C. is his name. He's a short, balding man in his 40's, full of energy. He's been working at the condo for the last 8 years. He moved here from Wisconsin after he was "saved" by the Pentecostal church.
He lives 30 miles away in the country with his wife, who has a rare form of cancer that will eventually slowly kill her. So rare is the cancer that C. and his wife had to travel all the way to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota because no one here could diagnose it. Here, they just wrote her off as crazy.
His son is getting married at the age of 20 in a few weeks. Weddings in C.'s family are a big affair. His wedding had over 250 guests, and his son's will have over 500 (basically the sum of two separate congregations and 100 family members). As such, C.'s family is in charge of the wedding shower. The big hangup now are the name tags that designate where the guests will be seated.
C. is a man of many talents, but computers are not one of them. But he's learning fast. A few weeks ago I taught him how to write formulas in Excel. He now manages the condo's check book and credit card with the program.
But tonight was a more difficult challenge. The name tags (not exactly tags, but pieces of paper that are folded in half and sit on a table) had to be exactly 5.5 by 8.5 inches, with the name printed in a certain font and in the exact right place. Microsoft Word just wasn't designed to do such things. An hour and a half later, we finally figured out how to make it work.
His next project will be to get hundreds of water bottles, carefully remove the labels, and then apply customized labels bearing his family name.
This is such a different conception of marriage from my own. I view marriage as a formality, merely confirming what already exists. And if you're confirming what already exists, what's the point? Do you need a ceremony to confirm that you love each other? To show the world that you're committed? Does anything real actually change afterwards? Britney Spear's 55 hour marriage is sacrosanct?
There is no need for pomp and circumstance. There's no need to invite hundreds of people, who come only for the free food and booze. After all, it's just a piece of paper. What's real and important lies far, far beneath that.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Sunday, December 2, 2007
A Night in the ER
Ten o'clock. I wasn't there for ten minutes until I heard a call on the radio. A helicopter was on the way. Major trauma. 15 year old kid riding his bicycle, hit by truck going 50-60 mph. Found him at the scene unresponsive. The nurses in the helicopter had already given him all the blood they had on board, and his blood pressure is still dropping fast.
They call the "trauma team." I counted 17 people in the room getting everything ready. Emergency doctors, trauma surgeons, an anaesthesiologist, nurses, a radiographer. The resident I'm with is in charge of managing the patient's airway. Everyone, including me, wears what amounts to a blue trash bag and face shield.
There's a tv in the ER that monitors the helipad, and another that monitors the dedicated elevators. We see a light appear on the helipad, the helicopter swoop down, the stretcher rushed to the elevator.
They wheel him into the room. 10 people simultaneously pounce on him in perfect synchrony, inserting needles into his groin, arms, legs - any place they can pump more fluid into him. The team leader stands at the foot of the bed directing everything. They examine every inch of him. The kid has a tube down his throat, another in his lungs. A nurse breathes for him with a squeeze bag. They give him medicines to relieve pain, to paralyze his muscles, and to increase blood pressure. Every drug is loudly called out after it's given. I look sheepishly from the corner of the room, and start to feel light-headed. I have to leave the room and sit down.
After 15 minutes, he's no longer actively dying. They quickly wheel him to the CT scanner with a nurse chasing after him, holding all the bags of fluid above him.
The table moves back and forth, passing the kid's limp body through what looks to be a giant donut. Within three minutes, I'm looking at a reconstruction of his entire body, slice by slice. We can see the full extent of his injuries - broken everything. Broken neck. Lung, liver, and spleen contusions. Broken ribs. Damaged major lung blood vessel. Shattered pelvis. Broken femur, etc. No wonder he's bleeding so quickly. Head looks ok though. I silently wonder if he was wearing a helmet.
They prepare an OR. The surgeons will be working late tonight.
They call the "trauma team." I counted 17 people in the room getting everything ready. Emergency doctors, trauma surgeons, an anaesthesiologist, nurses, a radiographer. The resident I'm with is in charge of managing the patient's airway. Everyone, including me, wears what amounts to a blue trash bag and face shield.
There's a tv in the ER that monitors the helipad, and another that monitors the dedicated elevators. We see a light appear on the helipad, the helicopter swoop down, the stretcher rushed to the elevator.
They wheel him into the room. 10 people simultaneously pounce on him in perfect synchrony, inserting needles into his groin, arms, legs - any place they can pump more fluid into him. The team leader stands at the foot of the bed directing everything. They examine every inch of him. The kid has a tube down his throat, another in his lungs. A nurse breathes for him with a squeeze bag. They give him medicines to relieve pain, to paralyze his muscles, and to increase blood pressure. Every drug is loudly called out after it's given. I look sheepishly from the corner of the room, and start to feel light-headed. I have to leave the room and sit down.
After 15 minutes, he's no longer actively dying. They quickly wheel him to the CT scanner with a nurse chasing after him, holding all the bags of fluid above him.
The table moves back and forth, passing the kid's limp body through what looks to be a giant donut. Within three minutes, I'm looking at a reconstruction of his entire body, slice by slice. We can see the full extent of his injuries - broken everything. Broken neck. Lung, liver, and spleen contusions. Broken ribs. Damaged major lung blood vessel. Shattered pelvis. Broken femur, etc. No wonder he's bleeding so quickly. Head looks ok though. I silently wonder if he was wearing a helmet.
They prepare an OR. The surgeons will be working late tonight.
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