Duty · Fun And Games · guns · Pains in my Fifth Point of Contact

SNIPPETS

So, TINS, TIWFDASL, and one of the registrars walked back, and informed us, “They say that there is a man out there with a gun!”

My response was to ask, “Is there any reason that you are NOT telling the police this, rather than telling me?”

“Oh, should I call the police?”

“Ah-yep! Right freaking now would be very nice!”

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If you have COPD (emphysema), it is likely not so very helpful to smoke marijuana.

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Me: “So, you’re here for your cough. When is your cough worse?”

Them: “When I cough.”

@@@

Please, after I have explained my plan of care for your cough, which is caused by the irritation caused to your throat by the mucus in your throat, mucus originating in your sinuses, Please do not correct me with the observation that “My mucus is in my throat”.

It is very likely that, when I illuminated and inspected your throat, I DID notice, and, indeed, did comment upon, the tsunami of snot therein. Further, it is likely that every child of Ghawd that I have seen today has, also, snot streams running down their posterior pharynx: their throat.

So, when I explained to you that that mucus is irritating to your throat, since your throat is not well designed to tolerate that event, and that irritation manifests as a sore throat, or a tickle and a cough, or both, did you consider the possibility that the mucus originated, oh, gosh, I don’t know, IN YOUR SINUSES, AS I, INDEED, MENTIONED IN MY DETAILED EXPLANATION OF YOUR MALADY AND MY PLAN TO MANAGE SAME?

So, the nasal steroid that I recommended to you, over the counter, will suppress the inflammation (that I mentioned was the root cause of your woe), and thereby suppress the outpouring of snot which is the proximate cause of your cough, and, therefore, end (or really, really suppress) your cough, which was the ostensible purpose of your visit in the first place.

Duty · Having A Good Partner Is Very Important! · Sometimes You Get to Think That You Have Accomplished Something!

Fighting Disease, And Saving Lives

Gather ’round, boys and girls, and let Uncle Stretcher Ape regale you with another tale of FDASL.

So, the other week, I meandered into work, safely early (or so I thought). I was just about to drop my lunch, backpack, and coat, when the overhead page alerted: “Code Alert to walk in!”

Well, that was odd. I grabbed my stethoscope, and walked out of the office, simply to be certain that I was, indeed, in the walk in. Yep, I certainly was.

One of the MAs, looking excited, directed me to the room adjacent to where I was standing.

I entered to find a flaccid child, eyes literally rolled up into her head, as the MA at the bedside was busily obtaining vital signs. She gave me hurried report: child had arrived looking unsteady, reception had twigged, promptly to my FAVORITE “vital sign”: (“Dude Don’t Look Right”), summoned the MA staff, and, well, then things got exciting.

The child, as soon as she had been laid down, had gone unresponsive, per the report I got. I auscultated, verifying presence of air movement and heart beat. Finding a radial pulse, I went to the registrar, and asked, “Where is my bus?”

She smiled, knowing how I think, and replied, “I’ve called the ambulance already”

“Outstanding!” was my reply, and I returned to the room.

As I turned around, I noticed my physician supervisor, as well as my pediatric supervisor. I gave them a brief synopsis of what I knew, and what my plan was (“get her off to ED, as soon as humanly possible”, if I recall correctly).

Soon, EMS arrived. I gave them report, as best I could, and they packed her up and skedaddled (No, that is not strictly speaking a medical term. But, it worked for me!)

I subsequently spoke with the registrar who had first contacted mom and child. She had determined, indeed, that this child very much did not look right, and had promptly summoned assistance.

The first MA to respond, had promptly identified that this was way, Way, WAY beyond our level of care, and had initiated calling EMS, RFN (Right Freaking Now), as well as the “Code Alert”.

Good call.

So, a couple of days later, my physician supervisor, along with the administrator, passed through for a weekly review of our quality indicators. Winding up their pitch, they asked if we had anything to call to their attention. Yep, I did.

I praised the registrar who correctly, and promptly made the triage call. I praised the MA who had responded, and initiated the “Code Alert”, as well as the EMS call, properly, promptly, and effectively. I wound up by stating that they deserved praise for responding appropriately and calmly in a crisis.

This is to illustrate, again, quiet people who, taking pride in what they do, strive to improve, attend to duty, and take care of business. As Heinlein said, “Take a look around you. There never were enough bosses to check up on all that work. From Independence Hall to the Grand Coulee Dam, these things were built level and square by craftsmen who were honest in their bones.” (https://thisibelieve.org/essay/16630/)

I work with these folks. I rely on their intelligence, their judgment, their engagement with what they do. As Eaton Rapids Joe noted, “You get more of what you recognize”.

Duty · Having A Good Partner Is Very Important! · Protect and Serve

HALLOWEEN

A long, long time ago, in a county very far away, I was an ER nurse working nights. Indeed, this was so very long ago, that The Plaintiff had not, yet, become The Plaintiff.

It so happened that one Halloween I found myself working. At that time, in that county, we had a dispatch radio in the nurses’ station. After all, in a small hospital, in a very rural county, if you have advance notice of ill tidings, well, sometimes you can gather your selves, and more effectively address the particular ill tidings that are brought to your door.

My shift started at 1900 hours, and day shift had hardly departed when the tones went off dispatching the firefighters, rescue, and sheriff’s department from a couple of townships over. The nature of the call chilled my blood: child pedestrian, pedestrian vs auto on one of the local two lane state highways.

In rural The Un Named Flyover State, traffic on our state highways commonly travels at around 60 mph. Now, KE=1/2 MV2. That means that a, oh, say, 3000 pound vehicle at 60 mph runs around 361,040 foot pounds of energy. (By comparison, a 30-06 bullet runs around 3,133 foot pounds, and will kill any large game animal on the North American continent). When this strikes a, say, 80 pound child who abruptly darts out from between parked cars, well, it is catastrophic.

And, it was, indeed, catastrophic. Responding to the call, mothers, fathers, uncles, aunts, sons, daughters: the entirety of the emergency response apparatus in that corner of our county: hell, from couple of surrounding counties, as well: responded, praying, hoping, that somehow they could mitigate this disaster.

It seemed as though the medics spent seconds on the scene. It likely seemed like hours to the horrified family. One second, this child was running along, gleeful and excited at Halloween, eagerly anticipating All! The Candy! that would soon be spread out on the living room floor, and a second later, he was unconscious, broken, in the road.

The county and State Police ran interference, shutting down the expressway to speed the ambulance along it’s way. Our local city cops closed the cross streets, and the medics screamed into our parking lot, where we waited, alerted by the phone call from dispatch.

There were an amazing number of personnel in and about our ER that night. Every floor in the hospital detailed someone to either help, or stand by to see how they could help. The lab was there, cardiopulmonary, and that is not to mention the firefighters from our town, and our cops, in the parking lot, waiting to see if they, too, could help.

The ER doc was not about to half step, and employed every tool at his disposal. But, sometimes Death wins, and we can do nothing to forestall His victory.

We nurses cleaned the child up as best we could, tucking him in with clean linens, and a clean fresh gown. We tried our best to make him appear simply asleep.

The family came into the resuscitation room, and wailed their grief. In that setting, there is really nothing that you can do, nothing of any substance. We stood by, silent witnesses to their heartbreak.

Eventually, they had wept themselves dry. Neighbors assisted the parents from the room, to drive them back home. Later, they would have to plan his funeral, put away his toys, clothing, and things, and come to terms with the forever loss of their little boy.

Halloween would never ever be the same for that family.

A couple of hours later, TDW-Mark I (subsequently The Plaintiff) stopped by. She had taken our two kids then aged 6 and 3, Trick-or-Treating, and they were so darned cute, it finished me. I swept them up into a hug, and likely puzzled them by weeping. Truth be told, I suspect that TDW was surprised, herself. Until one of my partners told her the story of earlier in the night.

Duty · Having A Good Partner Is Very Important! · Sometimes You Get to Think That You Have Accomplished Something!

If You Take Care Of Your People, Your People Will Take Care Of Business

A long, long time ago, in a city so very far away, I was an afternoon shift nursing house supervisor. In the course of my shifts, I would receive call offs from midnights, and attempt to discern that point at which nights would be short, and I would have to attempt to backfill their staffing.

One such evening, I had determined that nights would, indeed, be short. I started on the unit that was short, and called up. The first nurse I spoke with was the recipient of my stock spiel.

“Ms. Smith, golly, have I got an opportunity for you!”

She was amusedly skeptical. “Oh, you do? What sort of opportunity might that be, Mr. McFee?”

“Ma’am, I have the opportunity for you to make eight hours of time and a half, right this very night! What a deal!”

“What might I have to do, to earn this time and a half?”

“Why, simply keep your same assignment, and ride home in the morning glowing in the satisfaction that comes from a job well done!”

“Suppose I don’t have a ride home in the morning? I carpooled with Ms. Diaz, and she is completely uninterested in OT.”

I had an answer to that problem. “In that case, I’ll trot up there with a cab voucher for you!”

She was surprised. “Can you do that?”

“It certainly appears that I can, as I have the cab voucher right here in front of me!”

“But, I did not bring anything to eat later!”

“No problem. What would you like? We have KFC, pizza, Burger Biggie, and others not so far away.”

“But, I did not bring any money!”

“Who asked you for money? You’re working over, I will be sure that you eat, and have a way home. Any other concerns?”

“But, who is going to pay for the food?”

“Not you. Beyond that, not your problem!”

She sighed. “OK, let me call my husband. I’ll get to keep my assignment tonight?”

“Yep! I will so advise the night supervisor!”

“Thank you, Mr. McFee!”

“Ms. Smith, you are welcome. Thank you for being flexible!”

I caught up with the security supervisor, and asked him if one of his officers could make a chow run. I handed him a $20 dollar bill, asked for my change and the receipt, once Ms. Smith had her food.

The next day, I took my receipt to my boss, explained how I had negotiated coverage for night shift, and presented the receipt. She wrote out a petty cash voucher, and sent me to the cashier to get reimbursed.

Duty · Having A Good Partner Is Very Important! · Life in Da City! · Pains in my Fifth Point of Contact · Protect and Serve · Sometimes You Get to Think That You Have Accomplished Something!

Sometimes, The Pucker Could Squeeze Diamonds

So, TINS, TIWFDASL at an urgent care out in Flyover Country. It was a typical afternoon, featuring a parade of sniffles, coughs, and poison ivy. Our clinic was on the south side of the road, east of Middling Sized City, and the Big Time Big Deal Hospital And Trauma Center. In other words, to get the the BTBDHATC, one would exit our driveway, and turn west (that is, LEFT!)

Abruptly, the registrar summoned me. My MA and I walked over, to behold a limp toddler. Very Not Good!

The MA escorted the male carrying the child to an exam room, and began to collect vitals. I examined the child, discovering a heartbeat (Crom be Praised!) and spontaneous respirations. The registrar collected demographic information, and I asked the adult what had happened, prior to arrival.

“Well, he started shaking, and then he stopped. He just wouldn’t wake up, so I brought him here.”

Well, the “wouldn’t wake up” part was still descriptive of the child, and I noted that I would have to call an ambulance immediately, because this could have several causes, none of them good. Indeed, “floppy child” is right up there in my Triage Catalogue Of Very Bad Things.

The adult male paused at this. “I don’t want to send him by ambulance. I’ll take him myself!”

I was surprised. I noted, “So, you *DO* realize that several of the things that caused this, could reappear, and he could stop breathing or his heart could stop. EMS is trained and equipped to deal with those things, should they occur. You, while driving, are not, right?”

He persisted. “I’ll drive him myself”.

We directed him to go there immediately, with no delay nor detour. We explicitly directed him to exit our driveway, TURN FREAKING LEFT (that is, west), and not stop until at the ED.

He stated that he understood, and would do so.

He scooped the child up, and exited the building. I sat down to chart, as well as call BTBDHATC, in order to provide them with forewarning of the sick, sick, sick child coming their way. That is, until my registrar called me, excitedly, to report that this sunovabitch had turned EAST! (exactly away from the hospital) upon exiting our driveway.

WTAF!

I had the clerk print a face sheet, and called emergency dispatch. I related the above information to dispatch, along with my concern that a critically ill child was *NOT* being taken to the ED. I provided the street address we had received, as well as the contact information.

I next called the child protective services emergency number, to report the above. I was assigned a report number, which I charted, and my own name and contact information was taken.

Several hours later I received a telephone call, from a gentleman asserting he was from CPS. I asked him to confirm the report number, the child’s date of birth, name and address of our record. He did confirm all these details.

He queried me about the particulars of the child’s presentation. I supplied the requested information. I asked how the child was. The worker paused, and said, “Well, I am not allowed to provide information regarding an ongoing investigation, particularly one where the child in question has been hospitalized. I’m sorry. “

My response? “Yeah, it’s too bad you couldn’t tell me if the child had been hospitalized or anything. I understand. Thank you.”

Duty · Having A Good Partner Is Very Important! · Sometimes You Get to Think That You Have Accomplished Something!

Above and Beyond

So, TINS©, TIWFDASL©…. Well, OK: REALLLLYYYYY!, I was holding up the counter, and awaiting my next patient, when one of the registrars came up and informed me, “Reltney, I’ve got this sick lady out in the drive up, and I really think you need to see her! Like, right now!”

To set the stage, my urgent care has (surprisingly!) urgent care patients, as well as folks who arrange to be tested for Da Rona. This latter group makes their appointment, drives up, telephones in to announce their arrival, and my registrar gowns up, registers them (now, THAT is a surprise, amirite?), and one of the MAs gowns up, strolls out, tests them, and hands a sheet of instructions (prominently featuring the admonition to quarantine for ten days, or until negative results are forthcoming) to the patient.

This particular soul had not made it past the whole “registrar registers them…” part. This particular registrar, let us call her Eloise, has been doing this for several months. She is one of those quiet, efficient, takes-care-of-business folks that make things in general, and our agency in particular, run. She is not a nurse, not an MA, may not have any “medical training” whatsoever.

Nonetheless, Eloise had appropriately identified that this patient, nominally here for coronavirus testing, was way, way, way sicker than (a) coronavirus testing was gonna help in a clinically relevant timeframe, as well as (b) way, way, way, way! too sick to be driving around. So, she came and got me.

I went to the patient, shortly afterwards followed by an MA who had overheard Eloise’s pronouncement. I was impressed by the fact that this woman reported chest pain, nausea. left sided neck pain, left sided jaw pain, as well as being unable to tell me her allergies, or medications, or medical history, and could not state the name of her boyfriend (whom she wanted called to retrieve her vehicle) as I shortly had determined that this nice lady was going to shortly be the recipient of over 50 years of pre hospital emergency care wisdom and experience, as well as diesel therapy. (ambulances nowadays generally run on diesel).

I told Eloise to get an ambulance, and the MA hopped in, to clear a room for this patient. Eloise evidently had delegated that task, as she returned promptly with a wheelchair, and I noted another MA on the phone to dispatch, as Mrs. Chestpain was wheeled in.

As I assessed this soul, engaging in conversation all the while, it struck me that her ability to track the conversation was deteriorating before my eyes. Not a good thing.

Soon EMS arrived, packed her up, and set about their own part of her care.

I called report to the local ED, explaining the above.

I then went in search of Eloise’s supervisor. I informed this worthy that, in my opinion, Eloise had saved this woman’s life. Had she not had her head in the encounter, had she not noted “chick don’t look right” (the fundamental item of nursing assessment), had she not sought me out and had she not compellingly made her case that this was a SICK person, well, Mrs. Chestpain might have driven off, to die from (her heart attack)(her stroke)(a collision from her impaired ability to navigate), or (all three).

For some reason, I had occasion to speak to my physician supervisor around that time. I repeated the foregoing story, as well as the foregoing analysis, to her.

“Well, you know, Reltney, you also saved her life!”

“Ma’am,” I responded, “I have dozens of years of schooling, decades of emergency and clinical experience to enable me to do that sort of thing: it’s kind of what you are paying me for! Eloise, on the other hand, has none of those things. You are congratulating me for doing my job. I’m applauding Eloise for thinking outside of the box, outside of her job description, and acting effectively to get this woman the help she desperately required. Thank you, but Eloise went above and beyond her job. She is what made everything else happen.”

As a side note, here’s what the preceding paragraph looks like, when your cat helps you:

“Ma’am,” I responded, “I have dozens of years of schooling, decades of emergency and clinical experience to enable me to do that sort of thing: it’s kind of what you are paying me for! Eloise, on the other hand, has none of those things. You are congratulating me for doing my job. I’m applauding Eloise for thinking outside of the box, outside of her job description, and acting effectively to get this woman the help she desperately required. Thank you, but Eloise went above and beyond her job. She is what made everything else happen.”pppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp

Thanks, Kitty. i do believe that I have this under control.

Duty · Sometimes You Get to Think That You Have Accomplished Something!

“You’re Gonna Miss This”

Trace Adkins had a song, several years ago, entitled “You’re Going to Miss This”. The narrator recounts telling his adolescent daughter she will miss the security of having her parents around to take care of things. Another verse has him counseling his now adult, now married, now a mother, daughter, that “you’re gonna miss this”, “this” being her cramped apartment with her new husband, later her house with young children.

In the two years before my mother’s death, I remembered that song. During hour plus drives to visit Mom, in her apartment across the state. I told my wife, “ya know, I’m gonna miss this!”, followed by a synopsis of that song.

When, visiting Mom, she had Chris Cuomo (spit!) on her television, the volume set at “11”, likely to accommodate her diminished hearing, I breathed deeply, and thought, “You’re gonna miss this”.

(realize that I supported Mr. Trump, and thought that Mr. Biden ought to be allowed to spend his waning days in the company of his children and grandchildren, spending his Chinese money as he saw fit. Oddly, Mom had a different opinion. Who knew?)

With the above parenthetical comment in mind, when Mom would attempt to drag me into some sort of political debate, such as how Mr. Trump was ill mannered or something similarly important to me (or not. Please, Ghawd! More mean tweets, less food and energy inflation!), I would placidly respond, “Hmmm. Mr. Trump sure elicits controversy, doesn’t he?” And I would remember, “You’re gonna miss this!”

I would take my mother shopping. THAT was entertaining! If you have successfully committed every one of my posts to memory, you will recall my joy at obliviots who would threaten to collide their shopping carts with my children. I, naturally, *did* recall this experience, and noted assholes who appeared entirely willing to knock my century old mother onto her ass. Since that would would have elicited a General Nguyen Ngoc Loan aisle side justice response on my part, and, well, people would talk (And scream. and so forth), I felt that prevention was easier to explain. I redeployed my “Colossus With Bad Attitude” persona, and blocked the aisle upstream of where my mother was shopping. She, of course, required ONE PARTICULAR Brand of baked beans, in one specific size, none other would do. This required considerable searching. After that PITA, well, I’d drive Mom back to her apartment, thinking, “You’re gonna miss this!”

On one visit, I thought that it would be nice if I were to prepare some lasagna for my mother, placed in “unit dose”, single serving plastic containers. Thereby, she could fish one out of the frig, microwave it, and enjoy.

Of course, I did it wrong. She laughed, and asked me, “Do you think that I am some kind of helpless old lady, who cannot even cook?” (Not exactly, but, reports from my sister in law, Donna- Praise Be Upon Her for orchestrating my mother’s household, doctor visits, medications, dog vet appointments, and every other kind of appointment- suggested that burned pans were a foreshadowing of other culinary, and perhaps incendiary, mishaps to come)

Once we had eaten, and I was washing dishes, she asked me, “That was not my recipe, was it? I think I like my recipe better!”

And, I thought, “you’re gonna miss this!”

Trace Adkins was correct.

Duty · Life in Da City! · Pains in my Fifth Point of Contact · Protect and Serve

Two More Tales

Once upon a time, Da City was “The Arsenal of Democracy”, heavily industrialized, and a place where a reasonably hard working high school graduate could graduate, and, within a year, have a solidly middle class lifestyle working in a factory. One auto company had established an industrial complex just outside Da City, and on an island in this complex, had established forges, stamping plants, and coking ovens. Even across the river, the smell had to be experienced to be believed.

I worked with one guy, back on EMS, who had worked, pre-fire department, for one of the private ambulance services. They had caught a run for some emergency or another on this island, and, this being the days of 24 hour shifts, my friend fell asleep, letting his partner, who was driving, take care of things.

He related, “I was awakened when the ambulance stopped. I looked out, at the gas flaring off, and the chemical smell of sulfur heavy in the air. The area aroiund us looked like a hellish war torn moonscape, and I thought, “Oh my f@@king Ghawd! He’s wrecked the ambulance, I’ve died, and this is Hell!”

Another story, from a slightly later time, had me working with Doug and Rob, at a house in the far western area of Da City. We were dispatched to an assault, and met the cops on the scene. Upon entering the house, a gentleman (looking to be something like 6 feet and some change tall, probably running probably 220 pounds) reported that the woman of the house, who, herself, looked to be like 5 feet 2 inches, maybe 120 pounds, had assaulted him, striking him with her fists. He reported that he needed to be “checked out” due to his (non evident) injuries. She interjected that she had not assaulted him, he had, rather, assaulted her (and inflicting no perceptible injury in that process). He responded, loudly, and it was on. The Great West Side Debating Society Quarterly Meeting began.

While “the adults” were yelling etc, I noticed, in corner of the next room a perhaps 5-7 yo little girl, crouched in corner, mouth open, fists clenched as in a silent scream. While cops refereed “the adults”, I crouched down in front of child, attempting to verbally soothe her. One female officer noticed, and came over. I introduced the officer to the child, “This is my friend, Officer Evans. She would like to talk to you for a while. Is that OK? She, and the rest of her friends will keep you safe.”

We disengaged, everybody signed no transport forms, we went in service. As Rob finished the trip sheets, he paused, and commented, “You know, I think we may have just witnessed a watershed moment in that little girl’s life.”

Bastard. I fear that he was right.

Duty · Sometimes You Get to Think That You Have Accomplished Something!

Parenting Win

This gentleman gets it, and kudos to him for Being The Dad.

https://ogdaa.blogspot.com/2021/04/sunday-video-2_01180543565.html#comment-form

As may prove to be no surprise, it reminds me of one parenting encounter of my own, years and years ago. One day, TDW-Mark I, our children and I were out someplace having dinner. It had occurred to me that TDW-Mark I might enjoy an evening NOT in the kitchen, and so we bundled up our brood, and went out to dinner. So, there we were, conversating and dining and generally having a nice time, when Number Two Son, whom we will call Charlie, apparently decided that he was not receiving enough attention. Now, Charlie was, at this point, something like 3 years old. I expected that he would know better, but, well, I was mistaken.

So, he was yelling, and standing up in his chair, and generally making a scene. I attempted to verbally redirect him, but, no-go.

My wife was not enjoying the shenanigans, and therefore I decided to remedy her dilemma. I stood, scooped Charlie up, placed him over my shoulder, “fireman’s carry” style, and walked out of the restaurant.

I could feel the eyes on me, as we departed, with a Bill Engvall-esque vibe of “somebody’s gonna get a whooping!” But, I had a slightly different plan. (don’t imagine that I was not tempted…)

Outside of the restaurant was a low stone wall. I sat Charlie thereon, and assumed my R. Lee Ermy persona. I placed myself nearly nose-to-nose with my son, and barked, “You are not a baby! You know how you are supposed to act! This acting up is NOT acceptable! You will sit there, quietly, until you are able to behave correctly! Do you understand me?”

His eyes teared up, and he replied, a quaver in his voice, “Yes, daddy.”

I snarled, “Very good! Now, you tell me when you are able to behave like you know you are supposed to!”

I stood, wrapped one hand in the other, behind my back, and paced back and forth before him, a scowl written large across my face.

After several minutes of this pacing, I turned to my son, and addressed him. “Have you had enough? Are you ready to act right?”

He sniveled, “No, daddy. Not yet.”

I had to abruptly turn, to hide the smile that burst across my face, and to hide my struggle to not laugh out loud.

Another couple of minutes later, he volunteered, “Daddy? I’m ready to behave, now!”

We re entered the restaurant and Charlie was subsequently the very model of proper toddler behavior.

Duty · Pre Planning Your Scene · Sometimes You Get to Think That You Have Accomplished Something!

You Call Me “Packrat”, I Call Me “Well Prepared”

So, TINS©, TIWFDASL© in the little, rural ER at Erewhon Memorial Hospital (slogan: “Both Nowhere, and Backwards!”). Remember (because, after all, y’all have read, studied, and committed to memory Every Single One of my blog posts, of course!) that long ago, and far away, I had been an orderly on the gen med floor of TBTCIDC. In that capacity, I had been presented with two keys, one of which would unlock a Posey brand locking vest restraint, the other of which would unlock a Posey brand limb restraint. The key to this latter resembled a handcuff key, only on a considerably larger scale.

One evening, in Erewhon’s ER, a local State Police trooper entered, seeking some assistance. It seemed that out towards the periphery of our county, some child had found Grandpa’s antique handcuffs, and has secured himself to a radiator or some such immovable object. This child had done so, PRIOR to identifying the key required to unlock the handcuffs, and, of course, said key was nowhere to be found. The officer was on the verge of inviting the local fire department to demonstrate their extrication skills, featuring property damage, destruction, and loud noises, but wondered if we might have something less dramatic, to release the child. The officer noted that the key required resembled a handcuff key such as the key he, himself had, only considerably larger in size.

Fancy that.

I observed that I was in possession of something resembling that which he sought, and he could give it a try. I rummaged around in my Bag Of Tricks, retrieved my Posey key, and presented it to the officer. His eyes lit up, as he noted that this appeared to be just what he was looking for.

He returned, a couple of hours later, reporting that indeed, my key had unlocked the offending handcuffs, the child had been released, no property damage had occurred, and everything ended happily.

Contributing to my legend, of “If McFee doesn’t have it, You do not need it!”