Don’t you hate it when you’re assisting with surgery and one of those machines that beeps or whirrs every few seconds suddenly explodes and injures your leg? Kaboom!
David White was a certified nurse anesthetist on Aug. 4, 2021 at MidState Medical Center in Meriden CT when, he said in a lawsuit filed against Hartford Healthcare, a limb-positioning machine installed by them exploded, mid-surgery.
The spider limb positioner device is a hydraulic arm, used to manipulate and stabilize a patient’s extremities during surgery. I have one that I used to use on dates — they’re great.
White claims that when the surgeon pressed on the pedal controlling the device, it “exploded or separated under pressure striking Mr. White’s left shin causing a deep laceration.”
That explosion also resulted in a variety of other health issues. White contracted necrotizing fasciitis (also affectionately known as “flesh-eating disease”), cellulitis, scarring and disfigurement, multiorgan dysfunction, liver shock, chapped lips, nerve and tendon issues, as well as depression, anxiety and a “fear of loud noises.” [Sh*t! — I have that last one — it’s no fun!] [Alright, I added the chapped lips, but the other stuff is real.]
The company denies legal responsibility. “Someone else must have f*cked up,” they said.
Joyce Sutphen wrote this weather-appropriate poem in today’s Writer’s Almanac. It’s called “Carrying Water to the Field.”
And on those hot afternoons in July,
when my father was out on the tractor
cultivating rows of corn, my mother
would send us out with a Mason jar
filled with ice and water, a dish towel
wrapped around it for insulation.
Like a rocket launched to an orbiting
planet, we would cut across the fields
in a trajectory calculated to intercept—
or, perhaps, even—surprise him
in his absorption with the row and the
turning always over earth beneath the blade.
He would look up and see us, throttle
down, stop, and step from the tractor
with the grace of a cowboy dismounting
his horse, and receive gratefully the jar
of water, ice cubes now melted into tiny
shards, drinking it down in a single gulp,
while we watched, mission accomplished.
Here’s Joyce, on a day that called for a jacket.
In the puzzle today, the clue for 6D was “Defense mechanisms?,” and the answer was ORALS. (Think dissertation defense.) It led me to share this story with the Rex gang. (Remember this, Don? I may be off on some of the details.)
True story. Back in my student days, my friend Don and I ran into our friend Russ, whom we hadn’t seen in a while. I asked Russ “How’s school going?” at the same time Don asked him “How’s the new girlfriend?” Russ beamed and said “I passed my orals,” and Don said “Wow, she sounds tough.”
The clue at 47D was “What might make one less likely to flip one’s lid?,” and the answer was STYE. (Think eyelid.) Rex and others complained that that was a little “icky.” It led me to comment:
From the TMI Dept. I hate to break it to you kids, but once you cross that line and are looking down at 70, with prostate and bladder issues, any stye that pops up won’t even make the list. (I love it when I call the doc’s office and the receptionist says: “Urology. Can you hold?”)
The answer at 52D was ANA. It wasn’t clued for Owl Chatter fave ANA de Armas, but it’s too long since we’ve had a visit from her. A de A — how ya been, girl? Breathtaking, as usual. We missed you at the 250th post bash. Pregozhin catered — say what you will about him being a murderous thug — the man can cook!
At 42A, the clue was “City where Gerald Ford and Malcolm X were born,” and the answer was OMAHA. I’m glad they didn’t use “Payton Manning’s signal.” He famously used to yell OMAHA OMAHA when signaling a play. In any event, Son Volt shared this Waylon Jennings tune with us:
Omaha, you’ve been weighin’ heavy on my mind
Guess I never really left at all
I’m turnin’ all those roads I walked around the other way
Coming back to you, Omaha
Omaha, Nebraska wasn’t good enough for me
I always thought I was the roamin’ kind
With a pocket full of dreams and my one shirt on my back
I left there looking for some things to find
Rode my thumb to San Francisco, I worked down by the Bay
Got some schoolin’ paid for by the law
The hardest thing I learned there was there ain’t no easy way
To get ahead behind those county walls
So it’s so long, California, I reckon I’ll be movin’ on
I’m leavin’ even if I have to crawl
I’ve got some loose ends laying ’round that I left undone
Waitin’ there for me in Omaha
Omaha, you’ve been weighin’ heavy on my mind
Guess I never really left at all
I’m turnin’ all those roads I walked around the other way
Coming back to you, Omaha
Sticking with music, Woody Guthrie was born on this date back in 1912 in Okemah, Oklahoma. He died young, at only 55, in NYC. He was married and divorced three times and had eight children, sadly, five of whom died way young. The two oldest, Gwendolyn and Gail died at 41 from Huntington’s Disease, which they inherited from Woody. Bill was only 23 when he died in a train accident. Cathy Ann died in a fire around her fourth birthday. Too sad. And Lorina Lynn died as a teenager in a car crash.
Arlo of course is still with us. He just turned 76 this week. His sibs Jody and Norah are still living too. Norah is President of the Woody Guthrie Foundation. All three are from Woody’s middle marriage to Marjorie Greenblatt Mazia who was a dancer in the Martha Graham Dance Company, and the daughter of Aliza Greenblatt, a well-known American-Yiddish poet. So they are all Jewish. I didn’t know there was such a close Jewish tie to the writer of This Land is My Land.
Here’s Sara Lee Guthrie, Arlo’s daughter, who is also a musician.
We’ll continue with more nonsense tomorrow. Thanks for stopping by.
The Wellington Files 