Weather Spotting-At Home- Part 2

Here is another Skywarn/ Weather Spotter class deja-vu’.

So, TINS (This Is No Shit), TIWFDASL (There I Was, Fighting Disease And Saving Lives), at work as a day shift ER RN in BFE Community Hospital. This was years and years ago-decades, really- and TDW and our (at that time) two kids were in town, and she stopped by to visit briefly.

The clerk told me that they were here, and I strolled out into the parking lot to say hello. Once there, I observed that the skies over our little rural town were a sickly shade of green. Not good. Very not good.

I shepherded my wife and kids into the hospital, and directed TDW to take the kids into the bathroom, conveniently located across the hallway from the department, and, for bonus points, was removed by a storage room from the outside wall.

Just about the time I got my family situated, our direct line to sheriff dispatch rang, informing us that there was a tornado warning, and we-all of us, staff, patients, guests and all- needed to take shelter immediately.

Our charge nurse paged the warning overhead to the rest of the hospital, and the rest of us notified the waiting room denizens to stay put, and away from the windows and doors. We were blessed that the ER had no windows, and did have solid cinder block construction.

Once the all clear was called, I retrieved my family from the bathroom, and walked them out to TDW’s vehicle.

When I got home that evening, she regaled me with her observations. Along the route that we all took every time we went to town, there was a full sized barn, that the storm had moved off it’s foundations.

Contemplate what those winds would have done to a sedan with a woman and two children inside.

A bit farther out into the county, a mobile home dealer had several of his display models rolled over onto their sides. One wound up in the roadway.

Contemplate, oh, let’s say, a sedan with a woman and two children, re-enacting the house-on-the-witch scene from The Wizard of Oz.

I found that prospect to be, let us term it, “unappealing”.

Another stroke of good fortune lay in the fact that OUR mobile home came through unscathed.

Am I paranoid if I react as if Fate was plotting to get me? Or my family?

SNOWMAGEDDON!

So, TINS, TIWFDASL one evening in the clinic. This particular evening it was predicted to snow. In all likelihood, y’all remember this: the media was all agog, “ZOMG! SNOW! We’re-all-gonna-DIE! DIE! DIE!”

It was all “French Toast Level Emergency! I repeat! French Toast Level Emergency! IF you do not have your bread, milk and eggs, you will DIE! DIE! DIE!”

For all that, yeah, it did kinda snow. Now, as it happens, one of the women working here is very, very pregnant, and, simply to make my survivalist nerves twitch, drives a, shall we say, “experienced” truck with tires of a certain level of a tread challenged state.

My partner that evening was a relatively new grad, about a year or so out of school, and newly wed into the bargain. He lives in this town (I do not: THAT is a story for another blog entry!), and, in a show of Manliness that I made it a point to applaud, offered to drive her home, including the obligatory detour to pick her kids up from the babysitter, and deliver everybody home in his well tread-ed vehicle.

In addition, since they both worked tomorrow, he offered to repeat this trek, at oh-dark-forty-five (since it would be well after oh-dark-thirty when she had to be at work, even though this was half an hour before we clinicians HAD to be at work), the following day.

As he explained it, “I don’t want to hear that she skidded into traffic, let alone skidded into traffic with her kids aboard! It’s, what?, twenty minutes out of my way? Big deal!”

My point? Even with all the malarkey about “male privilege”, or suchlike, there are still Men about, who will do Manly things. Including looking out for their colleagues, who may occasionally benefit from a helping hand.

Margarita Phyto-Dermatitis: Lime juice as a Photosensitizer.

I am a near bottomless well of (usually) useless trivia. So, when I was regaling my (relatively new grad) partner with some Caribbean cruise related trivia, I did not expect that it might become useful information, not so very much later.

It happens that cruise ships host people who are in search of revelry. Some of these find their revelry in alcohol. In the Caribbean, among gringos, there is this drink, a “Margarita”, I believe it is called, that is very popular.

In medicine, we have this penchant for what might be considered “cutesie” syndrome names. In this context, there is what is known as “Margarita Phyto-dermatitis”, which is a photosensitivity reaction to the lime juice in that particular drink, wherein a reveler, in a display of lack of coordination, spills some of the drink upon themselves, and, several hours of sun exposure later, develops a sunburn like rash following the outline of the spilled drink.

Lo and behold, once upon a time, I was working my side of the clinic, and my partner asked me to look at a particular rash on one patient. This individual had a sunburn appearing rash, in a sort of descending streaklike pattern, along their upper chest and upper arms. I asked if they had been exposed to anything recently? Had they been in the sun and employed sunscreen?

It turns out that they had worn sunscreen, and the sunscreen had been applied by an adult. On the other hand, further inquiry revealed that they had been swimming, and had had a nice frosty limeade afterwards, and had spilled some of it upon themselves.

I asked, did it wind up about where the burning rash was now displayed?

Why, yes, was the reply, it did indeed spill just about right where the irritated skin was now manifest.

I was then provided the opportunity to regale my colleague with Tales Of Margarita Phytodermatitis, And It’s Application To Clinical Practice In The Un-Named Fly-over State.

Good times!

(BTW, you treat that just like a burn) (unless, of course, you were smart/fortunate enough to PROMPTLY wash it off your skin with plentiful soap, and COLD water)

KITTEN TAILS PART VI

So, TINS, TIWFDASL….we, uh, no, I was NOT Fighting Disease And Saving Lives, rather, I was at home while TDW-Mark II recovered from surgery. (Thankfully, minor. Well, “Minor” from my perspective. I’m pretty sure that, for whoever goes under anesthesia and awakens with sutures and re-arranged body parts, ain’t no such thing as “minor” surgery!)

In any event, on my multiple rounds on TDW, I noted that there appeared to be two, or three, cats perched upon the bed. Should one depart, one would take station. The others would eat, play, loll about: typical cat stuff. The two, or three, “on watch” all appeared to gaze upon her, that is, if they were not snuggled up against her. Just as if they were, indeed, “on watch”.

Olivia appeared to be the one constant watch-stander. She was perched upon TDW’s pillow, and did not seem to move. Others would appear to rotate in and out, but Olivia was pretty constantly there.

When she (TDW) was up and about the next day, she commented about it. “Every time I opened my eyes, one or more of the cats was there, looking at me. I felt as if I had a couple of private duty, furry little nurses!”

Then she reminisced. “remember that time you had your GI bleed? The two dogs, and all three cats (at one time, my cat crazy was under better control….) were settled in all around you! They would only leave to eat, drink, and go. Then, they were right back.”

At that time, we developed the McFee Critter Triage System: if one animal is sleeping with you, that’s normal stuff.

If two of them, well, likely normal, perhaps not.

If three of them, The Spouse needs to take a closer look at things: it ain’t raht!

Four? When is your doctor appointment?

Both dogs, and all three cats? Call dispatch. It might take some explaining (“Ma’am? Did you just tell me that your emergency is that all five animals are sleeping on the bed with your husband? I…I..don’t understand..?”), but Bad Things are at hand. Do Not Dally.

Fortunately, TDW-Mark II recovered uneventfully.

First noc I wore fire boots at work: freeway run, on a snowy night.

TINS©, TIWFDASL©, and going to paramedic school in my off time (this was many, many years ago). In the course of this schooling, I spent some time in clinicals, variously in the local ED in a wretched hive of scum and villainy not so very far from Da City, or with one of the advanced life support crews running calls in the self same wretched hive.

It’s generally educational to spend time with other medics, as their organization’s culture, and lore, is likely to be kind of at a tangent to your home outfit. The education may run both ways. In any event, There I was, (studying) Fighting Disease, and Saving Lives in The Wretched Hive, and one of the host medics came on duty, ferrying his “load out” into the ambulance. I noticed that he tucked a pair of fire boots behind his seat, and asked him about them.

It being winter in The Northern Un-Named State, well, we were susceptible to receiving considerable amounts of snow from time to time. I believe the professional meteorological term is “ass loads”. My host noted that this could result in snowy shoes, and therefore wet feet, and that there were few things so miserable as cold, wet feet, in Da Nawth, in winter. Waterproof boots, that reached nigh up to one’s crotch, served admirably to avert this sort of undesirable outcome. I took notes.

Soon, I acquired my very own pair of “Storm King” (old standard) NFPA complaint boots. So, it happened that I wore them to work one snowy evening, and, early in the shift, Doug and I caught a run for “one down” on the expressway.

We pulled up behind the state police cruiser, and saw a figure prone in the snow and slush. The trooper told us that the patient had been struck by an overtaking vehicle, when the overtaking vehicle did not notice that our patient was bent over the lip of the trunk of his STOPPED vehicle, ON THE SHOULDER OF THE DAMNED EXPRESSWAY!

Our patient did not fare well in this exchange. I pulled up my bunker style boots, so that they reached nearly to my crotch, and knelt in the slush. Doug logrolled the man, and I slid the backboard beneath him, and logrolled him my way, so Doug and I could then center him on our spine splint. We buckled him in, collared him, schlepped him into our rig, and beat feet to TSBTCIDC, which happened to be one exit and a coupla turns away.

I remained dry and warm. If I had never worn those boots another day, that night, in that slush, they paid for themselves!

Paying Attention Is Important

So, TINS (c), TIWFDASL (c), and working in Da Corridor. This was Da City’s, well, let us say, in paraphrase of the immortal words of Old Ben Kenobi, “Da Corridor: You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy!” So, not the nice part of Da City.

I was working “The Corridor”, and an academy classmate, let us call him Gordon Lightfoot, was detailed in that day from another house. At this point of time, TBTCIDC was closed, as they were in the midst of moving kit and caboodle to the shiny, new, and in-the-medical-center hospital they had just opened. (Well, it had not been opened, just yet, and that little detail will figure prominently in this tale!) The hospital that was TBTCIDC’s “stand-in” was NOT generally the trauma center, but was in the medical center.

We caught call after call, transported sick (and a lot of not-so-sick) people, and generally saved lives. Our next run was on an asthma patient, and off we went. In fact, this particular address was only a block from the medical center.

We arrived, announced ourselves, and acquainted ourselves with this person’s malady. I brought the stair chair, and we wheeled this soul out to the ambulance, and settled them onto the cot. I had JUST entered the cab, preparatory to a leisurely trip to The Stand In Hospital, when Gordon stuck his head through the window connecting the cab with the patient compartment, and bellowed, “Reltney! He’s arrested!”

I hopped around to the back, and helped Gordon get set up for a spot of in transit CPR. Once he was set, I re entered the cab, and called dispatch: “Medic One, Code One, Stand In Hospital. Cardiac arrest, witnessed. Eta One Minute!”

Dispatch acknowledged. I tuned in the hospital alert frequency, and called: “Stand In Hospital, come in for Priority One traffic!”

They acknowledged, and I started my turn out into traffic, lights flashing, and siren wailing. “Witnessed cardiac arrest! CPR in progress! ETA one minute!”

The nurse on the radio was not clear on the message. “Say your ETA?”

“Open the doors! We’re here!”

Tai Chi: You’re Doing It Wrong!

I recently purchased a new pickup truck. I had been pining for this truck for several years. It took me several years to drop the hammer, because I wanted to thin the herd of my indebtedness, as well as build up my “rainy day” fund again.

Having finally made my purchase, I had several accessories that I desired, and was not about to finance over 6 years. I wanted a “headache rack”, planning to mount antennae for my amateur radio (“HAM radio”), a CB, and other radios that TDW-Mark II and I employ when traveling, or weather spotting, and thereby avoid drilling holes in my shiny, new, truck. (I DID mention, I have a new truck, right?)

So, TINS, there we were, turning off Main Drag in Nearby Bigger City, preparatory to pulling into the lot of The Truck Accessory Place, when we (TDW and I) noticed a disheveled looking adult male approx age of mid twenties, standing in the second driveway of The Truck Accessory Place (hereinafter referred to as TTAP), swinging his arms, and having an animated conversation with person or persons unseen by us.

Nice.

We pulled up to TTAP, entered same (locking my truck in the process), and hailed the counterman. “So, has homeboy here been boxing with dragons very long?”

I received a puzzled look in response. “Huh?”

“See the guy out there, boxing with person or persons unseen by you and me? How long have the dragons in his mind been attacking him?”

He walked around the counter, gazed out of the window, and opined, “He doesn’t look like his mind is quite right.”

I concurred. TDW-Mark II stood nearby, hand concealed in her purse. Her purse wherein she had her sidearm. She stood so as to not obstruct my strong side draw, should that become A Thing.

Mr. Counter returned to his side of the counter, and dialed police dispatch. He described his observations, and asked for an officer to respond. I watched as the boxer bobbed, weaved, punched at unseen adversaries, moving himself toward the neighboring business.

Soon, he crossed the street (startling several drivers on that street, in the process!), and wandered off into the thicket there, not to be seen again.

It has been told that Colonel Jeff Cooper, of Gunsite and Modern Technique of The Pistol fame, was once asked, “Colonel Cooper, if you knew that you were going to a gunfight, what gun would you prefer?”

He is quoted as saying, “If I knew that I was going to a gunfight, I’d stay home!”

I like avoidance. I’m tickled that Mr Dragon Boxing, did not present a lethal force threat.

Reading Recommendation

https://eatonrapidsjoe.blogspot.com/2020/10/home-field-advantage-egress.html?showComment=1602787988156#c8439774302017330220

I don’t think that this guy needs *my* paltry recommendation, but, he has successfully drawn me in, and engaged me. His series-s are very, very thought provoking, in a Aesop’s “Tomorrow” sort of way. Lots of food for thought both at a “micro-economics” as well as at a “macro-economics” level.

Is your larder prepared for the presentation of spice? Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Clem, Cletus, and Why Heavy Equipment Operators Require Functional Partners, Too

Many, many years after I had left the employ of Da City, I came to live in Small Rural Town. Our little slice of Heaven featured, among other things, a municipal water system. The town had been built out shortly after the Second World War, and the infrastructure was contemporaneous with that construction.

Apparently, the engineering lesson of corrosion occurring at the junction of dissimilar metals, had not percolated to the individuals who built the house in which we lived. This epiphany developed after I noticed one Friday morning that there was water pooling in our front yard, between the door and the street.

Side note. NEVER! call the water department with that sort of observation on a Friday. They will shut off the water. It turns out, the service line from your home to the main is YOUR problem. You will NOT get that problem resolved late on a Friday. Or on a Saturday. Or on a Sunday. Not having running water makes for a long weekend of work.

Monday, I was again working, but TDW-Mark I had successfully contacted the Knob City Excavating Company to respond and repair our service line.

This involved excavating my front yard, and, having accessed the service line, replacing it.

It appears that professional excavating practice involves having one individual operating a back hoe, with another standing by, inspecting the back hoe’s progress, apparently in an attempt to avoid engaging the service line with the back hoe’s bucket, reefing thereon, and using that service line as a leader to abruptly extricate all the plumbing from your home.

So, about that. Clem was the back hoe operator, and Cletus, evidently, was tasked with leaning upon his shovel so that neither he, nor the shovel, fell over. In that, he appeared to be successful. Clem DID notice the entanglement of his back hoe bucket with my plumbing, but only after he had begun to extract my plumbing from my house. Fortunately he had only JUST begun to do so, before he determined that Things Were Not Right, and stopped. That was about the point at which I returned home from a day of fighting disease and saving lives.

Things were at a standstill as I entered the house. TDW-Mark I was standing there, gazing into the hole adjacent to our foundation, looking decidedly unamused. Clem was there as well, while Cletus was a’holding that shovel, determined that it was NOT going to fall!

TDW pointed into the depths of the hole, calling my attention to the copper stretched out from the foundation to it’s junction with the iron pipe that, evidently, had been our service line. Another vehicle pulled up, disgorging a worthy who was, is seemed, Bob The Knob, owner and operator of Knob City Excavating. TDW beckoned me inside, where she showed me where the service shut off on our domestic water feed, formerly near our ceiling, was now located at the floor. I suggested to Bob The Knob that he might want to get somebody with plumbing expertise in to review the situation, and effect such repairs as seemed needful. On his dime. And, RFN. (Right Fucking Now)

He did not appear to think that this was particularly unreasonable, particularly if he were to consider the alternative, which would involve court, attorneys, attorney fees on both sides, and much bad Ju-Ju.

The next day, I returned home from work, and TDW-Mark I informed me that Some Dude had arrived, crawled around in our attic, and had pronounced everything shoreward of our shut off to be intact. This worthy had then replaced our shut off, and the associated piping, and Knob City Excavating had replaced our service line with copper, had installed a bimetallic junction (TDW-Mark I had asked/insisted) at the main, backfilled everything once the city building inspector had signed off, and we Now! Had! Water! (cue the rejoicing)

It turns out that Bob The Knob was satisfied with my check in the original, estimated, amount as payment in full. We did not have any leaks subsequent to this adventure, and we all lived happily, ever after.

Revelations

Recently TDW-Mark II was perusing Facebook, and noticed that Number Three Son, and his wife, had posted a couple of pictures. In the first, he was dressed in a nice suit, she in a nice red dress, posed all nice and proper.

In the second, SHE was in the suit, HE was in the red dress, and they were, again, posed soberly and portrait like.

TDW-Mark II called this to my attention, allowed me a couple of seconds to deliberate over this vignette, and then opined, “He loves his wife way more than you love me! You would never do that sort of clothing swap with me!”

I considered this, and observed, “Well, now you know!”