I hate to admit it, but I may have jinxed my daughter's car.
There, I said it, but it needed to be said. Better you hear it here first, than from my daughter, though she might have a word or two to say about it.
Okay, a little back story here. My daughter, M.H., her husband B., and daughter, G., moved back to the area from Rhode Island last summer. If one is going to be technical about it, M.H. and B. moved back here; G. is moving here for the first time. No matter, they're here.
They'd been here for not quite two months when their old car died completely. Nothing like the smell of burning rubber, followed by a loud boom, a large poof of smoke, and a blown engine in the middle of a major intersection to announce its demise. This was followed by the purchase of a scooter so that M.H. could at least get back and forth to work.
Cute as the scooter is, as well as good on gas, it is not exactly designed for hauling around a family of three. At least, not all at the same time. When B. ended up in the hospital (see February 14's post: What a week, or Is everyone in the hospital?"), it was obvious that buying a car was in their immediate future.
M.H. mentioned she'd been looking at cars. Then, a couple of days later, I called and got B. on the phone.
"M.H. is on her way to your place," he told me. "At least, I think she is."
A few minutes later, a car horn sounded out front. It was M.H. in her new white Toyota. Well, not new new, but new to her. It ran well, it didn't have a blown engine, it had room for four people, comfortably; in other words, it's wonderful. She was able to take B. and G. places, able to pick me up for errands, able to get to and from work comfortably when it rained.
A week or two later, M.H. stopped by. "Come on, we're going to the beach!" There was no one else there.
"We, who?" I asked. When she gave me that look that said, "A little slow today, are we?", I hurried on, "Are we picking B. up on the way?" We had to pass right by their place on the way to the beach.
"Sure, we'll swing by our place and see if he wants to come along," she said. "He'll probably want to come."
But no, B. was comfortable where he was. After hanging out for a few minutes, M.H. and I headed back to the car.
"Enjoy yourselves," B. said as we left.
Once in the car, though, we realized the beach was not an option. Remember the question about how to make God laugh? (Answer: Tell Him your plans.) This was one of those times. The car would not start. Wouldn't even make a noise like it wanted to turn over, no click, click when she turned the key, nothing.
"Oh, great, now what?" she asked.
"Pop the hood," I told her. The rule is that if your car won't start, even if you have no idea what's wrong, even if you can't tell an alternator from an alternate universe, you pop the hood, right?
I tried moving the battery cables. If the car isn't getting any juice from the battery, it's obvious the car won't start. But the cables seemed tight. M.H. tried turning the key again. Nothing. She called B. on her cellphone. (Yes, I know: we were still parked in front of their place; at this point, that's beside the point.)
"The car won't start," she told him.
I didn't hear the rest of the conversation, as I'd grabbed my cellphone to call my friend Kevin. He's regaled me with enough stories of growing up and putting together car after car after beater car with friends that I figured he'd be able to give us a pointer or two. I was already leaning towards either a new battery or an alternator, but I figured he could offer some advice.
After listening to the symptoms ("ran great coming here, now it won't even try to turn over"), he concurred that it was probably either the batter or alternator. "If she still has the scooter, she can try jumping the car off that. I'm guessing the scooter's got a 12 volt battery, so it should be able to handle that."
I thanked him and passed along the news. We went inside, got the jumper cables, along with a battery charger B.'s mom had given them several years ago. Unfortunately, the charger needed to be charged for hours before its first use. The scooter was equally helpful for jumping off the car.
Finally, M.H. asked a neighbor for help. Mr. Neighbor pulled Mrs. Neighbor's pickup truck around, we hooked up cables, and sure enough, the car started. Sounded beautiful. We thanked Mr. Neighbor, put the cables away, then headed back to my place. We both figured the beach was not an option that evening.
There were a few more quirky happenings with the car that evening, part of which involved Kevin bringing his cab to my place to jump-start M.H.'s car again. It died a third time as she pulled up in front of her place.
A few days later, with a friend's help, she got the car to where she'd bought it; it turned out to be the alternator. It was changed, and off she went.
Then, this morning, M.H. called and offered to help me run errands. We got a few things done and came back home.
"Hey, want to try going to the beach again?"
"Sure, why not?" It would be a pleasant diversion.
We got back into the car and first headed to her place. She had groceries, so we'd put them inside and see if B. wanted to come along. M.H.'s neighbors were sitting out front. I hoped that this wasn't going to be a pattern: we decide to go to the beach, we stop at her place, we see the neighbors out front, the car dies.
B. said he wouldn't come along, he was happy to stay home. Again, he told us to enjoy ourselves at the beach.
So, we get into the car. M.H. puts the key into the ignition...and it starts! We both smiled.
"Good!" we breathed.
We were almost to the beach when M.H. decided she needed to gas up the car, so we pulled into the next station. After putting in a few gallons, she climbed back in, put the key into the ignition, and...nothing. She tried it again. Nothing.
"Really?" she said. "I pick you up to go to the beach, we stop by my place, and the car dies again?"
We pushed the car away from the pump (no minor thing with this particular car) and into a parking space. M.H. called someone from work who promised to stop by after work. Then she called B.
"The car won't start." I got out of the car to give her some privacy.
The coworker arrived a little while later, but while the car sounded like it wanted to start, it wouldn't. So M.H. called the place she'd bought it from. The mechanic who'd changed the alternator told her to have me try moving the positive battery cable. Didn't help. He'd send someone.
After the coworker left, but before the mechanic arrived, we both decided that I'd jinxed the car. "You, the beach, the car: It's the Tampa Bay Car Triangle!"
This time, however, it was a simple fix: the clamps on the battery cables were loose; they were fixed and we were good to go.
"No, don't worry about it!" the mechanic told us when we tried to slip him some cash.
"Okay, it's a tip!"
But no, he wouldn't take the money. We thanked him, he left, and we headed for the beach.
It was almost deserted, wonderfully cool, nice waves...definitely relaxing.
On the way home, as we waited at a light, M.H. glanced over. "I've got an idea. Once a week, I'll come over, tell you we're going to the beach, we'll stop by my place, the car'll die, we'll have a hissy fit, then I'll take you home."
I guess this means that if that's our plan, God'll let us go to the beach...
Monday, March 11, 2013
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Best laid plans of...
Q: How do you make God laugh?
A: Tell Him your plans.
Yesterday was one of those days where it seemed nothing was going as planned, or, at least, not much went that way. At this point in my life, I should be used to that. You go and make these great plans - or maybe some mediocre ones, but plans, anyway - and the universe and God laugh.
Several of the artists who'd had studios at Salt Creek Artworks were having an open house at their new studios/buildings. Salt Creek Artworks closed last year; it's a rather long story, but the punchline is that the economy didn't help. There were meetings with the city of St. Petersburg in the hopes of finding a place where the core group could stay together in one place. There were several members who, for whatever reason, wouldn't be making the move with the group. One artist moved out of state; another lived in Tampa and, when it became apparent that Salt Creek would close, decided to stay closer to home. The reasons for leaving the group were as varied as the people drifting off. It wasn't that they didn't care, but, perhaps, that some of them cared too much and found the displacement too painful.
Disclaimer: I had had a studio for a little over a year at Salt Creek Artworks, from February, 2011 until April, 2012. I started out in a huge studio, replete with shelves in one corner for holding supplies, lights, and ceiling fans. The studio had no heat or air conditioning, but that didn't bother me. In many ways, it reminded me of my Grandfather's radio repair shop in White Plains, New York, which folded following his death in the mid-1960s: It was part of a warehouse, had cement floors, and a very cool, funky feel that encouraged joy in one's work. At one point, I'd planned to leave Salt Creek, but found that one of the other studios had become available. It was literally right around the corner from the huge one, was somewhat smaller, had air conditioning and heat, one good-sized window to the outside, and brightly painted lime-green-and-white walls. It was directly across the hall from Herb Davis, a friendly, laid-back painter. Herb usually had a radio on in his studio while creating; the low hum of voices during the talk shows, as well as the music, was somehow comforting. Most of the other artists were cool to be around - busy with their work, but always friendly, with that interesting way of looking at things that helps when one is creating.
See? There's the plan-thing. I hadn't meant to drift off into Salt Creek memories, but anyone who's ever been associated with it will understand. But back to the plans for the day...
I'd planned to have a yard sale the first half of the day. I had tons of stuff to get rid of, and figured I could use the money. I'd actually been threatening to have it for several weeks, but always managed to find a way out of it: M. started work, so I'd have no one to watch the sale while I went to put up signs, J. tends to sleep days and stay awake nights, the weather wasn't quite right, or I was just plain not into it. After all, I really don't mind going to yard sales (I love 'em), but I hate having them. You've got to set up tables, or whatever you're placing the stuff on. (Let's face it, we've all seen yard sales where people simply put their stuff on the ground - piles of clothes, tons of knick-knacks, dishes, etc. - and you're expected to bend over and pick through that pile of stuff from the ground; no thanks.) Then you cart all the stuff out, and hope you don't forget to bring something out that you've really wanted to get rid of for months (but you always forget something, anyway), price them, then wait for people to show up and either buy everything or s-l-o-w-l-y drive by while you mutter, "Stop, stop, stop, come back and buy something" under your breath. Then, when you're finished, you have to put whatever is left over back into the boxes, etc. that you carried them out in, put them away, put the tables away...It's really a pain, especially if you haven't sold that much.
As it turned out, J. had changed his sleeping cycle a few days before, so I figured he'd be up by 7:30 or 8-ish. So, right after M. left for work, I showered, put a load of laundry into the washer, then told J. to get a move on it. He let out a groaned okay, then, apparently, went back to sleep. After I'd gotten the tables and stuff out to put the yard sale stuff on, I made sure he was awake, since he'd need to watch the yard sale while I put up a couple of signs.
We kept at it until shortly after noon; by then, we'd had enough. Very few people were stopping, or even driving by. One neighbor who always stops by all neighborhood yard sales (he and his wife apparently sell stuff on Ebay or at the local flea market) mentioned that at most of the yard sales he'd stopped by that morning, he was either the only person there or one of only two.
"Usually, yard sales are packed, especially if they have signs up," he commented. "The ones I went to today were dead!" That was encouraging!
On the plus side, we made $10. On the down side...$10! (Anyone who's ever had a yard sale knows that good ones bring in good money.) We packed up everything...
I'd also planned to go to the two grand openings/open house last night for several members from the Salt Creek group. Two of the artists are in a place they've named Works in Progress Art Studios and GGallery, located at 24 - 22nd Street South in St. Pete, while several others are at Arts Central at 2109 Central Avenue in St. Pete.
When I first learned that Salt Creek Artworks would be closing, I'd started video taping the building, artists, the meetings to find a place for everyone...the whole "we're losing this really great place" experience. I'd planned to give the artists (those who wanted one) a copy of the DVD, as well as Salt Creek's owner. I'm still working on it...but one of the artists from Works In Progress had asked if I'd bring over a DVD with what I had so far so that it could play during the grand opening. I'd said sure, that'd be great and started looking over the stuff I'd filmed. While I had looked through the tapes months ago, taking copious notes on what to use, what wouldn't be used, and what might be used as filler, I wanted to find the right stuff to put together. I'd already put together a short piece, but wanted something better.
So, after the yard sale, I started working hard at putting together a second piece to hand to C.D. at Works in Progress. One of my possible rides wouldn't be able to help out, as she had to work; another couldn't do it, either. In short, four possible rides were all unavailable.
I called C.D. up and explained, then offered to finish putting together something, posting it online, then sending her a copy of the link. "That'll work," she agreed. "Too bad you couldn't make it, though. Call me next week, okay?"
So I went to work, and spent several hours putting together something decent, and definitely a lot better than the one I'd already posted online. I was really happy with the way things were progressing with it, even though it was taking hours to put it together.
Then M. called. He'd gotten off work, and was going to take the buses home. (It takes at least three buses for him to get home from work.) He planned to take two particular buses; pulling up the schedules online (which meant ignoring what I was putting together), I noticed that doing that was pushing it just a tad. Heck, it was majorly pushing it, since the last bus would arrive where he'd get off the second bus theoretically one minute after he got off; any hold up or delay on that second bus, and he'd have to wait over an hour for the next bus. But if he took this other route, he might have to wait half-an-hour for that last bus, but there'd be less chance of missing connections.
"No, it'll be okay," he assured me. Except that, of course, it wasn't. He missed the last bus...All told, there were numerous calls so I could check another bus schedule, another this or that...All the while, I was saving my work on the Salt Creek thing...up until that last call. At that point, I accidentally hit the X in the corner of the film program...the X that means you've closed the program...the program, along with the work that I'd spend hours on and hadn't posted anywhere.
I couldn't yell at M. I understood his panic. I was a little panicky, too, envisioning all sorts of stuff: accidents, a police cruiser pulling up to see if I knew M., the whole bit. It was getting dark out, M. has no night vision, and he doesn't move terribly fast. So, was I worried? Heck, yeah!
He finally made it home safely, apologized for the panic, the work, etc. He also mentioned that the next Saturday that he has to work, he'll take the buses I suggested.
So much for plans... :)
A: Tell Him your plans.
Yesterday was one of those days where it seemed nothing was going as planned, or, at least, not much went that way. At this point in my life, I should be used to that. You go and make these great plans - or maybe some mediocre ones, but plans, anyway - and the universe and God laugh.
Several of the artists who'd had studios at Salt Creek Artworks were having an open house at their new studios/buildings. Salt Creek Artworks closed last year; it's a rather long story, but the punchline is that the economy didn't help. There were meetings with the city of St. Petersburg in the hopes of finding a place where the core group could stay together in one place. There were several members who, for whatever reason, wouldn't be making the move with the group. One artist moved out of state; another lived in Tampa and, when it became apparent that Salt Creek would close, decided to stay closer to home. The reasons for leaving the group were as varied as the people drifting off. It wasn't that they didn't care, but, perhaps, that some of them cared too much and found the displacement too painful.
Disclaimer: I had had a studio for a little over a year at Salt Creek Artworks, from February, 2011 until April, 2012. I started out in a huge studio, replete with shelves in one corner for holding supplies, lights, and ceiling fans. The studio had no heat or air conditioning, but that didn't bother me. In many ways, it reminded me of my Grandfather's radio repair shop in White Plains, New York, which folded following his death in the mid-1960s: It was part of a warehouse, had cement floors, and a very cool, funky feel that encouraged joy in one's work. At one point, I'd planned to leave Salt Creek, but found that one of the other studios had become available. It was literally right around the corner from the huge one, was somewhat smaller, had air conditioning and heat, one good-sized window to the outside, and brightly painted lime-green-and-white walls. It was directly across the hall from Herb Davis, a friendly, laid-back painter. Herb usually had a radio on in his studio while creating; the low hum of voices during the talk shows, as well as the music, was somehow comforting. Most of the other artists were cool to be around - busy with their work, but always friendly, with that interesting way of looking at things that helps when one is creating.
See? There's the plan-thing. I hadn't meant to drift off into Salt Creek memories, but anyone who's ever been associated with it will understand. But back to the plans for the day...
I'd planned to have a yard sale the first half of the day. I had tons of stuff to get rid of, and figured I could use the money. I'd actually been threatening to have it for several weeks, but always managed to find a way out of it: M. started work, so I'd have no one to watch the sale while I went to put up signs, J. tends to sleep days and stay awake nights, the weather wasn't quite right, or I was just plain not into it. After all, I really don't mind going to yard sales (I love 'em), but I hate having them. You've got to set up tables, or whatever you're placing the stuff on. (Let's face it, we've all seen yard sales where people simply put their stuff on the ground - piles of clothes, tons of knick-knacks, dishes, etc. - and you're expected to bend over and pick through that pile of stuff from the ground; no thanks.) Then you cart all the stuff out, and hope you don't forget to bring something out that you've really wanted to get rid of for months (but you always forget something, anyway), price them, then wait for people to show up and either buy everything or s-l-o-w-l-y drive by while you mutter, "Stop, stop, stop, come back and buy something" under your breath. Then, when you're finished, you have to put whatever is left over back into the boxes, etc. that you carried them out in, put them away, put the tables away...It's really a pain, especially if you haven't sold that much.
As it turned out, J. had changed his sleeping cycle a few days before, so I figured he'd be up by 7:30 or 8-ish. So, right after M. left for work, I showered, put a load of laundry into the washer, then told J. to get a move on it. He let out a groaned okay, then, apparently, went back to sleep. After I'd gotten the tables and stuff out to put the yard sale stuff on, I made sure he was awake, since he'd need to watch the yard sale while I put up a couple of signs.
We kept at it until shortly after noon; by then, we'd had enough. Very few people were stopping, or even driving by. One neighbor who always stops by all neighborhood yard sales (he and his wife apparently sell stuff on Ebay or at the local flea market) mentioned that at most of the yard sales he'd stopped by that morning, he was either the only person there or one of only two.
"Usually, yard sales are packed, especially if they have signs up," he commented. "The ones I went to today were dead!" That was encouraging!
On the plus side, we made $10. On the down side...$10! (Anyone who's ever had a yard sale knows that good ones bring in good money.) We packed up everything...
I'd also planned to go to the two grand openings/open house last night for several members from the Salt Creek group. Two of the artists are in a place they've named Works in Progress Art Studios and GGallery, located at 24 - 22nd Street South in St. Pete, while several others are at Arts Central at 2109 Central Avenue in St. Pete.
When I first learned that Salt Creek Artworks would be closing, I'd started video taping the building, artists, the meetings to find a place for everyone...the whole "we're losing this really great place" experience. I'd planned to give the artists (those who wanted one) a copy of the DVD, as well as Salt Creek's owner. I'm still working on it...but one of the artists from Works In Progress had asked if I'd bring over a DVD with what I had so far so that it could play during the grand opening. I'd said sure, that'd be great and started looking over the stuff I'd filmed. While I had looked through the tapes months ago, taking copious notes on what to use, what wouldn't be used, and what might be used as filler, I wanted to find the right stuff to put together. I'd already put together a short piece, but wanted something better.
So, after the yard sale, I started working hard at putting together a second piece to hand to C.D. at Works in Progress. One of my possible rides wouldn't be able to help out, as she had to work; another couldn't do it, either. In short, four possible rides were all unavailable.
I called C.D. up and explained, then offered to finish putting together something, posting it online, then sending her a copy of the link. "That'll work," she agreed. "Too bad you couldn't make it, though. Call me next week, okay?"
So I went to work, and spent several hours putting together something decent, and definitely a lot better than the one I'd already posted online. I was really happy with the way things were progressing with it, even though it was taking hours to put it together.
Then M. called. He'd gotten off work, and was going to take the buses home. (It takes at least three buses for him to get home from work.) He planned to take two particular buses; pulling up the schedules online (which meant ignoring what I was putting together), I noticed that doing that was pushing it just a tad. Heck, it was majorly pushing it, since the last bus would arrive where he'd get off the second bus theoretically one minute after he got off; any hold up or delay on that second bus, and he'd have to wait over an hour for the next bus. But if he took this other route, he might have to wait half-an-hour for that last bus, but there'd be less chance of missing connections.
"No, it'll be okay," he assured me. Except that, of course, it wasn't. He missed the last bus...All told, there were numerous calls so I could check another bus schedule, another this or that...All the while, I was saving my work on the Salt Creek thing...up until that last call. At that point, I accidentally hit the X in the corner of the film program...the X that means you've closed the program...the program, along with the work that I'd spend hours on and hadn't posted anywhere.
I couldn't yell at M. I understood his panic. I was a little panicky, too, envisioning all sorts of stuff: accidents, a police cruiser pulling up to see if I knew M., the whole bit. It was getting dark out, M. has no night vision, and he doesn't move terribly fast. So, was I worried? Heck, yeah!
He finally made it home safely, apologized for the panic, the work, etc. He also mentioned that the next Saturday that he has to work, he'll take the buses I suggested.
So much for plans... :)
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Customer Service (Sort-of, Maybe)
Is it just me,or does it seem that customer service is somehow disappearing? I mean, seriously, whatever happened to the customer is always right, or, You want a refund because this isn't working? No problem!
Okay, here's where I'm coming from: I bought an external hard drive for my computer. Got it through a company (based out of New York City) that I've done business now for several years. They have great customer service, and are sooo not the problem. They have a 30-day warranty on certain products, which is reasonable, especially if it's from a company that has its own customer service department that should technically pick up on any problems after that 30-day period. I plan to continue to use this particular company, since they are incredibly good.
Note: Okay, if you're wondering, it's B And H out of New York City. I highly recommend them. Their website is http://www.bhphotovideo.com/. And in case you're wondering, no, I am not getting paid to say this, nor have I received, nor expect to receive, any compensation for recommending them.
The external hard drive (from an unnamed company) crashed within a month-and-a-half of buying it. Did what was needed to reformat it and gettingit back to where it would theoretically do. It crashed a second time...and a third...
By now, I was a little ticked off about it. So, after calling B And H, and getting the number for the company that made the hard drive, I called the company. They offered to send me a replacement, along witha return label to put on the box so that I could send the old drive back. Of course, it did cost $10 for them to send out the new drive.
So, the new drive gets here, I pack up the old one and send it off, and all's good, right? Ha! The new drive crashed within the week or two. Reformatted. Crashed again. Reformatted...and crashed again! If I'd actually used it as back-up and stuff stored there and no place else, I would have been beyond p.o.ed! This was the second one (and the first sent by the company direct). Then I noticed the sticker on the side of this "new" external drive...the sticker that read "refurbished." Excuse me, but if I paid for a brand new something, I should get a brand new something, not a refurbished one.
This week, I called the company up and told the person I spoke with that I would like a refund. I figure that after two problem external drives from this particular company, I'd really rather have a refund. I'm not exactly confident that the third one will be any better...
It turns out they don't do refunds. They also couldn't explain why the second new external hard drive was really a refurbished one. If I'd paid for a brand new car, I wouldn't expect to find out that the one they sold me really had 50,000 miles on it. Silly me. The first person I spoke to (I ended up talking with several) was borderline rude, and wouldn't put me through to her supervisor, even though I asked several times...
I did manage to get them to email me a return label, this time free of charge. As soon as they receive the second hard drive, they'll send out a third one. Oh, joy.
Anyone want to buy an exernal hard drive? Anyone? No? Darn...
Note: I still plan to do business with B And H. They were not theproblem here. If anything, they did go out of their way to offer help. Every time I've done business wih them over the past four years, they've been nothing but helpful, honest, etc. If I ever get to go on a road trip and end up in NYC, I want to see their store in person. The company that made the hard drive, though, is another story...
Okay, here's where I'm coming from: I bought an external hard drive for my computer. Got it through a company (based out of New York City) that I've done business now for several years. They have great customer service, and are sooo not the problem. They have a 30-day warranty on certain products, which is reasonable, especially if it's from a company that has its own customer service department that should technically pick up on any problems after that 30-day period. I plan to continue to use this particular company, since they are incredibly good.
Note: Okay, if you're wondering, it's B And H out of New York City. I highly recommend them. Their website is http://www.bhphotovideo.com/. And in case you're wondering, no, I am not getting paid to say this, nor have I received, nor expect to receive, any compensation for recommending them.
The external hard drive (from an unnamed company) crashed within a month-and-a-half of buying it. Did what was needed to reformat it and gettingit back to where it would theoretically do. It crashed a second time...and a third...
By now, I was a little ticked off about it. So, after calling B And H, and getting the number for the company that made the hard drive, I called the company. They offered to send me a replacement, along witha return label to put on the box so that I could send the old drive back. Of course, it did cost $10 for them to send out the new drive.
So, the new drive gets here, I pack up the old one and send it off, and all's good, right? Ha! The new drive crashed within the week or two. Reformatted. Crashed again. Reformatted...and crashed again! If I'd actually used it as back-up and stuff stored there and no place else, I would have been beyond p.o.ed! This was the second one (and the first sent by the company direct). Then I noticed the sticker on the side of this "new" external drive...the sticker that read "refurbished." Excuse me, but if I paid for a brand new something, I should get a brand new something, not a refurbished one.
This week, I called the company up and told the person I spoke with that I would like a refund. I figure that after two problem external drives from this particular company, I'd really rather have a refund. I'm not exactly confident that the third one will be any better...
It turns out they don't do refunds. They also couldn't explain why the second new external hard drive was really a refurbished one. If I'd paid for a brand new car, I wouldn't expect to find out that the one they sold me really had 50,000 miles on it. Silly me. The first person I spoke to (I ended up talking with several) was borderline rude, and wouldn't put me through to her supervisor, even though I asked several times...
I did manage to get them to email me a return label, this time free of charge. As soon as they receive the second hard drive, they'll send out a third one. Oh, joy.
Anyone want to buy an exernal hard drive? Anyone? No? Darn...
Note: I still plan to do business with B And H. They were not theproblem here. If anything, they did go out of their way to offer help. Every time I've done business wih them over the past four years, they've been nothing but helpful, honest, etc. If I ever get to go on a road trip and end up in NYC, I want to see their store in person. The company that made the hard drive, though, is another story...
Monday, March 4, 2013
Ethics, In Work and Real Life
There are certain things most of us take for granted. One of those things is that if someone has any kind of medical knowledge, whether it's basic first aid (and I'm including knowing CPR here) or the most knowledgable, skillful doctor, and a person in proximity to that person suddenly needs CPR, the knowledgable person will help out. If, for some reason, he or she can't help, that person will summon help. While waiting for EMS to show up, that knowledgable person will either do CPR and/or get a nearby person to help with it. That is what most of us would hope for.
So, what is with the nurse in the California assisted living facility who, last week, allowed an elderly woman to die, rather than start CPR on her?
In case you're unfamiliar with what I'm referring to, here is a link to the story from the LA Times ("Nurse refused to give CPR to elderly woman who later died"): http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2013/03/nurse-refuses-to-give-cpr-to-elderly-woman-who-later-died.html. Also, here is a link to the story, as covered by the Today Show: http://www.today.com/video/today/51024816/#51024816.
So, picture this: You send your loved one to an assisted living facility. You figure it's not a nursing home, but a place where your loved one (Mom, Dad, husband, wife, whoever) will get assisted living. There are nurses in the facility. You figure, okay, if something happens, the nursing staff will help out, especially if that something is something medical.
In this case, the elderly woman went into cardiac arrest. The nurse who discovered this called 9-1-1. On the 9-1-1 tape, the dispatcher is heard saying that CPR needs to be started while EMS is in route. The nurse then states that she can't do CPR. The dispatcher says she (the dispatcher) will talk the caller through how to do CPR, at which point, the caller states that she's a nurse, but the assisted living facility's protocol will not allow her to do CPR.
During the call, and before EMS has arrived, the dispatcher pleads with the nurse to find someone, anyone to do CPR on the elderly woman; yet, the nurse refuses to do so. The dispatcher says that the elderly woman will most likely die without CPR, yet the nurse refuses to get someone to start CPR, refuses to start CPR herself. And yes, the woman did die.
Another point that bothers me: the elderly woman's daughter has no problems with this, stating that her mother got "good care" at this particular facility. Good care? I'm sorry, but if a facility has caused your loved one's death, either directly (by giving that person the wrong medication, the wrong death, pushing him or her down a flight of stairs) or indirectly (not doing CPR, not giving care in a timely manner), that is NOT "good care." (I happen to have a unique perspective on this, in that a similar thing happened to one of my loved ones. I didn't decide that he had gotten "good care"; rather, I contacted a lawyer.)
First off all, if a facility decides that its medical personnel are not allowed to give medical care to its residents, even in (or especially in) an emergency, that facility needs to let its residents and their families know this in no uncertain terms. I don't know if this facility did, but I would feel having families and residents sign something to this effect, as well as have signs prominently displayed in common living areas so that everyone knows exactly what's what.
Secondly, doctors take a Hippocratic Oath, part of which is to "do no harm." I'm not sure if nurses are required to take this oath, too, but it would seem that if someone goes into one of the medical professions - EMTs, paramedics, nurses (RNs, LPNs, etc), doctors, technicians, and all forms of medical personnel - it would be to help others. If a person is not going to help others, while that may be legally allowed (and this seems questionable in this case), it would be ethically required. If you (or I) have the knowledge to do CPR on a person and there is a person in your care who needs CPR (or even a passer-by needs it), you might not have a legal obligation to do CPR, but you and I would have an ethical obligation to do so.
Personally, I don't know how that nurse can sleep at night.
So, what is with the nurse in the California assisted living facility who, last week, allowed an elderly woman to die, rather than start CPR on her?
In case you're unfamiliar with what I'm referring to, here is a link to the story from the LA Times ("Nurse refused to give CPR to elderly woman who later died"): http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2013/03/nurse-refuses-to-give-cpr-to-elderly-woman-who-later-died.html. Also, here is a link to the story, as covered by the Today Show: http://www.today.com/video/today/51024816/#51024816.
So, picture this: You send your loved one to an assisted living facility. You figure it's not a nursing home, but a place where your loved one (Mom, Dad, husband, wife, whoever) will get assisted living. There are nurses in the facility. You figure, okay, if something happens, the nursing staff will help out, especially if that something is something medical.
In this case, the elderly woman went into cardiac arrest. The nurse who discovered this called 9-1-1. On the 9-1-1 tape, the dispatcher is heard saying that CPR needs to be started while EMS is in route. The nurse then states that she can't do CPR. The dispatcher says she (the dispatcher) will talk the caller through how to do CPR, at which point, the caller states that she's a nurse, but the assisted living facility's protocol will not allow her to do CPR.
During the call, and before EMS has arrived, the dispatcher pleads with the nurse to find someone, anyone to do CPR on the elderly woman; yet, the nurse refuses to do so. The dispatcher says that the elderly woman will most likely die without CPR, yet the nurse refuses to get someone to start CPR, refuses to start CPR herself. And yes, the woman did die.
Another point that bothers me: the elderly woman's daughter has no problems with this, stating that her mother got "good care" at this particular facility. Good care? I'm sorry, but if a facility has caused your loved one's death, either directly (by giving that person the wrong medication, the wrong death, pushing him or her down a flight of stairs) or indirectly (not doing CPR, not giving care in a timely manner), that is NOT "good care." (I happen to have a unique perspective on this, in that a similar thing happened to one of my loved ones. I didn't decide that he had gotten "good care"; rather, I contacted a lawyer.)
First off all, if a facility decides that its medical personnel are not allowed to give medical care to its residents, even in (or especially in) an emergency, that facility needs to let its residents and their families know this in no uncertain terms. I don't know if this facility did, but I would feel having families and residents sign something to this effect, as well as have signs prominently displayed in common living areas so that everyone knows exactly what's what.
Secondly, doctors take a Hippocratic Oath, part of which is to "do no harm." I'm not sure if nurses are required to take this oath, too, but it would seem that if someone goes into one of the medical professions - EMTs, paramedics, nurses (RNs, LPNs, etc), doctors, technicians, and all forms of medical personnel - it would be to help others. If a person is not going to help others, while that may be legally allowed (and this seems questionable in this case), it would be ethically required. If you (or I) have the knowledge to do CPR on a person and there is a person in your care who needs CPR (or even a passer-by needs it), you might not have a legal obligation to do CPR, but you and I would have an ethical obligation to do so.
Personally, I don't know how that nurse can sleep at night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)