Local story. Links first, then a summary.
Victim, assumed dead at accident scene, was alive
UPDATE: Woman left for dead dies
Controversy over woman left for dead
Doc held out hope for woman
Short version of the story:
At 4am last Sunday, a drunk woman crossed over onto the wrong side of Loop 410 on the South side & hit another car head-on.
Erica Smith, passenger in the hit car, had traumatic injuries. Apparently, part of her brain was exposed, or at least her skull was partially caved in.
Paramedics responding to the scene treated the other three people--at least two of whom, according to eyewitness reports, were ambulatory, and all of whom had non-lifethreatening injuries--but not Ms Smith. She was covered with a tarp.
The Medical Examiner, called out to the scene two hours later to examine her body and pronounce her dead, realized there was a small kink in this plan: she was still alive.
At Brooke Army Medical Center--a high-level trauma center, sometimes called "the Walter Reed of the West"--doctors told her family she had 50/50 odds of survival. She died Monday afternoon at about 2pm.
The shit, as they say, hit the fan.
There are two big issues with the story. First off, police officers on the scene apparently told the paramedics at least twice that the woman was still breathing. The response? "No she's not; she'll be dead in a few minutes." The temperature at the time of the accident was 29 degrees, which apparently is enough to retard vital signs. According to various reports--WOAI radio has been standing on this story--standard procedure wasn't followed to determine whether she had a pulse. And, of course, there's the little issue of her breathing and, apparently, moaning. Of course, I understand that breathing doesn't exactly require brain function, but it was later determined to be present.
The second issue is this: fire chief Charles Hood brilliantly stood in front of reporters, declared that the paramedics hadn't done anything wrong, and said "There's nothing to apologize for. We weren't driving the vehicle that hit the car." While indisputably true, this is hella insensitive. And, of course, there remains the fact that no one knows yet whether the paramedics acted appropriately or not.
Me, I don't know. I don't have the training to know whether she really could have been saved. I don't know who covered her with a tarp, or whether they did it as an "out of sight, out of mind" sort of thing or an attempt to somewhat protect her from the elements (umm, blankets?). My first impulse is to say, as I did in the title of this post, that I'm certain there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. I do know that the calls to Joe Pags's shows on the subject, mainly from ER nurses with a couple of trauma docs thrown in for good measure, have said there was a major screw-up at best and neglect at worst. I do think that there needs to be a very thorough review of procedures, because something quite obviously went wrong. But I don't know what could or should have been done differently, at least as far as triage goes. Apparently in this state when a person presents with traumatic head injury and no detectable pulse (there's a laundry list of stuff & you have to have two of 'em, according to the paper), as was the case with Erica Smith, the person can be presumed dead & you treat the others instead. Again, though, I'm butting up against a big ass lack of knowledge.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
I don't give a rat's ass about steriods in baseball.
The whole release of the Congressional report on steroid abuse in baseball made the front page of USA Today the day after it was released, & I'm pretty sure it hit the front page of our local paper as well. It was the subject of today's editorial by the editorial board.
Far be it from me to criticize, but I have to be honest & admit that I don't give a rat's ass. I'm so glad that Congress decided to devote precious time and money to such an issue. I mean, it's not like we've got other major issues going on that Congress should sit up and pay attention to.
It's not as if military doctors have been regularly diagnosing sufferers of PTSD with pre-existing mental conditions, thereby denying them needed medical benefits, or anything.
I'm no great fan of the San Antonio Current since my return to the city. George Bush drove them all insane too. They used to be a fairly good source of nonmainstream news, and provide a variety of viewpoints, but somewhere along the line they fell off the liberal deep end & now spend most of their time trying to out-Left themselves.
Occasionally, though, they hit it out of the ballpark.
Now, being screwed over by the military in general & by military healthcare in general isn't exactly news to anyone involved with the military. I knew about it in the abstract growing up the daughter of Army veterans. I learned about it first-hand as the wife of a sailor.
Money is always a particular Catch-22 with the military. As part of being processed out for being fat, my husband was informed he'd have to pay back a pro-rated portion of his reenlistment bonus. He's also found out that if he gets the weight off & reenlists, he'll most likely have to pay back his severance pay. It's a minor thing, of course, one I mention because of the article's mention of having to pay back sign-on bonuses when you can't complete your enlistment due to injury.
It's a royal clusterfuck in many ways. My experience has been that it's considered basically a minor annoyance by most of the guys who served. When I first got to Connnecticut after getting married I met Larry Barksdale, who'd been my hubby's roommate for a while & was then aboard the USS Miami. Larry kept a list of reasons not to reenlist (Larry also famously said "Sometimes I get nostalgic for my days in the Army. Then I beat my head against the wall until it goes away"). We lost contact with him when we went to Virginia, but used to have arguments about whether or not he'd get out of the Navy.
When we met up with him again in Honolulu, he was a Chief Petty Officer.
But that's really beside the point. The point is: the Army is screwing people over again, and Congress and the Media are shitting themselves because a bunch of men with a profession really of no national import are shooting up.
My father-in-law, who was in Vietnam for a while, was a few years ago moved to 100% disability simply because he was in a region where Agent Orange was used. Apparently this is the VA's current pet. Mind you, there is absolutely no evidence that the man was exposed to AO at all, or even that it was used in the area where he was during the time he was there. Nope, just the fact that they used it in Vietnam & he was in Vietnam is enough.
Vietnam was 30 - 40 years ago. Are we going to have to wait that long for help for OIF vets? And when it comes, is it going to be a shotgun approach like the response to Agent Orange exposure?
And by then, will it be too late? Reread this point, y'all: "An exploding suicide rate: a 26-year high of 120 self-inflicted veteran deaths per week." That has been reported in national media; they never miss an opportunity to paint military service as a horrible thing. But that's really not the point. The point is that the help is there, but a lot of men and women who need it aren't getting it for what basically amounts to beauracratic nonsense.
And that's pretty pathetic.
Far be it from me to criticize, but I have to be honest & admit that I don't give a rat's ass. I'm so glad that Congress decided to devote precious time and money to such an issue. I mean, it's not like we've got other major issues going on that Congress should sit up and pay attention to.
It's not as if military doctors have been regularly diagnosing sufferers of PTSD with pre-existing mental conditions, thereby denying them needed medical benefits, or anything.
I'm no great fan of the San Antonio Current since my return to the city. George Bush drove them all insane too. They used to be a fairly good source of nonmainstream news, and provide a variety of viewpoints, but somewhere along the line they fell off the liberal deep end & now spend most of their time trying to out-Left themselves.
Occasionally, though, they hit it out of the ballpark.
Vietnam vets like Placido Salazar say they are already seeing the bureaucratic failures and broken promises that portend unnecessary suffering for this generation of veterans. A string of recent federal reports, likely to make the recruiter’s job a bit trickier, spell out the challenge facing returning soldiers.
For starters, there is the epidemic of homelessness — more than one in four living on the street is former military.
An exploding suicide rate: a 26-year high of 120 self-inflicted veteran deaths per week.
On top of it all are the horrendous tales of wounded veterans forced to pay back part or all of their $10,000 sign-on bonuses when they are physically unable to finish their tours of duty.
Even more disturbing are the increasing reports that the military may be intentionally misdiagnosing wounded veterans with PTSD and head traumas and discharging them with “pre-existing” mental disorders — diagnoses that limit their access to military health care.
Now, being screwed over by the military in general & by military healthcare in general isn't exactly news to anyone involved with the military. I knew about it in the abstract growing up the daughter of Army veterans. I learned about it first-hand as the wife of a sailor.
Money is always a particular Catch-22 with the military. As part of being processed out for being fat, my husband was informed he'd have to pay back a pro-rated portion of his reenlistment bonus. He's also found out that if he gets the weight off & reenlists, he'll most likely have to pay back his severance pay. It's a minor thing, of course, one I mention because of the article's mention of having to pay back sign-on bonuses when you can't complete your enlistment due to injury.
It's a royal clusterfuck in many ways. My experience has been that it's considered basically a minor annoyance by most of the guys who served. When I first got to Connnecticut after getting married I met Larry Barksdale, who'd been my hubby's roommate for a while & was then aboard the USS Miami. Larry kept a list of reasons not to reenlist (Larry also famously said "Sometimes I get nostalgic for my days in the Army. Then I beat my head against the wall until it goes away"). We lost contact with him when we went to Virginia, but used to have arguments about whether or not he'd get out of the Navy.
When we met up with him again in Honolulu, he was a Chief Petty Officer.
But that's really beside the point. The point is: the Army is screwing people over again, and Congress and the Media are shitting themselves because a bunch of men with a profession really of no national import are shooting up.
My father-in-law, who was in Vietnam for a while, was a few years ago moved to 100% disability simply because he was in a region where Agent Orange was used. Apparently this is the VA's current pet. Mind you, there is absolutely no evidence that the man was exposed to AO at all, or even that it was used in the area where he was during the time he was there. Nope, just the fact that they used it in Vietnam & he was in Vietnam is enough.
Vietnam was 30 - 40 years ago. Are we going to have to wait that long for help for OIF vets? And when it comes, is it going to be a shotgun approach like the response to Agent Orange exposure?
And by then, will it be too late? Reread this point, y'all: "An exploding suicide rate: a 26-year high of 120 self-inflicted veteran deaths per week." That has been reported in national media; they never miss an opportunity to paint military service as a horrible thing. But that's really not the point. The point is that the help is there, but a lot of men and women who need it aren't getting it for what basically amounts to beauracratic nonsense.
And that's pretty pathetic.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Something good.
I don't want to be a downer all the time.
So I'll share with you what happened to me yesterday.
I was walking up Walzem with my mother & the girls, headed to the bus stop. There was a woman walking towards us. When she got to me, she said, "I'm glad you're coming this way, because I was looking for you."
I stopped and tried rapidly to figure out who she was. I couldn't remember seeing her before.
"God told me to find you. He told me to give you this," she said, & pressed a $20 bill into my hand.
What do you say to something like that? I went for "Thank you," my mother went for "God bless you." She hugged me, told me Merry Christmas, & walked off.
Funny thing is, that was the second time this week something very similar happened to me.
Tuesday, on the 17 bus going out to the Park & Ride, again with my mom & the girls, the lady sitting behind me on the bus asked, as we approached the P&R, if she could give my girls some candy. Never one to bypass candy from strangers, I accepted. When we got off the bus, she stopped me again & asked if I'd be offended if she gave me some money for food for the girls. I said no, and she gave me $20 and walked off after I thanked her.
I'm not going around begging. I'm trying hard to keep up appearances, as it were. But that $40 made a welcome difference, I won't lie.
I was thinking last night about the woman, who had told me God sent her to find me. It wasn't random. She walked past other people to me.
I'm Episcopalian, a denomination I've jokingly called "Christianity for Nerds". If God spoke to me directly, I'd probably go looking for a psychiatrist, just to be on the safe side.
But I've had a few times where things went cosmic. A time when I was 18 or so and taking Communion was an overwhelming experience. I've been happy this past week because I've been added to the lay reader list at church, and doing the readings this Sunday was unexpectedly moving.
This was the first time God has been this direct. I have a wonderful feeling of having been comforted, sort of a pat on the back and the whisper that everything will be OK in the end.
Probably not in the way I expect, but that's fine.
So I'll share with you what happened to me yesterday.
I was walking up Walzem with my mother & the girls, headed to the bus stop. There was a woman walking towards us. When she got to me, she said, "I'm glad you're coming this way, because I was looking for you."
I stopped and tried rapidly to figure out who she was. I couldn't remember seeing her before.
"God told me to find you. He told me to give you this," she said, & pressed a $20 bill into my hand.
What do you say to something like that? I went for "Thank you," my mother went for "God bless you." She hugged me, told me Merry Christmas, & walked off.
Funny thing is, that was the second time this week something very similar happened to me.
Tuesday, on the 17 bus going out to the Park & Ride, again with my mom & the girls, the lady sitting behind me on the bus asked, as we approached the P&R, if she could give my girls some candy. Never one to bypass candy from strangers, I accepted. When we got off the bus, she stopped me again & asked if I'd be offended if she gave me some money for food for the girls. I said no, and she gave me $20 and walked off after I thanked her.
I'm not going around begging. I'm trying hard to keep up appearances, as it were. But that $40 made a welcome difference, I won't lie.
I was thinking last night about the woman, who had told me God sent her to find me. It wasn't random. She walked past other people to me.
I'm Episcopalian, a denomination I've jokingly called "Christianity for Nerds". If God spoke to me directly, I'd probably go looking for a psychiatrist, just to be on the safe side.
But I've had a few times where things went cosmic. A time when I was 18 or so and taking Communion was an overwhelming experience. I've been happy this past week because I've been added to the lay reader list at church, and doing the readings this Sunday was unexpectedly moving.
This was the first time God has been this direct. I have a wonderful feeling of having been comforted, sort of a pat on the back and the whisper that everything will be OK in the end.
Probably not in the way I expect, but that's fine.
Damn
Back in the halcyon days of early summer (June-ish), I made a post on MySpace about a song by the Lost Immigrants called Evangeline. I came across it listening to Pandora and fell in love with it, though I've never really been able to articulate why.
I would, I decided at the time, name my next daughter--which I didn't plan to have, so it seemed safe enough--Evangeline.
The rest of the story from there is short. I got pregnant. I married that decision to my oft-repeated threat to name my next daughter after myself, & if the baby was a girl (we never find out beforehand), her name would be Sabra Evangeline Hope.
Baby didn't make it.
The song is still in my Pandora playlist, which isn't much of an issue since I don't have internet at home at the moment. But I've taken to carting my earbuds along to the library so I can listen to Pandora & drown out the crazy-talking-to-themselves people (who for some reason all seem to be computer literate). And the past two times, I've gotten to listen to Evangeline. Complete with the line "Sweet Evangeline...baby will you be mine?"
I guess not.
I would, I decided at the time, name my next daughter--which I didn't plan to have, so it seemed safe enough--Evangeline.
The rest of the story from there is short. I got pregnant. I married that decision to my oft-repeated threat to name my next daughter after myself, & if the baby was a girl (we never find out beforehand), her name would be Sabra Evangeline Hope.
Baby didn't make it.
The song is still in my Pandora playlist, which isn't much of an issue since I don't have internet at home at the moment. But I've taken to carting my earbuds along to the library so I can listen to Pandora & drown out the crazy-talking-to-themselves people (who for some reason all seem to be computer literate). And the past two times, I've gotten to listen to Evangeline. Complete with the line "Sweet Evangeline...baby will you be mine?"
I guess not.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Gotta be quick.
One of the things I don't have right now is internet access at home. Actually, I don't even have a computer right now, because my ex walked off with my laptop & the surge bar protecting the desktop didn't. So I come to the library to use the computers & have to dash off entries, which can make for things to be a little confusing, since my mind moves even faster than my fingers.
Dave pointed out in the comments thread of my entry before last that I need to be aware of how I treat my ex the same as he does of how he treats me. He is, of course, perfectly right.
Rob's complaints about how seldom he gets to see the kids have come twice now. One of those times was on Thanksgiving Day. We spent probably half an hour on the phone because he didn't think he was supposed to get the kids at all that day & I was trying to convince him that a) he did and b) I'd like him to come over to my place and spend a little more time with them. For all that he appears to be paying his lawyer a pretty penny, the guy hasn't really told Rob much of anything. One of the first things my lawyer said to me was that there would be a custody/visitation order in place and we'd be free to go above & beyond that to our little hearts' content, so long as we agreed. Rob apparently hasn't gotten this message, & appears to think he's going to get in trouble if he sees the girls too often.
I've got some sympathy for him, but he seems determined to suck it all out in other ways. We have a prohibition on overnight guests, and that same day he called the Bexar County Sheriff's Office because my best friend came over to eat dinner. My best friend is male, and also gay as gay can be, but in any case wasn't violating any part of the court order. This amused me much more than it did the poor deputy sent out to investigate matters, as it was around 40 degrees that night.
So I'm not always in a charitable mood towards my husband.
Dave pointed out in the comments thread of my entry before last that I need to be aware of how I treat my ex the same as he does of how he treats me. He is, of course, perfectly right.
Rob's complaints about how seldom he gets to see the kids have come twice now. One of those times was on Thanksgiving Day. We spent probably half an hour on the phone because he didn't think he was supposed to get the kids at all that day & I was trying to convince him that a) he did and b) I'd like him to come over to my place and spend a little more time with them. For all that he appears to be paying his lawyer a pretty penny, the guy hasn't really told Rob much of anything. One of the first things my lawyer said to me was that there would be a custody/visitation order in place and we'd be free to go above & beyond that to our little hearts' content, so long as we agreed. Rob apparently hasn't gotten this message, & appears to think he's going to get in trouble if he sees the girls too often.
I've got some sympathy for him, but he seems determined to suck it all out in other ways. We have a prohibition on overnight guests, and that same day he called the Bexar County Sheriff's Office because my best friend came over to eat dinner. My best friend is male, and also gay as gay can be, but in any case wasn't violating any part of the court order. This amused me much more than it did the poor deputy sent out to investigate matters, as it was around 40 degrees that night.
So I'm not always in a charitable mood towards my husband.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Pearl Harbor
Today is December 7, and it's 80 degrees here in San Antonio. A tropical sort of temperature. Coming past Alamo Stadium this morning, looking at the incongruous palm trees, it reminded me of Hawaii.
After 18 months in Groton and four years in Norfolk, I told Robert I wanted to go somewhere it wouldn't snow. The allure of the white stuff faded the first winter of my marriage. Pearl Harbor was the obvious answer.
I loved Hawaii. There's something wrong with you if you don't love that place. We arrived in late January, about a week after Linda's birthday. It was twenty degrees in Norfolk when we left; 70-something in Honolulu when we landed. Rob's sponsor and his wife met us at the airport with a duty van & I had a brief impression of city lights surrounding us as we were whisked away to the Navy Lodge.
The attack on Pearl Harbor looms large in a way there, and in another is as forgotten as the meaning of Dec 7th is to most people not military historians.
The Navy Lodge is on Ford Island, which you've probably never heard of unless you happen to be particularly interested in this piece of history. The control tower from the Naval Air Station formerly there is now being turned into a museum.
It's odd to look at that picture & realize I've walked past those buildings. They're still there, though now unused.
The Navy has several pictures from Ford Island here. If you look at an aerial view of Pearl Harbor, you'll see that Battleship Row curved along the side of Ford Island. This is why the Arizona Memorial was so close to where we were initially staying. The "Mighty Mo"; the USS Missouri is still best reachable from Ford Island, & that's where you go for the USS Iowa memorial as well; the USS Bowfin (which of course is a sub) is at the other end of the bridge.
Sadly, I never went to any of those. I got pregnant with Esther the first week we lived there & was too sick during her pregnancy to do much of anything, and then the logistics of three kids stopped us from doing much else in the way of touristy stuff.
I'm still pissed I never got to go to the Tropic Lightning museum.
After 18 months in Groton and four years in Norfolk, I told Robert I wanted to go somewhere it wouldn't snow. The allure of the white stuff faded the first winter of my marriage. Pearl Harbor was the obvious answer.
I loved Hawaii. There's something wrong with you if you don't love that place. We arrived in late January, about a week after Linda's birthday. It was twenty degrees in Norfolk when we left; 70-something in Honolulu when we landed. Rob's sponsor and his wife met us at the airport with a duty van & I had a brief impression of city lights surrounding us as we were whisked away to the Navy Lodge.
The attack on Pearl Harbor looms large in a way there, and in another is as forgotten as the meaning of Dec 7th is to most people not military historians.
The Navy Lodge is on Ford Island, which you've probably never heard of unless you happen to be particularly interested in this piece of history. The control tower from the Naval Air Station formerly there is now being turned into a museum.
It's odd to look at that picture & realize I've walked past those buildings. They're still there, though now unused. The Navy has several pictures from Ford Island here. If you look at an aerial view of Pearl Harbor, you'll see that Battleship Row curved along the side of Ford Island. This is why the Arizona Memorial was so close to where we were initially staying. The "Mighty Mo"; the USS Missouri is still best reachable from Ford Island, & that's where you go for the USS Iowa memorial as well; the USS Bowfin (which of course is a sub) is at the other end of the bridge.
Sadly, I never went to any of those. I got pregnant with Esther the first week we lived there & was too sick during her pregnancy to do much of anything, and then the logistics of three kids stopped us from doing much else in the way of touristy stuff.
I'm still pissed I never got to go to the Tropic Lightning museum.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Our lesson for today.
Actions have consequences.
Read that. Read it again. Let it absorb slowly into your conscious.
We learn about cause & effect at a young age. Stick your fingers into a glass of water, they get wet. Run towards the street, and Mommy flips out and probably spanks you.
Gets a little more subtle as we get older, but not much. Don't study, don't pass the test. Miss the application deadline, go to your second-choice college. Have sex, get pregnant. Join the Navy, learn the joys of beauracracy.
Here's one some of my nearest & dearest are having a problem with lately:
Leave your wife, see your kids a lot less often.
Yeah, there are some custodial fathers out there. But not many. There are some parents out there with a true 50/50 custody arrangement. But not many. Standard visitation, as explained by my lawyer, is every other weekend, maybe one night during the week, & some school holidays plus a few weeks in the summer.
Rob gets the girls Friday mornings, gives them back to me Sunday evenings. (Four and a half hours till I pick them up again! Yay!)
He's complained to me a few times about only getting them three days a week, two of which he generally works. His boss told him he can have a job & support his kids, or he can stay at home with his kids and not have a job.
I told him, "You know I love you but you made your choices and there's not anything else I can do to help you."
Consequences, boys. Consequences.
Read that. Read it again. Let it absorb slowly into your conscious.
We learn about cause & effect at a young age. Stick your fingers into a glass of water, they get wet. Run towards the street, and Mommy flips out and probably spanks you.
Gets a little more subtle as we get older, but not much. Don't study, don't pass the test. Miss the application deadline, go to your second-choice college. Have sex, get pregnant. Join the Navy, learn the joys of beauracracy.
Here's one some of my nearest & dearest are having a problem with lately:
Leave your wife, see your kids a lot less often.
Yeah, there are some custodial fathers out there. But not many. There are some parents out there with a true 50/50 custody arrangement. But not many. Standard visitation, as explained by my lawyer, is every other weekend, maybe one night during the week, & some school holidays plus a few weeks in the summer.
Rob gets the girls Friday mornings, gives them back to me Sunday evenings. (Four and a half hours till I pick them up again! Yay!)
He's complained to me a few times about only getting them three days a week, two of which he generally works. His boss told him he can have a job & support his kids, or he can stay at home with his kids and not have a job.
I told him, "You know I love you but you made your choices and there's not anything else I can do to help you."
Consequences, boys. Consequences.
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