(no subject)
The mid-Autumn rains are here, and with them snow on the ridges. Winter is descending fast, with gale winds and icy bridges.
Though there are many tales to tell, two will rest here today,
So, one of my friends up here, a fellow from Bloomington named Rusty, disagreed over the time off he would have for the holidays. A little strained, things in camp got a bit tense. Rusty said he wasn't going to stay the winter. The busy season would finish well enough, then he would go.
Our Executive Director got mad. He came into town for about 30 minutes, quickly and secretly evicted Rusty and his girlfriend Emily, and made trite small talk with everyone else. Then he ran, before everyone found out what he did.
I was rather even-headed, but I offered several forms of revenge to those wronged (emily, rusty, and everyone else in town, who had two of their best friends, co-workers, band members, and neighbors evicted). 'I will be the sword of the wronged and the weak'. Nobody took me up on it. I defended Rusty and Emily, as their eviction was completely illegal under the law. They stayed a couple of days to wrap things up, scavenged enough oil for their biodeisel van, and borrowed my car.
I've forgiven the Executive Director, because that is what I have to do. I'll speak what words the spirit gives me when I see him next. And until then, try not to think about it, but pray for his forgiveness by those he has wronged.
So, on a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT note, a tale of horror!
The Wilderness First Responders are here for ten days, taking a certification course. It's really cool to listen in while I work in the kitchen. Plus, they love our vegetarian cooking, and we have at least one convert.
They do alot of realistic scenarios, but the kitchen staff was enlisted to help make a suprise All Hallow's Eve scene. The preparation was great, and my previous medic training and all that LARPing prepared me well...
It was a dark and stormy night. As the WFRs hiked the switchbacks up to camp, they chatted amicably over the sound of the overgorged river. Eric and Greg walked quickly up the trail, headlamps bouncing over the dripping terrain and wet rocks. Movement. To the left, what was that? A hand, slowly sliding through the mud, back into the bushes. A bloody hand. Their boots stood stuck in the mud.
Eric's mind raced, stalled, "Those boots - nobody in the course has boots like that."
Greg, tongue-tied, thought, "I see an exposed bone. If thsis is real, oh my god. If this is a scenario, I'm not prepared. But in either case, I know what I have to do."
"WE'VE GOT A SITUATION HERE!" shouted Greg.
Someone grabbed a limp head, over moans, and one hand vainly trying to push the insistent rescuer away from the cracked skull. Blood coated the rescuer's hands. Four other pairs of boots arived. The voices disassoiciated from the actions.
"We've got a fractured Radius or Ulna. Can't tell which. Protuding."
"Who are you? What is your name? What is your name?"
"Wolf. Run. Run."
"His name's Wolf. Do you know where you are?"
"My ra. Wolf." A stale gasp escaped the dying man's lips, as a rescuer tried to align his spine, straighten his legs.
"He's protecting his lower right abdomen. He's protecting something."
"Cold. So cold."
"Where are you? Do you know what time it is?"
A thing croak, "Oooohh... run. Run, now!"
"Subject A&O times one."
"No, his name wasn't wolf. Ask him again"
"What is your name?"
"Help. Clair. Myra. Road. Help. Wolf."
"A&O times zero."
"Taking a pulse."
Faint cries, moans, and strong arms pull back the protecting, unbroken arm.
"Pulse 120. Pressure seems weak."
"Oh my. We've got an evisceration."
"Severe blood loss"
"Get a tarp over us, stat. Get off that fleece. You, go see if there is anyone else injured."
"Wet occlusive bandage."
"I've got this shrit, here, hasnt' been worn."
"Don't try to wash the wound."
"It's got mud in it."
"Apply the plastic."
A staggered cry escapes the dying man's lips.
"Get the arm splinted. Call from Aerial Evac."
"Not possible in this weather."
"Try to stop the evisceral blood loss"
"He's not breathing"
Everyone stopped for a moment.
"Do we have a pulse?"
"Yes."
"Beginning rescue breathing."
The listless body is wrapped around the waist, carefully lifted as the spine is kept straight by three other pairs of hands. The arm is bandaged, roughly, blood flushed and covering the hands, faces of the rescuers. The man lying on the ground goes cold and clammy. A gasp, and a faint cry escapes.
"We've got breathing."
The man on the ground silently cries, and a rescuer puts his face very close, to monitor the breath.
"Myra. Clair. Road."
"We've found Myra and Clair. They're gonna be OK. You're gonna be OK. Just stay with us, okay."
"Wolf.. Please... Run. Run."
"We've lost respiration again."
"Check the pulse."
"No pulse."
"No pulse."
"Begin CPR."
The man is rolled carefully onto his back, and ten headlamps move above his listless, catatonic eyes in a sort of dance. Casting furitive glances into the darkness, the medics continue their routine, repeated time and time again, as fear and resignation sets in, and they enter into a kind of shock.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifeteen". The hands pump. Two breaths. Two repeats.
"Checking pulse."
"No Pulse."
"Continuing CPR."
The rain beats down persistently on the suspended tarp as blood is pumped from the cold body into the stained mud.
And people tell me it was a tramautizing for them. I'm secretly proud. Is that so wrong?
Though there are many tales to tell, two will rest here today,
So, one of my friends up here, a fellow from Bloomington named Rusty, disagreed over the time off he would have for the holidays. A little strained, things in camp got a bit tense. Rusty said he wasn't going to stay the winter. The busy season would finish well enough, then he would go.
Our Executive Director got mad. He came into town for about 30 minutes, quickly and secretly evicted Rusty and his girlfriend Emily, and made trite small talk with everyone else. Then he ran, before everyone found out what he did.
I was rather even-headed, but I offered several forms of revenge to those wronged (emily, rusty, and everyone else in town, who had two of their best friends, co-workers, band members, and neighbors evicted). 'I will be the sword of the wronged and the weak'. Nobody took me up on it. I defended Rusty and Emily, as their eviction was completely illegal under the law. They stayed a couple of days to wrap things up, scavenged enough oil for their biodeisel van, and borrowed my car.
I've forgiven the Executive Director, because that is what I have to do. I'll speak what words the spirit gives me when I see him next. And until then, try not to think about it, but pray for his forgiveness by those he has wronged.
So, on a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT note, a tale of horror!
The Wilderness First Responders are here for ten days, taking a certification course. It's really cool to listen in while I work in the kitchen. Plus, they love our vegetarian cooking, and we have at least one convert.
They do alot of realistic scenarios, but the kitchen staff was enlisted to help make a suprise All Hallow's Eve scene. The preparation was great, and my previous medic training and all that LARPing prepared me well...
It was a dark and stormy night. As the WFRs hiked the switchbacks up to camp, they chatted amicably over the sound of the overgorged river. Eric and Greg walked quickly up the trail, headlamps bouncing over the dripping terrain and wet rocks. Movement. To the left, what was that? A hand, slowly sliding through the mud, back into the bushes. A bloody hand. Their boots stood stuck in the mud.
Eric's mind raced, stalled, "Those boots - nobody in the course has boots like that."
Greg, tongue-tied, thought, "I see an exposed bone. If thsis is real, oh my god. If this is a scenario, I'm not prepared. But in either case, I know what I have to do."
"WE'VE GOT A SITUATION HERE!" shouted Greg.
Someone grabbed a limp head, over moans, and one hand vainly trying to push the insistent rescuer away from the cracked skull. Blood coated the rescuer's hands. Four other pairs of boots arived. The voices disassoiciated from the actions.
"We've got a fractured Radius or Ulna. Can't tell which. Protuding."
"Who are you? What is your name? What is your name?"
"Wolf. Run. Run."
"His name's Wolf. Do you know where you are?"
"My ra. Wolf." A stale gasp escaped the dying man's lips, as a rescuer tried to align his spine, straighten his legs.
"He's protecting his lower right abdomen. He's protecting something."
"Cold. So cold."
"Where are you? Do you know what time it is?"
A thing croak, "Oooohh... run. Run, now!"
"Subject A&O times one."
"No, his name wasn't wolf. Ask him again"
"What is your name?"
"Help. Clair. Myra. Road. Help. Wolf."
"A&O times zero."
"Taking a pulse."
Faint cries, moans, and strong arms pull back the protecting, unbroken arm.
"Pulse 120. Pressure seems weak."
"Oh my. We've got an evisceration."
"Severe blood loss"
"Get a tarp over us, stat. Get off that fleece. You, go see if there is anyone else injured."
"Wet occlusive bandage."
"I've got this shrit, here, hasnt' been worn."
"Don't try to wash the wound."
"It's got mud in it."
"Apply the plastic."
A staggered cry escapes the dying man's lips.
"Get the arm splinted. Call from Aerial Evac."
"Not possible in this weather."
"Try to stop the evisceral blood loss"
"He's not breathing"
Everyone stopped for a moment.
"Do we have a pulse?"
"Yes."
"Beginning rescue breathing."
The listless body is wrapped around the waist, carefully lifted as the spine is kept straight by three other pairs of hands. The arm is bandaged, roughly, blood flushed and covering the hands, faces of the rescuers. The man lying on the ground goes cold and clammy. A gasp, and a faint cry escapes.
"We've got breathing."
The man on the ground silently cries, and a rescuer puts his face very close, to monitor the breath.
"Myra. Clair. Road."
"We've found Myra and Clair. They're gonna be OK. You're gonna be OK. Just stay with us, okay."
"Wolf.. Please... Run. Run."
"We've lost respiration again."
"Check the pulse."
"No pulse."
"No pulse."
"Begin CPR."
The man is rolled carefully onto his back, and ten headlamps move above his listless, catatonic eyes in a sort of dance. Casting furitive glances into the darkness, the medics continue their routine, repeated time and time again, as fear and resignation sets in, and they enter into a kind of shock.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifeteen". The hands pump. Two breaths. Two repeats.
"Checking pulse."
"No Pulse."
"Continuing CPR."
The rain beats down persistently on the suspended tarp as blood is pumped from the cold body into the stained mud.
And people tell me it was a tramautizing for them. I'm secretly proud. Is that so wrong?