Saturday, October 31, 2009
Health care in the North Country
It's early morning on a Saturday and I'm writing while listening to my husband's EMT radio blaring in the other room. It went off a few minutes ago, warning us that a small town north of here needs responders to the home of an elderly lady having a potential heart attack. Her life depends entirely on volunteers. It also depends on having enough of those volunteers training in advanced live-saving techniques, and at least one of those volunteers trained in driving. The training is arduous; a whole year of night classes following the year you already put in for basic EMT training. I just joined the local squad, and will probably be just a driver because who has time for that kind of commitment to training?? But it's necessary in an area like ours. That lady's life also depends on the strength of her local hospital. Fortunately, we have an excellent one in our village, but in New York, rural hospitals are threatened. New York is rapidly heading down California's swirling toilet bowl of an economy. Add to that situation the health care reform bills that are being proposed and you have a perfect storm for small community health care institutions. These institutions, and the whole delivery system for health care in the US, need to change, but how can a small rural hospital achieve change without at least a modicum of investment? To invest, you need a margin of revenue over expenses each year. New York State's hospital margins are the 48th lowest in the nation. I can't help thinking about the lady having a heart attack and what will be available to people like her in the near future. Our community is incredibly strong in a volunteer-pitch-right-in sense; that's what we're going to need to strengthen health care in our region. We'll need to band together and share resources. It'll be better for the patient that way, anyway, and better for communities in the long run.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Raining in Canton
Time to get ready for winter up here in the frozen North. It's a ritual. How do you know it's time? Not by the month. You know it's time if you see cords of firewood dumped in a driveway, or stacked neatly in a line a mile long marking the closest line to the house without encouraging rodents to transfer their affections from wood-pile to attic. You can tell when the stores put the bar-b-qs on sale, and the snowblowers and chainsaws replace them in the show-room. You can tell when the local thrift store has its last bag sale before setting out the coat racks. And you can tell if you have to wear socks in the house or if you and your partner start the long contest to see who can outlast the cold longer before one of you breaks and turns the heat on.
It won't be long, now. The leaves are turning--lots of brilliant scarlet this year--and you can smell snow in the air some nights.
It won't be long, now. The leaves are turning--lots of brilliant scarlet this year--and you can smell snow in the air some nights.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Combatting scurvy
Scurvy has been known to impact sailors on long sea voyages, and people who live up north. Legend has it that the First Peoples of up north boiled pine bark to get their vitamin C. Others just got scurvy. They got it because they didn't trust the First Peoples, or they didn't have Cadillacs to enable them to travel down south for oranges, or they didn't know about Limestrong. That's right: Limestrong. You can find out more about scurvy, and how to prevent this northern (and maritime) scourge at www.Limestrong.org. There you'll find practical advice, as well as photos of cats with fruit on their heads (click on the link to "cats with fruit on their heads.")
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
I love disaster stories: this one not so much
You can learn a lot from disaster stories. Don’t go on a maiden voyage of anything that claims to be the fastest, longest, biggest, or most unsinkable whatever of all time; don’t live in California; don’t cook over an open campfire in a forest during a historic drought, don’t run a marathon in the Sahara; don’t go mountain climbing in the winter. In Holding Fast: The Untold Story of the Mount Hood Disaster, we learn about what can occur when even experienced climbers attempt a mountain ascent in winter. Ostensibly, the tale is about three climbers who try to summit Mount Hood by scaling its icy north face, with the intent to “down climb” the mountain’s other side. The narrative is told by Karen James, widow of Kelly James, one of the doomed climbers.
Good disaster stories have certain conventions that lovers of the genre have come to expect. We hope for a gripping tale, and we’ve got that here. We know the end of disaster tales (was there anyone in the theater during the film Titanic who didn’t know it wasn’t just an old-fashioned episode of Love Boat?) and, ironically, that’s where the tale derives much of its suspense. How will the protagonists deal with what’s facing them? What choices will they make? How do their individual choices weigh against the seemingly random events taking shape? We also have characters who are intrepid risk takers, and we get enough information about Kelly James’ early life to know he came from a disadvantaged background, which makes him perfect fodder for an “against-all-odds” story.
In Holding Fast, we’re familiar with the tear-jerking media coverage of the search and rescue teams’ fruitless efforts. The suspense comes from who did what when, and who knew what when. Karen James frames her tale in day-by-day briefings on the search, complete with details back-filled from messages left on her husband’s cell phone as he lay dying in a snow cave. The suspense also comes from following a character who rose from difficult circumstances in his childhood to professional and personal heights, literally, before facing this last challenge. It’s exciting, and heart-breaking, and maddening, which is what a fulfilling disaster story is all about.
What doesn’t fit the generic mold here is the one-sided view of the disaster. Because it’s told by his widow, the story is disturbingly focused on just one climber. We don’t even learn what the other climbers did for a living. We know, tangentially, that they have families, because those folks are on the periphery of Ms. James’ own vigil for her husband, but we know not much more, other than that they were experienced climbers who were loyal friends to Kelly James (one of the more unsettling moments in the narrative comes just after Karen James hears the news about her husband; although the other families have been sharing the search and vigil with her, “to avoid exposing the James children to the media glare,” Karen James immediately returns with them to her hometown of Dallas, without learning the fate of the other climbers).
The other non-generic element is the focus on Karen James’ faith. Every chapter is punctuated by references to the James’ faith in Christianity, with the climb and its aftermath seeming to be there merely to show readers Karen James’ own spiritual struggle. The book ends up being more about this spiritual wrestling (and, perhaps understandably, about creating a lasting memorial to her husband) than it is about a climbing trip gone terribly wrong. We can see why Karen James would use her skills (she co-owns her own PR agency) to shape her husband’s image, particularly for his children, and in the face of some criticism of his actions. However, Holding Fast is an oddly context-less account that leaves me wishing the book were more about climbing than about a personal journey. After all, bigger, more important questions for readers loom, and Karen James never addresses them: how should we view those whose personal journeys ultimately imperil others?
Good disaster stories have certain conventions that lovers of the genre have come to expect. We hope for a gripping tale, and we’ve got that here. We know the end of disaster tales (was there anyone in the theater during the film Titanic who didn’t know it wasn’t just an old-fashioned episode of Love Boat?) and, ironically, that’s where the tale derives much of its suspense. How will the protagonists deal with what’s facing them? What choices will they make? How do their individual choices weigh against the seemingly random events taking shape? We also have characters who are intrepid risk takers, and we get enough information about Kelly James’ early life to know he came from a disadvantaged background, which makes him perfect fodder for an “against-all-odds” story.
In Holding Fast, we’re familiar with the tear-jerking media coverage of the search and rescue teams’ fruitless efforts. The suspense comes from who did what when, and who knew what when. Karen James frames her tale in day-by-day briefings on the search, complete with details back-filled from messages left on her husband’s cell phone as he lay dying in a snow cave. The suspense also comes from following a character who rose from difficult circumstances in his childhood to professional and personal heights, literally, before facing this last challenge. It’s exciting, and heart-breaking, and maddening, which is what a fulfilling disaster story is all about.
What doesn’t fit the generic mold here is the one-sided view of the disaster. Because it’s told by his widow, the story is disturbingly focused on just one climber. We don’t even learn what the other climbers did for a living. We know, tangentially, that they have families, because those folks are on the periphery of Ms. James’ own vigil for her husband, but we know not much more, other than that they were experienced climbers who were loyal friends to Kelly James (one of the more unsettling moments in the narrative comes just after Karen James hears the news about her husband; although the other families have been sharing the search and vigil with her, “to avoid exposing the James children to the media glare,” Karen James immediately returns with them to her hometown of Dallas, without learning the fate of the other climbers).
The other non-generic element is the focus on Karen James’ faith. Every chapter is punctuated by references to the James’ faith in Christianity, with the climb and its aftermath seeming to be there merely to show readers Karen James’ own spiritual struggle. The book ends up being more about this spiritual wrestling (and, perhaps understandably, about creating a lasting memorial to her husband) than it is about a climbing trip gone terribly wrong. We can see why Karen James would use her skills (she co-owns her own PR agency) to shape her husband’s image, particularly for his children, and in the face of some criticism of his actions. However, Holding Fast is an oddly context-less account that leaves me wishing the book were more about climbing than about a personal journey. After all, bigger, more important questions for readers loom, and Karen James never addresses them: how should we view those whose personal journeys ultimately imperil others?
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