At NERT class this week, we talked about triage and did a practice exercise. Here’s how you do triage, as I understand it: Start by announcing yourself, but don’t say “NERT,” because no one knows what that is, plus it sounds too much like “nerd.” Say something like, “Rescue team. We’re here to help you.”
Then say, “If you can hear my voice, walk toward me.” Anyone who complies is considered the “walking wounded” and can be assigned to do tasks such as applying pressure to someone else’s bleeding; those who can’t or don’t comply should be assessed for ability to breathe, bleeding, and symptoms of shock.
To see if someone is breathing, you can listen at his or her mouth and put your hand on his or her chest to check for motion. If there is no evidence of breathing, tilt the person’s chin up to open the airway and see if that does the trick. If not, try a second time. (“And if the person is a NERT instructor, wearing a white shirt and dark tie, give them a third chance,” said the NERT instructor.) If these attempts fail, the person is dead and does not require further immediate attention.
Next, check for bleeding and, if there is any, apply pressure. In an impalement situation, leave the impaling object where it is unless it’s interfering with breathing. (Blech.)
To check for shock, which can be fatal, see if the person is breathing more rapidly than 30 times per minute, or if, when you press on the person’s fingernail and let go, it takes more than two seconds for the color to return. If the person is wearing nail polish, you can do this test using the inside of the lower lip instead. Finally, see if the person can carry out a simple command like “Squeeze my hand.”
If any of these tests are failed, lay the person on his or her back and elevate his or her legs, to encourage blood to flow to the brain. This person needs medical treatment as soon as possible.
After snooping around my building looking at the utility shutoffs, I had a couple of questions, so I emailed the building manager and told her I was doing NERT, and got a very nice note back saying it was wonderful that I was doing this and offering help with access to this and that.
We have now had a string of very courteous, even pleasant, communications. It definitely beats fighting.
On the other hand, what is life without a wee bit of acrimony? I have been using the same email provider for some years and have been really happy with them. For a low monthly cost, I can have up to 50 email addresses and I never, but never, get any spam.
Until the past couple of weeks, when, alas, spam began to appear in my inbox. As it happens, they are rolling out new spam protection, free at first and then costing money. Well, two weeks ago, I would have said, “What do I need spam protection for?”
The timing is suspicious, plus, come to think of it, while I have one address I use on the Internet frequently (and even that one has not gotten spam until now), other email addresses are provided only to friends and family members, so I sent my email provider a bitterly worded accusation, which they ignored. Guilty conscience, I imagine.
I have acquired my global warming equipment, in the form of two fans (the kind you have to flap at yourself) purchased in
Thelonious’s appetite seems to be waning once again, plus she has been looking a little unsteady on her pins, particularly in back, and while I haven’t seen her fail to right herself, the other night she came close to falling.
I spoke to the vet who does home euthanasia. The cost is quite reasonable, not way more than it would cost to take her to the pet hospital. I don’t know if I will want her ashes back or not. I like the idea, but was reading online about people who skip this expense and make a donation to the animal shelter instead. I suppose I could do both, as saying goodbye to my favorite cat in all the world should be a once-in-a-lifetime event.
As of a certain moment last night, I owned 109 cans and jars of cat (or baby) food, plus five kinds of dry food. I brought home about 20 different kinds of canned Fancy Feast yesterday, but so far she doesn’t like it. So, on to baby food, which she liked tremendously, but which of course gave her horrible diarrhea. Ideally, you’re supposed to transition a cat to a new food over the course of ten days, but we don’t have that luxury now. I just have to put the new food down and hope she eats it.
I actually have not tried the last-resort cat food, AD. I fear at this point she won’t eat it: “That’s cat food. I don’t eat cat food.”
This morning she looked well and was very chipper.