need diversion, instead of playing solitaire, go to freerice.com. at freerice you can learn a language, or math, or another topic, and in so doing make donations of rice to feed a hungry world.
thanks for staying until the end.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
mission work
one of the "unknowns" about me is that i do mission work. this comes as a surprise to many of my friends and people that i know because i guess i come off as some sort of heathen. it's true, i don't follow any organized religion other than my "church of john." this doesn't mean i'm not spiritual, i just find that my beliefs don't seem to fit into any organized religion that i know of.
my first mission work, which at that time i guess was or wasn't a mission in a quasi sort of way, was with a group called "asista," headed up by rita, a spanish teacher at bellevue community college. i was attending classes there, working on my fire administration degree when i received a letter from bcc asking if i was interested in an immersion program -- studying in a foreign country.
i previously had no idea what an immersion program was, but thought the idea of visiting a foreign country, while studying and earning college credits, was something i might be interested in. so i gave bcc a call and signed up for the intro program.
i'm an air force brat. we traveled to a new location about every three or four years. washington, alaska, kansas, germany, michigan -- with a few short stays at other states tucked in between. dad left us for a year while he went to canada when we were stationed in michigan during our fourth year and we ended up doing two tours of duty in michigan (our longest tour), which is were he retired from, traveling back to his home in washington afterwards.
it is pretty hard to make lasting friends as a military brat. about every four years you pack up everything you own and head off to a new location. as have your friends. additionally, you really have no roots -- no attic to store your stuff. i was pretty tired of moving and just wanted to stay stuck.
but my second wife was an adventurer. as a child her aunt would pack her and her brother into the car, see how much money they had, and go until it was half spent, then head back. a bit of her adventurous spirit rubbed off on me when her and i journeyed to france two weeks before the 50th anniversary of d-day. we left for 10 days in france with only return tickets, a car rental, and two days reservations in paris. the rest of the time we were on our own -- and working off credit cards because we hadn't budgeted. her motto was take the trip, then figure out how to pay for it. we had a great time with very few problems. and the french treated us very well.
anyway ... it's evening, and now i'm sitting in a large classroom at bcc listening to instructors tell us about their immersion programs; a quarter in france learning about european architecture; a quarter in australia learning history; a quarter in england studying art. lots of programs, all a full quarter long, until ... up steps this short latino-looking woman with a funny accent. rita, one of the spanish teachers at bcc, tells us about her trips to guatemala studying spanish and indiginous culture. and its not a full quarter, but only three weeks. i could probably get three weeks off work.
so i listen to rita's presentation and spend a lot of time going through her photos and asking questions. i'm the only one interested in guatemala. just about everybody else is talking to the australia presenter, and a few at the other presenter's tables. before leaving i make an appointment to talk to rita in the next week and head home to see if i can find guatemala on the map, cuz i'm not sure where it is, other than it's south -- maybe a long ways south -- of where i am.
my first trip to guatemala with rita was a blast. it was also an adventure. rita is a lovely, heartful, compassionate woman, but she definitely operates in latino mode -- schedules are made but are usually only close to being on time. really, the best you can hope for is that whatever is scheduled will occur on the same day. don't get me wrong. i'm not making fun of her. she is a wonderful woman who is out making the world a better place. i love her and owe her more than she can imagine.
we toured guatemala. visited ruins. learned about its recent violent history. saw poverty and sickness i could never have imagined. learned some spanish. supported a girl's school. smuggled in computers and electronics. and had fun. i am truly a better person today because of rita and my first guatemala experience.
since that first trip i've been to guatemala three more times with rita. also peru and argentina. with each trip i've learned more about not only the people of this world, but mostly about myself. i will be forever grateful to rita.
now i'm traveling with a medical group called "hands of love" out of arlington. this will be my fourth year with them. we supply basic medical and dental needs to indigenous people in remote villages. the first year we went to a small village called san gabriel. the next two years at a smaller village called el paraiso (the paradise). we are going to el paraiso again this year.
the group is sponsored by the nazarene church, although no members of the group are nazarenes. we're kinda all around the church dial, me being the most non-churchy of the group, which doesn't seem to bother anybody. i join in the singing and praying just like i knew what i was doing. and i'm really thankful that they've never asked me to lead in prayer! these are great, giving people.
el paraiso is small, in the middle of nowehere, in the middle of a nowhere jungle. its main structure is the nazarene church, which is where we set up our clinic. there is no running water and little electricity. our first year there we used pit toilets and showered with buckets of water from cisterns that filled only when it rained. the second year they had a surprise for us; they built us flush toilets and real showers. the pressure for the toilets and showers was supplied by pumping the water into a high cistern and letting gravity do the hard work. it was wonderful, and the villagers were very proud of their work.
there are few people in the village, but we have lots of patients. i'm not sure where they all come from, but for five days we see people from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. with an hour lunch break. newborns, elderly, and everybody in between. sick and sicker, and some whom i'm sure didn't make it through the year. our dentists are really put to work. the record for teeth pulled from one person is 18. these villagers do not speak spanish. they speak quiche, a mayan dialect. it takes two interpreters, one english to spanish, and one spanish to quiche.
it can get hot and uncomfortable in the village. tarantulas, scorpions, and centipedes are common. as well as the diarrhea i (and others), sometimes get from giardia and other intenstinal bugs. we sleep in tents inside the church to keep the bugs off. it's malaria country. but these people are friendly, hard workers, and happy that we are there.
i can't help but think that if everyone had the chance to come do this the world would be a much better place. we're really all in this together. everybody deserves an education, health care, and safe and sanitary living conditions. no matter where you live, what faith you practice, or the color of your skin. it's just basic. and it's what keeps me coming back year after year.
i love this work. hell, i pay to do it. and i'm heading off to guatemala wednesday with hands of love to do it again. so please, wish me well. i'll be back with more tales of adventure and pictures to show.
my first mission work, which at that time i guess was or wasn't a mission in a quasi sort of way, was with a group called "asista," headed up by rita, a spanish teacher at bellevue community college. i was attending classes there, working on my fire administration degree when i received a letter from bcc asking if i was interested in an immersion program -- studying in a foreign country.
i previously had no idea what an immersion program was, but thought the idea of visiting a foreign country, while studying and earning college credits, was something i might be interested in. so i gave bcc a call and signed up for the intro program.
i'm an air force brat. we traveled to a new location about every three or four years. washington, alaska, kansas, germany, michigan -- with a few short stays at other states tucked in between. dad left us for a year while he went to canada when we were stationed in michigan during our fourth year and we ended up doing two tours of duty in michigan (our longest tour), which is were he retired from, traveling back to his home in washington afterwards.
it is pretty hard to make lasting friends as a military brat. about every four years you pack up everything you own and head off to a new location. as have your friends. additionally, you really have no roots -- no attic to store your stuff. i was pretty tired of moving and just wanted to stay stuck.
but my second wife was an adventurer. as a child her aunt would pack her and her brother into the car, see how much money they had, and go until it was half spent, then head back. a bit of her adventurous spirit rubbed off on me when her and i journeyed to france two weeks before the 50th anniversary of d-day. we left for 10 days in france with only return tickets, a car rental, and two days reservations in paris. the rest of the time we were on our own -- and working off credit cards because we hadn't budgeted. her motto was take the trip, then figure out how to pay for it. we had a great time with very few problems. and the french treated us very well.
anyway ... it's evening, and now i'm sitting in a large classroom at bcc listening to instructors tell us about their immersion programs; a quarter in france learning about european architecture; a quarter in australia learning history; a quarter in england studying art. lots of programs, all a full quarter long, until ... up steps this short latino-looking woman with a funny accent. rita, one of the spanish teachers at bcc, tells us about her trips to guatemala studying spanish and indiginous culture. and its not a full quarter, but only three weeks. i could probably get three weeks off work.
so i listen to rita's presentation and spend a lot of time going through her photos and asking questions. i'm the only one interested in guatemala. just about everybody else is talking to the australia presenter, and a few at the other presenter's tables. before leaving i make an appointment to talk to rita in the next week and head home to see if i can find guatemala on the map, cuz i'm not sure where it is, other than it's south -- maybe a long ways south -- of where i am.
my first trip to guatemala with rita was a blast. it was also an adventure. rita is a lovely, heartful, compassionate woman, but she definitely operates in latino mode -- schedules are made but are usually only close to being on time. really, the best you can hope for is that whatever is scheduled will occur on the same day. don't get me wrong. i'm not making fun of her. she is a wonderful woman who is out making the world a better place. i love her and owe her more than she can imagine.
we toured guatemala. visited ruins. learned about its recent violent history. saw poverty and sickness i could never have imagined. learned some spanish. supported a girl's school. smuggled in computers and electronics. and had fun. i am truly a better person today because of rita and my first guatemala experience.
since that first trip i've been to guatemala three more times with rita. also peru and argentina. with each trip i've learned more about not only the people of this world, but mostly about myself. i will be forever grateful to rita.
now i'm traveling with a medical group called "hands of love" out of arlington. this will be my fourth year with them. we supply basic medical and dental needs to indigenous people in remote villages. the first year we went to a small village called san gabriel. the next two years at a smaller village called el paraiso (the paradise). we are going to el paraiso again this year.
the group is sponsored by the nazarene church, although no members of the group are nazarenes. we're kinda all around the church dial, me being the most non-churchy of the group, which doesn't seem to bother anybody. i join in the singing and praying just like i knew what i was doing. and i'm really thankful that they've never asked me to lead in prayer! these are great, giving people.
el paraiso is small, in the middle of nowehere, in the middle of a nowhere jungle. its main structure is the nazarene church, which is where we set up our clinic. there is no running water and little electricity. our first year there we used pit toilets and showered with buckets of water from cisterns that filled only when it rained. the second year they had a surprise for us; they built us flush toilets and real showers. the pressure for the toilets and showers was supplied by pumping the water into a high cistern and letting gravity do the hard work. it was wonderful, and the villagers were very proud of their work.
there are few people in the village, but we have lots of patients. i'm not sure where they all come from, but for five days we see people from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. with an hour lunch break. newborns, elderly, and everybody in between. sick and sicker, and some whom i'm sure didn't make it through the year. our dentists are really put to work. the record for teeth pulled from one person is 18. these villagers do not speak spanish. they speak quiche, a mayan dialect. it takes two interpreters, one english to spanish, and one spanish to quiche.
it can get hot and uncomfortable in the village. tarantulas, scorpions, and centipedes are common. as well as the diarrhea i (and others), sometimes get from giardia and other intenstinal bugs. we sleep in tents inside the church to keep the bugs off. it's malaria country. but these people are friendly, hard workers, and happy that we are there.
i can't help but think that if everyone had the chance to come do this the world would be a much better place. we're really all in this together. everybody deserves an education, health care, and safe and sanitary living conditions. no matter where you live, what faith you practice, or the color of your skin. it's just basic. and it's what keeps me coming back year after year.
i love this work. hell, i pay to do it. and i'm heading off to guatemala wednesday with hands of love to do it again. so please, wish me well. i'll be back with more tales of adventure and pictures to show.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
yum-o
i don't watch a whole lot of television. seems it just doesn't have really much to offer me. travel channel, food network, local news at 5 and 10 and national news with katie at 5:30. katie is hot for me, and me for her, so i gotta watch. i also like infomercials that say "but wait, if you order now ...", and sometimes i do. i have more junk that doesn't work because i might have had one too many margaritas while watching a shamwow or kreg informercial. i should call capital one and have them put my credit card on a do-not-purchase-off-tv list.
one of my infomercial purchases was the robatti multi-drill, "the most versatile drill on the planet." you know, the double headed drill, where you can put a drill bit in one head and a screwdriver in the other. then you can drill the hole, switch to the screwdriver and drive the screw home -- all with just a twist. it was kinda cool, although awkward and felt out-of balance. the real problem was it couldn't stand the six foot drop i gave it while i was on a ladder attempting to drill holes to mount a flower pot hanger on the back of the house. this was my first real use of the drill, and my last. it now is occupying space in a land fill.
another purchase was a scratch remover i bought to rub out scratches on our fiberglass boat. it came with a compound that would match any color of fiberglass, and, "if you ordered now," a portable vacuum that plugged into a 12-volt power outlet. i missed the phone number on the infomercial, so i googled it on the computer. what a deal, i thought, this i gotta have cuz i got scratches on my boat. somehow during the on-line ordering process i ended up buying two of the additional vacuums, and paying additional shipping costs for both of them -- costs that added up to what was more than the vacuums were worth. oh well.
i know what you're thinking. and no, i will not be buying the penis enlarger pump or the colon cleansing solution.
but i could watch rachael, giada, and sandra for most of a day. you know who i'm talking about. these ladies know about food. and they know that cooking with cleavage sells. yeah, bobby, tyler, alton, and guy know their food too. and they have great shows. but there's just something about the ladies that keeps drawing me back. don't read me wrong here, it's not a perversion, it's just that they are pretty easy to look at. i think we all need a daily diversion, i know i do, and these gals help supply mine. and there's some damn good food that goes along with it. yes, you guessed it, i bought rachael's dutch oven!
one of my infomercial purchases was the robatti multi-drill, "the most versatile drill on the planet." you know, the double headed drill, where you can put a drill bit in one head and a screwdriver in the other. then you can drill the hole, switch to the screwdriver and drive the screw home -- all with just a twist. it was kinda cool, although awkward and felt out-of balance. the real problem was it couldn't stand the six foot drop i gave it while i was on a ladder attempting to drill holes to mount a flower pot hanger on the back of the house. this was my first real use of the drill, and my last. it now is occupying space in a land fill.
another purchase was a scratch remover i bought to rub out scratches on our fiberglass boat. it came with a compound that would match any color of fiberglass, and, "if you ordered now," a portable vacuum that plugged into a 12-volt power outlet. i missed the phone number on the infomercial, so i googled it on the computer. what a deal, i thought, this i gotta have cuz i got scratches on my boat. somehow during the on-line ordering process i ended up buying two of the additional vacuums, and paying additional shipping costs for both of them -- costs that added up to what was more than the vacuums were worth. oh well.
i know what you're thinking. and no, i will not be buying the penis enlarger pump or the colon cleansing solution.
but i could watch rachael, giada, and sandra for most of a day. you know who i'm talking about. these ladies know about food. and they know that cooking with cleavage sells. yeah, bobby, tyler, alton, and guy know their food too. and they have great shows. but there's just something about the ladies that keeps drawing me back. don't read me wrong here, it's not a perversion, it's just that they are pretty easy to look at. i think we all need a daily diversion, i know i do, and these gals help supply mine. and there's some damn good food that goes along with it. yes, you guessed it, i bought rachael's dutch oven!
first post
like most people, i guess, i tend to think everything i have to say is somehow important -- if not to you, then at least to me. i know this is absurd, but in my mind this is how it works. and so in this quest of enlightening you, i'll begin my wonderings here, today.
i'm not much of a reader, unless it has to do with fishing or traveling. i also tend to limit my television viewing to these topics also. i keep up on my job (more about that below), by reading the trade magazines and pumping out the required training. shift-to-shift i'm pretty busy with administrative stuff and it seems that rarely do i have the time to investigate new techniques, which is what my lieutenants do for me.
i'm a battalion chief at a small to mid-sized fire department. i've been in the fire service for 25 years, beginning as a volunteer, and after testing around for a full time position for three years, getting hired at a department similar in service area and culture as the one i volunteered for. hiring was much simpler then. nowadays a job opening at a fire department, especially a large department, can bring hundreds of applicants.
i believe my age, my years in the fire service, the fact that i held a real job before the fire department, that i have children, grandchildren, and have been married three times to three wonderful women, grants me the right to pretty much say what i please. you obviously don't have to like what i say -- you don't even have to comment on what i say -- hell, you don't even have to read what i say, but i have a mind, fingers, an aging computer and a keyboard, and a bit of spare time.
so please stick around while i learn how this blogger works. who knows, i may occasionally write something worth reading and commenting on. let me know either way, but please don't be rude. i won't if you won't.
i'm not much of a reader, unless it has to do with fishing or traveling. i also tend to limit my television viewing to these topics also. i keep up on my job (more about that below), by reading the trade magazines and pumping out the required training. shift-to-shift i'm pretty busy with administrative stuff and it seems that rarely do i have the time to investigate new techniques, which is what my lieutenants do for me.
i'm a battalion chief at a small to mid-sized fire department. i've been in the fire service for 25 years, beginning as a volunteer, and after testing around for a full time position for three years, getting hired at a department similar in service area and culture as the one i volunteered for. hiring was much simpler then. nowadays a job opening at a fire department, especially a large department, can bring hundreds of applicants.
i believe my age, my years in the fire service, the fact that i held a real job before the fire department, that i have children, grandchildren, and have been married three times to three wonderful women, grants me the right to pretty much say what i please. you obviously don't have to like what i say -- you don't even have to comment on what i say -- hell, you don't even have to read what i say, but i have a mind, fingers, an aging computer and a keyboard, and a bit of spare time.
so please stick around while i learn how this blogger works. who knows, i may occasionally write something worth reading and commenting on. let me know either way, but please don't be rude. i won't if you won't.
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