BLOG POST YUCK!

BLOG POST                    YUCK!

Within half an hour of awakening this morning, I had had two cups of coffee. It came about this way.

I made a single cup of coffee with my Keurig. When it was done, my usual mug was less than half full.

I was baffled, but I simply put in another pod, and made a second cup of coffee that I added to cup number one. Even with the second cup added the liquid just barely reached the rim of my red coffee mug. I note that because I like to drink low volume, so I generally choose the small cup setting.

     I do a lot of puttering in the morning on my way to my writing desk, and MANY mornings I have to nuke my coffee again… and again… before I finally finish my first cup. I limit myself to 2 cups coffee per day and if I need more caffeine later in the day, I drink tea.

     So, I was puttering I put a load of clothes into the washer; emptied the top rack of the dishwasher and went through my home gathering up items that were not in their “home.”

     I find that I like very much being able as my mother used to say, being able to “put my hands on something.” By that I mean knowing where something is and being able to locate it right away. Being able to find things right away, THAT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY.

For example, years ago, I  used to see someone lose their keys when they visited my home. This happened very often.

I decided that I would have  designated place for MY keys. When I come in the door, I put my keys, now, in a shallow cut-glass bowl that, in its other life, I think, was an ashtray.

I believe in re-purposing things, using them to do a new job, to contain a novel item that is different than their original or intended purpose. I put my keys in that cut-glass ashtray/ key holder; and I do it ALL THE TIME, EVERY TIME.

I have not lost my keys in DECADES. That makes my life work: that eliminates the frustration of lost keys from my life.

Back to the coffee:

As I returned things to the kitchen that “live” there, I took a sideways glance at the coffeemaker as I put something on the counter. I did a double take.

There, in the water reservoir of the Keurig, was a grey cloudy substance floating in the water! I picked up the reservoir and examined it with better light: MOLD!

There was mold floating on the water in the reservoir of my Keurig… the one I had just drunk TWO cups of coffee from!

I did not panic. I took the reservoir, moldy water still in it, and I squirted four squirts of foamy germ-killing Dawn liquid soap into the container. 

I filled it to the brim with water. I left it to sit, while the Dawn killed and destroyed the mold.

The thing is, while it was yucky to realize I had drunk water drawn from mold, that was actually not the nastiest water I have drunk before. Understand now, I do NOT make a habit of drinking NASTY WATER.

I know you are saying, “Well , I would never do that.” I understand;  but, read on.

I was stranded on a small desert island, offshore from a larger, but still small, desert island. Islands, as you know, are surrounded by water. This water was exquisitely beautiful: the Caribbean Sea. Turquoise crystal-clear water.

When you stand in it, the white sand contrasts to the clear water , so clean, so clear you can see  your toenail polish color; or, if you are a  guy, you can count your toes.  BUT…it is salt water. So, while it is lovely to look at and swim or splash or play or float in, you cannot drink it.

You have heard the saying somewhere,

“Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink”? Well, that was my situation.

We had been hiking on this desert island. I was completely unfamiliar with islands in general and desert islands in particular.  So, unlike my usual tendency, on this occasion I was so excited to be on this adventure that I left any thought of preparations for the journey to my companions.

We walked and explored, and I might as well have been on the moon! I was in awe of everything I saw.  There were herds of goats running wild; and squat, fat cacti with what looked like red hats on their round heads.

 They are called “pope’s head” cacti, as the red had looks like the head gear of a bishop.  Do not ask me why they are not called “bishop’s head cacti”: I did not name them, and I do not know.

There was a bay, with turquoise water, shallow inside the reef, excellent for swimming or sunning.  There  were no trees, except a rare, occasional grape tree. Grape trees are squat, and largely round but not tall.  You cannot get under them. They provide no shade.  There were low shrubs, scruffy and grey brown. I do not remember any coconut trees on the small island.

It was August. It was sunny and hot.

After some time, hiking, I became aware of becoming quite thirsty. Only then did I realize, I had nothing with me to drink.  I was not worried, though. Even though this was my first trip of this kind, my companions had made this trek many times over decades .

I turned to them and said, not as eloquently as our Savior did, but I said, “ I’m thirsty.”  When is the last time you have said that? Think. Ever?

         They said to me, “Oh.”

I asked, “What do you mean? I want some water to drink.”

Answer: “Er, well, we don’t have any.”

This came as a shock to me. Here we were, on an uninhabited desert island with only wild goats and sea gulls and an occasional lizard on the land, and, while there were literally plenty of fish in the sea, I was not hungry.   

I WAS THIRSTY. And, there was no water!  The hike went on. 

I tried to ignore my thirst as it would be some time before the boat returned for us.  

The heat and the brilliant sunshine, beating down on my head, with no shade anywhere, began to take their toll. We had been walking and walking, for at least , perhaps, two or more hours.

Now, the scenery was not so attractive. Now, I saw dry grass and scruffy cacti and goat droppings.

It was no longer exotic and fascinating. I was on a DESERT ISLAND with no water! This was no longer fun.

When I could stand it no longer, I complained to the leader of the expedition.  “I have GOT TO have some water. I am really THIRSTY,” I said.

“Well, honey,” he said, “There IS NO WATER here.” 

I began to do a slow burn, and not because of the sun.  I do not do well with frustration.

 I will admit that up front. I like control .

That is why I designate a place for my keys. I pack my purse and my car, like a girl scout, with everything I think I MIGHT need.

But, in this instance, I had abdicated all responsibility for my personal needs. I did  have even a drop of any liquid to drink.

By the way this happened in 1983 : water in plastic bottles? Not a thing then.

We walked on further. I began to feel faint.

I was lightheaded and the sun was unrelenting in beating down on my uncovered head. I vaguely became aware that my skin was tingling.

Sunburn was happening; but I could think of nothing-- except my parched throat and dry tongue. I did not even have spit.

When would that boat get back to get us? No, there was not a cell phone to call the boat. It was 1983, remember?

I sat down on something, a rock, I think, and I said, “I cannot walk anymore. I have got to have something to drink.”

“Well, … there is SOME water, a little way up the path… but, you won’t like it.”

“Where?”

“See that rock wall in the distance?”

“THAT far?”  Still, if there was water there…

 “Let’s go.”

With the little energy I had left, but with the desperation to quench my thirst, I reinvigorated myself. I got up and followed.

Finally, we reached the wall. On the other side was indeed water!

I was saved! Or was I? The water was a watering hole… for the goats!  

You have never been in my position: I know you have not. Maybe, if you’re a vet, who in war time was on a mission in a desert location… or, if you were a hiker who got lost and had drunk all your water… but most of you, for sure, have never been where I was. 

I could not see or think, I was so  thirsty. Every cell in my dry mouth was screaming-- for water!

I am fastidious. “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” I grew up with that. I wash my hands all the time. I inspect everything before I eat or drink it.

BUT… this was the only water around.   I looked at the goat watering -hole water closely.

The water itself was clear. But, the ground, and the rocks around the pool, were decorated with…goat droppings! 

Oh, you do not know what it took for me, using my hands, to scoop up water from that pool to drink. But… I did it.

That was the best water I had ever drunk in my life!  I do not know if it had a taste.  I know—surprisingly-- it did not have a smell. THAT would have been a deal breaker-- even in the desert!

My companions drank as if this were the most natural thing in the world, to drink water from a goat pond. I was too thirsty to be judgmental. I was parched and I did not care about anything but satisfying my thirst.

Eventually, the boat returned, and we went back to the larger desert island, where people lived and where there was CLEAN COLD FRESH water to drink. Ahhh!

Do I need to say that was the first and last hike that I took without bringing my own supply of something to drink? Soda in cans, beer, SOMETHING liquid.

And, because I like drinks COLD , when I could, I brought ice. This was, as I said, the desert.

Folks there did not generally drink things cold. They did not have ice, for example, in the small freezer inside the fridge.

No, Virginia, there were no ice-makers there. There were, however, ice companies where you could buy bags of ice. When I discovered them, I bought bags of ice.

I was looked at as  a crazy American. I heard them muttering, “She is spending MONEY on ICE!”

I did not care. Cold lemonade, cold iced tea--COLD anything liquid-- was refreshing and essential to me. I bought bags of  ice -- over and over.

There were very few insulated coolers of any type available.  So, in the desert heat, what do you expect?  You had to get the ice to a refrigerator quickly and you could not generally transport it without having some percentage of it to melt.

“More wasting of money,” my associates muttered under their breath. But--so be it.

Now then, my coffee this morning? Yes, there was mold in the water.

No, I did not see it till I had drunk the coffee. I am fine.  I do not expect any ill effects. Indeed, I feel fine.

Now that I have shared this adventure with you, I will return to my coffee maker, scrub the now disinfected water reservoir, and make a CLEAN cup of coffee.

And, I will be even more grateful: for CLEAN water, for ice, for bottled water, if need be; for insulated mugs and insulated boxes to carry bottles and bottles of : water, soda, mocha, beer, wine, and yes, water, water,  water --everywhere I go.

BLOG POST WALKERS SHOULD BE LICENSED

BLOG POST      WALKERS SHOULD BE LICENSED  

                          SHARE THE ROAD? SHARE THE SIDEWALK!

Now that I am a tricycle, er, an ECV, aka, a scooter, rider, I am keenly aware of the stopping habits of walkers. Driving a scooter among when there is a crowd of pedestrians all around you, is very much like walking among the mass of  walkers in a New York City subway station.

In fact, walking in the subway terminal is excellent training for driving my scooter among a crowd of walkers. You just choose a lane and proceed deliberately --not fast --but at a clip where walkers are less likely to cut in front of you. Of course,  I said less likely.

There are those who cut in front of you saying, ”Excuse me” even as they are infringing upon your space. Or,  like the man at LaGuardia  airport,  who looked down on me seated in a wheelchair and said, “ I’m just going to get ahead of you here, because they are going to put you on the plane first anyway.”

He then proceeded to move himself and his carry- on luggage  in front of me, standing between me and the gate agents, blocking my line of sight. After he took the first step,  the rest of the plane’s passenger list surrounded me.

Suddenly, I felt hot. I could not breathe. I could not see the windows. I could not see the gate agent.

I could only see butts all around me. People were encircling me, standing, : I was literally surrounded...  seated in a wheelchair surrounded by standers.

Eventually there were a break in the blockade where I could make eye contact with a Delta employee who was waiting, I believe,  to board the flight as a passenger, not working the flight herself. She avoided my eyes as long as she could stand it, but I kept my eyes fixed on her, and I raised my hand like a third grader. I kept my hand aloft. Interestingly, none of the passengers appeared to notice my physical S.O.S.

Eventually, with her head down and her eyes averted,  she said something to the gate agent. The gate agent then waded through the throng to rescue me. He asked if I needed anything.

“Yes, I need to get some air. I  need to get out of here. I am hot here. I can’t breathe with all these people surrounding me.”

He apologized. “They should never have parked you there. I am sorry. Do you need anything? Some water?”

“Yes, water would be good. Thank you.”

He moved me next to the scanner where they check your ID just before they admit you to the  gangway and he got me a bottle of water. Crisis relieved.

Walkers do not just cut in front of scooters, though: they also STOP and stand. They could be consulting the park map. They could be scanning their phones. But they are stopped dead still in my path. Okay, so I maneuver around them.

I have come to believe that walkers should be licensed. And, to get their license, they need to have training.

This training used to be what was called “home training.” You were taught to allow others to pass. You were taught to stop if you were about to collide with someone.

 “After you.”  “No, after you.”

You were taught the rules of polite behavior, i.e., considering that others might have needs, rights, and yielding was taught. Yielding was taught as polite, courteous behavior.

And we all knew that. Walk on the right. A rule we have had in polite society, so each person has their own lane.

I rolled into Casey’s on the Corner, a baseball-themed eatery. There were people everywhere.

A petite Filipino lady came to me and said, “They are all going in front of  you. They are getting in front of you--everybody.” 

She had a look of exasperation and distress. She motioned for me to follow her. I did.

All the way to the left, against the wall, was a line to the cash register marked with the sign for wheelchairs.

There was a designated line for riders! I got service right away.

I remained angled in front of the register. The condiments were on a table along the wall;  but, to reach them would require me to drive into a recess.

 That would then mean, backing out. I was not going to do that.

Allison and her friend offered to get condiments for me, and, to carry the tray for me. They followed my scooter outside. We found a table where a family of three were just leaving.

I thanked Allison for her help. She asked if I needed anything else. I said, “I don’t think so.”

She left. Then, very shortly, she returned-- with napkins and utensils. I thanked her again.

It was so kind of her. And, I appreciated her help very much.

Politeness demands that we apply the Golden Rule. I was taught about that, all the time, especially, by my grandmother.

“Treat others the way you want to be treated.” It is really just that simple. That Rule covers virtually every situation likely to arise.

If you are riding a scooter, do you want someone to STOP --and STAND-- in front of you?

Do you want someone to say, “Excuse me,” as they cut in front of you? Do you want someone to push their luggage and themselves in front of you, butt to your face?

Do you want someone to offer to get condiments, carry your tray, help you find a table? Do you want someone to return --with napkins and utensils?

BLOG POST THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

BLOG POST      THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

Having always been independent self-reliant the help giver, it is quite a turnabout to be on the receiving end. Yesterday, I stood on the sidewalk outside a building that has two tall steps to reach the entry way, and another six steps to reach the first floor. There was a heavy door between the outside and the mezzanine level. Another set of heavy doors between the mezzanine level and the first floor.

I was traveling with a walker and a large and heavy bag. I also had a coat which I had taken off as the weather had warmed. I stood there contemplating how to proceed.

Three people showed up who helped me. One gentleman held the inner door open while a lady carried my walker and my bag from the outside, to the first floor, through the door the gentleman held open for what seemed, to me, to be a long time.

He was patient as we got my walker, my bag, my coat, and myself up the steps, through the two doors, and into the first-floor lobby.

While I was making my way up those steps, the gentlemen holding the door open said, “Take your time.”  I thanked them perhaps profusely.

Those are my new favorite words: “Take your time.” There is so much compassion and patience conveyed in those words.

“Take your time.” The words convey, “I have time. I will wait. You are worth it.” How could one meet those words with anything other than profound gratitude?

Until recently I never gave much thought --except perhaps occasionally -- as to how heavy entry doors can be. I never noticed-- much less counted – the number of steps from one level to the next,  unless the number seemed excessive.

I am looking with a new perspective now. How heavy are those doors? How many steps are there to the entrance? How far is it from the blue outlined parking spaces to the entry door?

There is one medical building that I visit. While they have blue outlined parking spaces along the side of the building, the entrance to the building is up a steep incline;  around a corner, and up another, somewhat less steep, incline.

Who designed that? I can tell you with absolute certainly there was no one on the committee who has mobility issues involved in that plan.

Until one has a mobility issue these things fly completely below one’s radar. I, too, was oblivious.

I have a placard that allows me to park in the blue outlined parking spaces. I have deep gratitude for that blue and white card, now laminated.

I use it – a lot. All the time, in fact,  except on  the rare occasions when the blue spaces are either not the closest,  or, as in the last illustration, not conveniently located.

In those instances-- and there are several buildings that I frequent where that is the case-- I have improvised. I parked at the closest spot to the door.

I put my placard on the dash and enter the closest door. So far, I have not been ticketed or reprimanded in any way.

I appreciate that…very much.

BLOG POST    HEARTY HOT BREAKFAST— FAST!

Cook bacon, sausage, eggs boiled or fried, and cheese grits…after dinner. Refrigerate. Hot breakfast in no time. 

I do not use the microwave for the re-heating previously boiled eggs, though. You can warm them in a mug of hot water from the faucet. 

I use the hot water from my Keurig.  I put the boiled eggs in a bowl and without a coffee pod, dispense hot water into the bowl.  Warm for a few minutes. Peel the shells away and discard.

I was skeptical that cheese grits from last night could be good: they can . I use butter when I am cooking them. 

Put them in an airtight container and refrigerate overnight.

Heat in microwave 90 seconds or less.

Fried eggs really surprised me. I had made two  for breakfast one day, and I did not want the second one. So,  I put it in the refrigerator in a sandwich bag to keep most of the air out.

I nuked the fried egg in the microwave for maybe 20 seconds.  Then, I enjoyed my super delicious hot breakfast  cooked FAST!     Yum!

When cooking bacon, cook the whole package. Drain on paper towels.  Put dry paper towels between layers of bacon and store in a large Ziplock in the fridge.

When cooking pan sausage, cook the whole package.

Use same directions above for bacon  for refrigeration of sausage overnight.

Buying pre-cooked sausage is also an option. Johnsonville is one brand that tastes good to me.

  

Cooking smoked sausage      FAST:

Either, slice diagonally to produce diamond shaped slices. Thinner slices cook faster.

Or, use a knife to cut  diagonal slits in the top of the smoked sausage,  as you would slice the top of an Italian loaf of bread to make garlic bread. 

Cover the bottom of a skillet with water.  Add sausage. 

Cover the skillet with a lid. Cook on the stove top.

Steam first. Then, spray non-aerosol cooking spray or pour one or two tablespoons of  olive oil into the pan.

You can also apply the olive oil spray/avocado oil spray/coconut oil spray  to both the pan and to the sausage. Cook till brown. 

Drain on paper towels. Enjoy!

BLOG POST INGEST CLOROX? NOT!

BLOG POST    INGEST CLOROX?         NOT!

A young man in his twenties was deeply depressed. When he came into hospital,  I encountered him on my general surgery  rotation.

He had undergone a surgical procedure to drain his saliva externally. He was being fed via TPN-- Total Parenteral Nutrition--via an IV.

He needed to heal; but, he was unable to get any nutrition via his GI tract. He had to receive the protein, minerals, and vitamins required to accomplish the healing of his wounds through an IV.

Eventually, he would undergo additional surgery—once he healed sufficiently – to make a connection from his upper esophagus to his colon.

His esophagus, stomach and part of his small intestine had been eroded—destroyed – by his ingestion of Clorox and Drano.

He had tried to commit suicide. Instead, he destroyed much of his GI tract and subjected himself to numerous surgeries to endeavor to correct damage he had inflicted…. upon himself.

Yesterday, President of the United States suggested the  INGESTION OF CLOROX BY MOUTH  as a preventative or a treatment to ward off infection with the Covid 19. It is not true.

IT IS NOT TRUE. You cannot prevent or treat a viral infection by ingesting Clorox.

DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT DOING THAT!

MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!

 You are the Captain of an aircraft carrier. You have 4800 sailors who are your crew, your men, your charges, for whose lives YOU are responsible.

Your ship  is taking on water. You are sinking.

 You send up a signal flare asking any vessels nearby to come to rescue your men. All the vessels are WAY TOO FAR away, and no one can reach your carrier in time. What do you do?

 WHAT DO YOU DO?  Do you wait for those too-far-away rescue boats ?

OR,  

do you take any necessary action in order to save those sailors’ lives?

Coronavirus is very much like any other lethal thing that would creep onto the carrier; seep into every crevice and KILL EVERYONE ON BOARD. Tell me, is there ANY action that is improper if taken in order to save the lives of 4800 American fathers, sons and husbands who have put their lives on the line every day to serve their country, their fellow citizens, you --and your family?

As a family member of those sailors, would you want the captain to hesitate? Would you want him to wait while his letters and mayday calls to the Navy Secretary make their way up the chain of command?

There are times to wait,  and times to act. When even one sailor’s life in in danger—and that life can be saved by your action or lost by your hesitation—a moral person, a responsible person, a compassionate brave leader will ACT.

There are times when you cannot wait.  When lives are at stake, you cannot wait!

Captain Brett Crozier wrote an impassioned plea to leadership to get his men off that ship! One hundred sailors were infected. The other 4,700  would surely have become infected; and, the longer it took to get them off the ship, the more lives would be lost. That  is not a theoretical: that is a medical scientific FACT.

Think of it as a fire. Or carbon monoxide. A lethal thing that will spread, like a fire ,and KILL.

Would you really wait longer than necessary? When you ask for help for your crew and it when it doesn’t come IMMEDIATELY, what would you do?

When my daughter was two years old, she began to choke on a prune. Would you call 911 and wait for them to come? Or would you do as I did : snatch her up immediately and do the Heimlich maneuver?

When my other daughter became limp and her eyes slowly closed as dehydration strained her body, would you call 911 and wait for them to arrive—or would you do as I did—stimulate her briskly prepared to do CPR and then when she revived call for medical help, take her to the ER, to her doctor for further treatment?

Don’t misunderstand me: calling 911 is an important thing to do. But if you called 911 and they put you on hold, would you just STAY on hold? Or would you take whatever action you believed would save a life?

Captain Crozier dialed 911, so to speak. The Navy Secretary put him on hold while the Secretary tried to figure out what to do.

Can you think how Captain Crozier would have been treated if he had waited on hold and allowed 4,800 young men to die?  How was he treated, by the way? He was fired and relieved of his command.

The sailors on the aircraft carrier know their captain acted to save their lives.  How do they feel?

Watch the video of Captain Crozier marching off his ship after he had been fired. They cheered!

They clapped. They chanted his name. They were showing their thanks. Those sailors’ families thank Captain Crozier as well.

Saving a single life is heroic. Saving 4,800 lives? Isn’t that even more heroic?

I have no doubt that under a future presidential administration Captain Crozier will be awarded the medal he justly deserves for having saved nearly 5000 American sailors’ lives.  As they ask on the TV show of the same name, what would you do?

RETRIBUTION

BLOG POST         RETRIBUTION

When the Secretary of the Navy starts out by saying “ This is not about retribution,” you can be SURE that is EXACTLY what it is about : retribution.

The captain has the responsibility to lead the sailors under his command; but he is also responsible for each man’s life and for making the choices that protect his sailors’ lives. That is a grave and serious responsibility.

When the ACTING Secretary of the Navy FAILED to respond to the immediate and deadly threat of coronavirus ravaging the sailors on his ship, the captain HAD TO ACT. If your chain of command does not respond, you have to become a whistleblower.

And, you see, what he revealed to the press got action: those sailors are now being taken off the ship. Their  captain saved their LIVES.

He may have saved the entire crew. When you have a “break the glass moment”, you must exercise courage-- and BREAK THE DAMN GLASS!

I had a situation like this when I was a third-year medical student working in the ER.  I encountered a patient, an elderly African American man, who was complaining of the worst abdominal pain of his life. He was sweating,  and short of breath. He was obviously in distress and he was frightened.

I cut to the chase . I quickly did an essential examination of him while I was taking his history, listening to his story. On physical examination, I found a huge, tense, pulsating mass in his belly.

Initially he had palpable pulses in his feet; but within a few minutes  on checking again, those pulses had disappeared. The diagnosis? Dissecting Aortic Aneurysm.

This was an extreme emergency. Without immediate lifesaving surgery, he would die within minutes. Period.

Like the captain of that ship, I had choices. The usual procedure for a third-year student on a medical service who encountered a patient with a surgical problem would be to do the following:

Medical student on a medicine service consult your counterpart, the medical student on the surgery service. After that student had responded to your call, arrived at the ER,  examined the patient himself/herself, hopefully agreed with your diagnosis, he or she would then consult the intern.

The intern would arrive, listen to the presentation , do his own exam, and then he would consult the resident. The resident would do the same. 

Then he would call the  who would call the chief resident.  You see what kind of time would have been involved in following the usual protocol of consultation for surgery.

The other choice --the one that I took --was to cut to the chase, cut out all the middlemen. I called the chief resident of surgery, Robert Sally M.D.—an unheard-of thing for a third-year student to do.

 I told him I had a patient with a dissecting aneurysm who was rapidly decompensating—getting worse as the dissection, which was happening in real time, continued to progress.

He came at once, but with the idea that he was going to tear me a new one for daring to violate chain of command , or rules of consultation. But instead, he found exactly what I told him was the case. He agreed with my diagnosis.

Bob Sally, Chief Resident himself raced my patient on a stretcher to the OR, where he would begin the live-saving emergency operation, with everything happening at once.  The nurse anesthetist would proceed with intubation and induction of anesthesia, while the scrub nurse prepped the patient’s chest and belly  with betadine.

The circulating nurse would be opening and setting out the surgical instruments. Another nurse would be starting an IV, while drawing blood for type and cross match, while someone else ran to the Blood Bank for O negative blood for initial transfusion.  There is more that would be taking place SIMULTANEOUSLY,  but you get the idea.

My decision to call the Chief Resident directly and immediately saved my patient’s life.   

My judgement that the life of the man was vastly more important that the chewing out  and reprimand I was risking for violating procedure and protocol. I did not hesitate.

The Captain of the ship did exactly the same thing. He took immediate action to save the lives of his crew. 

He reached out to the ACTING Secretary of the Navy who hesitated. There is not time to hesitate when there is a gun pointed at your head. You have to ACT.

Covid 19 is highly contagious. It is transmissible for perhaps two weeks when carriers are asymptomatic.

It spreads in close quarters. You don’t get any closer quarters than on an aircraft carrier, three men to a bunk wall,  inches apart, using all the same facilities, breathing the same air, coughing, sneezing, wiping  their hands; touching their eyes and faces…there could not be a more hospitable environment for the virus.

 There could not be a more dangerous environment for our  courageous young sailors who took oaths to defend this nation with their lives. If combat were threatening their lives, that would be one thing.

But as the captain said, to leave them on the battlefield completely defenseless against an unseen enemy even more deadly that bullets? That would be unconscionable.

To leave them on that ship, while Command took their own sweet time to try to figure out what to do, that would be comparable to the Captain taking a gun and shooting each sailor in the head.  The captain did the right thing. 

He did the only thing left to him to do, when following protocol got no response.  He acted to save the lives of his sailors. I am sure he would do it again.

The fact that he has been relieved of his command for saving his sailors’ lives and saving his ship is despicable-- and,  yes, it is definitely retribution.