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We were dismayed to find variations of the word “accident” printed 22 times in the article “Risks linked to accidental inoculation of humans with veterinary vaccines: a 7-year prospective study.” Meyer et al. report 266 cases of “accidental inoculations of humans with veterinary vaccines” in an 8-year period at their poison control center. We believe the actual number of accidental inoculations was zero. Rather, it seems that there were 266 unintentional and preventable inoculations.
A tenet of toxicological surveillance is to identify public health trends and respond to them proactively, rather than react to exposures as if such occurrences are a fact of life. We assert that occupational exposures to veterinary vaccines, which can pose risk to human workers, should not be viewed as accidents but rather as failures of workplace safety mechanisms.
Lacking from Meyer et al.’s discussion is comment on alternative practices that reduce the threat of unintentional inoculation. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (author’s emphasis) endorses a veterinary standard through the National Institute of Occupational Safety and Health that reads “proper handling and restraint of animals decrease the possibility of staff receiving bites, scratches, needlesticks, and other animal-related injuries” and goes on to encourage training and processes that mitigate the risk of exposure. The Occupational Safety and Health Administration of the United States Department of Labor publishes additional standards to promote safety while using hazardous drugs and pneumatic injectors.
Curiously, Meyer et al. note the high speed of poultry vaccination makes it a highly prone to “accidents.” Yet other high-paced, high-volume tasks are done with a near-zero incident rate of unintentional harm, largely through the development of standards and regulations. Given current knowledge of root cause analysis, ergonomics, automation, and design thinking, the word “accident” is an inappropriate choice that distracts from the responsibility of toxicologists to seek solutions to reduce unintentional exposures to harmful substances through advocating for policy and legislation that promotes worker safety.
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the authors.
If you’re straight, this may come as a surprise to you: Ontario isn’t a safe place for LGBT people. If Doug Ford is elected Premier of Ontario this week, it’s going to get a whole lot worse.
Ontarians risk a retreat of 20 years of progress for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people if the PC party takes power. While we have made great strides in equality, our society still has inherent biases against LGBT people.
The PC platform mentions LGBT people zero times. Zero.
That’s why all Ontarians, not just those who identify as LGBT, should draw a line in the sand when deciding for whom they will cast their vote. A search of official party platforms presents a litmus test, and the Conservatives fail. The Liberal platform mentions spending for LGBT mental health; that’s desperately needed. The NDP dedicate an entire page to LGBT health, committing to funding lifesaving transition medicine for transgendered individuals and pre-exposure prophylaxis HIV medicines, in line with recommendations of the World Health Organization – a move that will save lives. The PC platform mentions LGBT people zero times. Zero.
That’s not an error of omission. PC Leader Doug Ford is proudly anti-pride. He doesn’t hide it.
Ford won his party leadership with the support of anti-gay champion Tanya Granic Allen, who he eventually fired after a trail of homophobic comments surfaced. Ford’s hand-picked candidate in London, Andrew Lawton, is facing heat for homophobic remarks on social media but has managed to keep his job. Lawton apologized last month but hasn’t lost his job.
Ford has pledged to repeal Ontario’s new sex-ed curriculum, opponents of which rail against its mention of same-sex couples and anal sex. That’s not a small detail. You can’t teach youth about safe penile-vaginal sex and not safe anal sex without being exclusionary and you can’t talk about consent between a man and a woman without being exclusionary.
It should be used only after consulting a doctor can help man to viagra uk Dosage and Prices overcome impotence and have an amazing sexual life. It will help in treating premature hair graying and sexual health is not an area it shies from. cialis tablets 20mg Thus, the mother can still use the baby’s sleep time to attend to other http://deeprootsmag.org/category/gospelset/ levitra without prescription important matters, such as the mother’s own sleep time. In reality, men more than 65 cost of cialis years of age can also be the reason for impotence. As defender-in-chief for his brother, Rob Ford, Doug supported his brother’s refusal to attend Toronto’s Pride parade and evaded answering whether he would march as Premier. The late Ford, who called Justin Trudeau a “fag”, was the only counselor to vote against an effort to help homeless LBGT youth. He was the only counselor to vote against funding HIV care. (A 2011 “no” vote tried to refuse provincial money – not city money – for public health initiatives aimed at gay men.) And when the council chamber rose to applaud the City’s performance hosting World Pride in 2014, he stayed seated.
Doug Ford denounced the Pride parade as “middle aged men with pot bellies running down the street butt-naked” – showing great ignorance to the historical origins of the parade. In 1981, Toronto police raided four bathhouses and arrested over 300 men, forcing some to march through the streets naked – a dark history not forgotten today.
Most alarmingly, Ford seems to subscribe to the same vague hate-mongering methods of Donald Trump.
Most alarmingly, Ford seems to subscribe to the same vague hate-mongering methods of Donald Trump. In 2014, after gay rights activists clashed with Ford supporters at a summer barbecue in Thompson Park, Ford said “I don’t agree with (what happened) but something’s going to happen” – a comment eerily similar to Trump’s campaign rhetoric that many considered calls for violence.
When far-right conservative values masquerading as “populist rhetoric” successfully elected Trump, LGBT rights were bulldozed and hate crimes – including murder – towards LGBT people climbed. Trump’s government has argued that discrimination based on sexual orientation is not banned under Title VII and he has moved to ban transgendered people from the military. His Supreme Court nominee, Neil Gorsuch, has argued against gay marriage and ruled against gay parents being listed on their children’s birth certificates. He installed on-the-record homophobe Jeff Sessions as Attorney General, who subsequently scaled back federal enforcement of protections for gay couples, gay parents and gay workers.
Make no mistake: a vote for the progressive conservatives is a vote against progress and a vote for divisiveness.
But we don’t need to use Trump as a proxy for Ford – Ford’s record speaks for itself. Make no mistake: a vote for the progressive conservatives is a vote against progress and a vote for divisiveness.
I’m angry at the Liberals and I’m wary of the New Democrats, but I cannot vote for Doug Ford’s Progressive Conservatives. And if you value a respectful, equal and safe Ontario, neither can you.
The morning did not go as planned. Neither did the evening. And the afternoon? Well, it was better than any other time today, but frustrating none-the-less. So you can imagine that when my friend texted me asking “how’s things?” two hours in to my flight delay, stuck in the Montreal airport lounge, I needed to pause before reacting with a “1/10”.
It’s 23h17. All I want is to go to bed. And the only thing between me and that bed is a 19 minute flight on a plane that makes a New York subway feel Art Deco.
I had a less-than-productive weekend, missing a major deadline and underforming in multiple life domains. I have an 8am shift working with sick infants and children, who might as well be cats and dogs – their diseases are so different from the heart attacks and stabbings I deal with in the adult world, and as bad as this may sound, you get in more trouble if a kid bounces back than you do if you innapropriately discharge and adult.
The stakes are higher and my competence lower. The stress is real.
Not to mention the need to wrap up a project that is far beyond its initial scope, so complex I can barely wrap my head around it, and which will likely reflect heavily on me – one way or another.
So, suffice to say, I’m feeling rather unlike myself. And I really want to go to bed.
The lounge agent walks up to me. There’s only 3 of us left and she remembers my name. “Your flight will be delayed a bit longer” she says apologetically.
“That’s ok” I say Canadianly.
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She smiles at me, and I smile at her, and I thank her for telling me her airline sucks and wish her a good evening. She cocks her head. She seems stunned. I wonder for a moment if I spoke in a sarcastic tone and offended her.
She thanks me for wishing her a good night, like I had discovered the Rabies vaccine and her child was bitten by a stray dog. I actually thought she might shed a tear.
Later, I walk past her to get to my gate. “Check in at the desk – they have a new boarding card for you” she says with a wink.
1F. Business class. On a 19 minute flight aboard a CRJ705. Its not much. It really isn’t.
But in a day that makes you feel like a decrepit lemon under a junkyard wrecking press, it’s a much-welcome gift – a reminder that kindness can change your world, and maybe someone else’s, if only for 19 minutes.
I’ll be sure to pass it on – maybe at work, with the scary children, which I have to attend to in a little less than 7 hours.
“Madames et monsiours, votre commandant ici, bienvinue à d’Ottawa.”
“You take the train!” mused the Flemish conductor when I asked how to get there, his square rouge hat in stark contrast to his pale, round face. Had I not been quenched for thirst after running (again) through the streets of Antwerp, I might have noticed the teasing nature of his beaming, blue eyes. “Platform one, and change in Ghent to platform 12” he said, revealing his muse and, indeed, my gullibility.
Spoiler alert: I eventually make it to Platform 12.
I thanked him superficially, I regret to say in hindsight – then ran down the terminal. I had accidentally retraced my steps to Antwerpen Centraal, and, while beautifully constructed and mercifully untouched by two World Wars, I was not at Zuid (South) Terminus where the outbound train I had intended to leave on had already left.
I should have caught this misstep: while on Tram #4, I had asked an elderly woman in a warm orange coat if I was heading to Centraal, and she screamed something in Dutch, or German, or French, or a combination of the three, that gave me pause, but before I could compute the language(s) she had shouted, she was pushing me out the tram doors. I ran in the direction of Centraal, it’s ornate clock towering over the city and lit by the setting sun, oblivious to the existence of Zuid station.
I was now racing to replan a train route through the Belgian countryside to the town of Bruges on one of the busiest travel evenings of the year. I huffed and puffed past Waffle stands and Chocolatiers and three or four McDonalds (not really) before arriving at Platform 1. The next train wasn’t for 7 minutes, so I grabbed a macchiato and recovered my breath.
Leary of missing yet another train (I had been stranded in Rotterdam the night before, an unexpected detour that left me wandering the misty night past architectural masterpieces and you-must-have-been-high-when-you-came-up-with-this buildings that, I know now, give Rotterdam claim to being the most architecturally brilliant city in Europe), I boarded early, perching myself in a window seat where I pulled out my laptop and took a sip of my java.
Rotterdam houses. A novelty for, like, 10 seconds. Then regret.
It began a few days ago. I dashed out of the emergency department and grabbed a taxi to the bus station, after the Uber app gave me a hard time about not one, but two credit card numbers. I climbed aboard the GO bus just seconds before it rolled onto the 403 towards Toronto’s Union Station. Which, as an aside, is a rather boring train station by European standards.
A quick shuttle delivered me to the airport (YTZ), and I was pleased to be 45 minutes early for my flight – anyone who knows me knows that I tend to run from curb to gate and am often the last one to board. My cushion would soon add time to an unexpected, and potentially disastrous, development.
Newark Airport (EWR) instituted a ground hold – where they don’t allow incoming planes to take off – pushing my flight back an hour. That ate up 60 or the 70 minutes I had in EWR to clear immigration, change terminals and pass through security. Even if they kept the gate open a few extra minutes, my chances were slim to none. My fate was sealed once I boarded the Q400 turboprop; my seat was at the very back of the plane.
Missing New Years Eve in Amsterdam was an untenable thought. I turned on the charm, and soon the flight attendants had convinced a young man with ridiculously huge headphones to move from 2C to 21A. When we landed, I was first off the plane running break-neck speed to the Nexus terminal where the US Government was kind enough to permit me entry based on nothing more than my fingerprints.
A young, portly black woman in a red blazer that didn’t fit her – I can’t quite recall if it was too large or too small – was my next source for seconds-saving information as I waited for the train to Terminal C. “Go down, across, then up – to 3 – and then across again. It won’t make sense but that’s your only chance!” she opined after hearing my timeline.
At 19:31, one minute after the gate was to close, I arrived at the TSA Pre Check area. It was a ghost town. The only time in my life I have waited not a second to clear security. As I huffed and puffed, a guard tilted his head and squawked in a Jersey accent “everything ok?”
“I don’t know yet” I said, as I grabbed my knapsack and continued the race against time.
My attempt to document my race through EWR.
C102: the second-closest gate to security in one of the largest air terminals in America. Sheer luck. Running down the hall, I screamed “Frankfurt” (FRA) and saw a United agent at a computer pop up her head. “Mr Bigham?” she hollered, and all I could do was nod. Completely out of breath, she ran to the jetway door, punched in a code, and bellowed down the long corridor. “He made it!”
She scanned my boarding card, ignored my passport, and 30 metres later I collapsed in seat 7A. “Can I get you a glass of champagne” said the beautiful flight attendant, and through my dry lips I whispered “water.”
She, of course, brought both.
Fast forward 23 hours (and calculate the time difference – 6 hours ahead) and you’ll find me in a central Amsterdam apartment with funky, oversized light fixtures and strange art on the walls. We’re preparing for our night of partying at Elrow, a big electronic music festival at Scheepsbouwlood, a venue best described as an abandoned warehouse near the shipyards.
A comedy of errors follows that can only be documented in the private recesses of my mind, but least to say, it was an awesome night.
Circa midnight.
It’s 8pm local time on New Years Day and it occurs to me I should have turned off the giant lights. I shower and change clothes, curious about the contents now violating my pant cuffs – a variation of “rave gravy” no doubt – and ponder if it will ever wash out.
(The Present) There are two girls next to me on an otherwise empty train to Ghent, where I plan on changing trains to Bruges on Platform 12. I ponder asking them to shut up, but since I don’t speak French, or Dutch, or German, or a combination of the three, I stay quiet and crank up my headphones.
Obnoxious girls on my train.
The running water stirs my friend, who offers to make breakfast while I look for a train to Antwerp. I quickly realize that trains don’t run as late as I think (or perhaps it was simply later than I imagined): I need to catch the next tram. I stuff my backpack and race down the stairs and my friend runs along side to make sure I head in the right direction. A quick goodbye and I board the tram, repeating in my mind the directions to follow once I get to the station.
After 78 countries, you’d think I could handle an automated ticket machine. To save myself the embarrassment, and you the time, I’ll fast forward again.
I exit the train, which is 10 minutes late, at Rotterdam, where I’m to change to the train on Track 7. But I had only 4 minutes to connect, meaning I’m 6 minutes late, and there aren’t any other trains to Antwerp at this hour.
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A special train! Just for me? How thoughtful! I run to the ticket office, where I’m told I’ve missed my train, and the stereotypical government employee behind the plexiglass clearly hasn’t heard of the 22:58 special train to Brussels. I jump the gates to get back into the station, and no one seems to care. I await my special train on Platform 4, after grabbing 2 burgers from a Dutch version of Burger King, which are a thousand times better than burgers from the actual version of Burger King.
A Thalys train, like the one I tried to hitchhike on last night.
The Thalys arrives, a sleek, purplish train, and the doors don’t open despite my pressing the very-not-North-American button beside them. I run down towards the engine of the train, where a casually dressed grey-haired man is sticking his head out the window. “Does this train go to Antwerp?” I ask. “Yes, but no one can get one here” he says matter-of-factly. “Why not?” I ask politely. “No conductor on board – we are just moving an empty train.”
A half-second. Machination. A plan.
“Would you like some company? My dad is a train engineer back in Canada (emphasis on Canada). I really need to get to Antwerp tonight, and I missed my connection.”
A half-second. Consideration. A frown.
“No, I’m sorry, it’s not allowed.”
Tonight would not be the night I hitch hike on a train. Salutations, danke welde, merci, safe journey. I walk down the platform to the stairs, jump the gates, and head out of Rotterdam Centraal into the cold, wet night.
Rotterdam Centraal: an unexpected stop.
Hostels and Hiltons – that’s my style. Meet locals, get rowdy, explore new places with strangers, then seek refuge in my haven, the always-excellent Hilton chain of hotels. Gold gets you suites, breakfast, lounges, and spirits, along with a bed made of not-foam and a shower with water that is not-cold. The usual ratio is 4 nights hostel to one night Hilton, but after a night on a plane and a night of partying (I’m older than I look, but as old as I feel) I decide to crash at the Hilton Rotterdam, just 500m from Centraal. A late-night walk prepares me for sleep, and the next morning I wander around a bit more.
Then it’s back to Centraal for the ride to Antwerp.
(The Present) I’m arriving in Ghent now, and it’s becoming clear that there are at least 3 stations to choose from; I lean towards the girls and their cacaphony, grateful that I didn’t bark at them earlier, and ask in my very best Frenglish which station I should change at. St. Peter’s, they tell me, before returning to their chatter. I’ll close the laptop and continue this series of recollections once I switch trains. Lord knows, such a task requires my full attention.
(En route to Bruges) Antwerp was beautiful. The Christmas markets were still in full swing, and the atmosphere was delightful, but for the more-than-occasional appearance of soldiers armed with automatic rifles. Each was ubiquitously sexy.
Random. Yet wonderful.
In Ghent, I had 16 minutes to switch to Track 12, as directed by the humorous Flemish conductor back in Antwerp. How he knew which track is beyond me, but I know how cisatracurium is metabolized, so maybe he’s just a professional. I pass a team of paramedics treating a woman who fell on an escalator leading to track 8. There are at least 4 of them being assisted by 4 security guards, and I wonder why.
I’m standing on track 12 with 14 minutes to kill, so I decide to see Ghent by night. I wander to the main entrance, past the commotion at track 8, and think it’s a rather unimpressive scene. The ambulance lights obscure my chance to take a photo of the station, and the strange trees in the platz are poorly captured by my iPhone. I’ll be back tomorrow on the way to Brussels; hopefully daylight reveals the beauty of this old town.
It’s now my third time passing the woman – now it seems more like a man, but the bandages around its head make it hard to tell for sure – and I can’t help but sneak a clandestine photo of this obscene accident. In the good old days, partner Patti and I would have walked this patient out to our ambulance and be half way to North York General by now. I chuckle a little, knowing the Belgium guidelines for head injuries were derived in Ottawa by a guy I used to work with.
My clandestine photography skills are sadly behind those of Jason Bourne.
Speaking of accidents, this whole trip was such. To get a cheap fare to Chile (SCL) this past October, I had to book a dead-end ticket from New York (EWR) to Amsterdam (AMS). Similar airfare tomfoolery left me with a one way ticket from Paris (CDG) to Toronto (YYZ). Dates were randomly set at Dec 30 and Jan 8, and by sheer miracle (and perhaps some not-to-be-acknowledged favouritism) I wasn’t scheduled in the emergency department or on the helicopter for that period of time.
Of course, that wasn’t confirmed until just a few weeks ago, so I haphazardly devised a trans-Europe itinerary to see old travel buddies Joost and Julie (AMS), Nuno (LIS), Leeanne and Alex (LHR) and Malcolm and Rachel (CDG). Turns out Alex lives in Birmingham now. Another time.
The cheapest way from Amsterdam (AMS) to Lisbon (LIS) at the last minute was through Brussels (BRU), and I’ve wanted to visit Bruges in Belgium since Thomas and I watched “In Bruges” staring Colin Ferrel and Brendan Gleeson a decade or so ago.
So here I am, recounting what I can remember of the last 3 days, as my train progresses towards Bruges, worried now that Thomas might be pissed I will see the famed clocktower without him.
Sorry, Thomas.
Some values have been reinforced on this adventure that I’ll try to morph into new years resolutions, as a means to both give this post some sort of meaning, and to give myself an out so I can go sample Belgium beers.
First, always hustle; you just might catch your plane.
Second, always be kind; karma will reward you.
And third, never get smashed in a warehouse at the Amsterdam shipyards; what a fucking night that was!
Twas the night before Christmas; all through the North Pole Every creature was talking ‘bout Donald’s new role. The President-Elect came out from left field, And in a just a few weeks, great power he’ll wield. The elves were all anxious, awake in their beds; Fears of being deported bounced ‘round in their heads. Jeff Sessions as AG would be a big smack, Foreign elves deemed illegal could all be sent back. And the Arctic toy shop in Canadaland, Might get caught up in a Wilbur Ross plan. With him leading Commerce, NAFTA’s future’s uncertain, This year’s hottest supply of toys could be hurtin’ But a wage freeze provides a small silver lining, Andrew Puzder thinks that those elves should stop whining. Minimum wage will likely stay very low, And Santa’s narrow profit margin is bound to grow. He’ll need every penny, chubby, plump and of age, Health insurance fees will dig into his wage. If Obamacare goes, as Tom Price wants to do, Spending less time with partner: – person who spend less time in making love and more time staring at your deeprootsmag.org cialis prescription online screen. Would it be worthwhile to use the services of viagra soft 50mg one of them? Being a counselor and consultant myself, I would say a definite “yes”, as people who have a chance of “talking off” their problems often feel better and more relieved emotionally and find their depression reduced or gone. There are various concerns those simply say, sitting is not the relevant style of detoxification. viagra 100 mg deeprootsmag.org Lot of the times continue reading for info buy generic cialis erectile dysfunction acts as a precursor to a major cardiovascular event. Self-employed Santa will pay for health too. But Santa’s resilient; he will overcome, The challenges mounting since Mr. Trump won. He’ll load up his sleigh, the presents packed high, And command his reindeer up into the sky. But Rudolph’s red nose might not be so bright, Given the upcoming smog warnings in sight. Scott Pruitt has been tagged new EPA head, Climate science is out; it’s ideology instead. But a greater risk to Santa’s sleigh is of worry; Rex Tillerson’s sympathetic to Russia’s war fury. Putin’s jets might mistake the sleigh full of toys, For a Syria-bound United Nations convoy. Santa sits by his fire, contemplating what’s next, His brow is concerted, his expression seems vexed. He lets out a sigh, his tone not so fun: “Happy Christmas to all, it might be my last one!”
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Paramedics and physicians outraged by CTV’s investigative broadcast W5 episode “911 Roulette” took to social media last night to display their disappointment and shock in what one paramedic called “irresponsible journalism.” The episode, which questioned primary care paramedicine in Ontario, was hosted by experienced journalist Kevin Newman in the second episode of the show’s 51st season. As both a paramedic and a journalist, I offer my analysis of 911 Roulette and attempt to answer the question: How could W5 get it so wrong?
Before we get into the journalism, I’d like to express my condolences to Karen Calberry. In the broadcast, Karen discusses the death of her husband David, a 54 year old firefighter, in the back of an ambulance while being transported to a hospital after suffering a heart attack. Her contributions to the episode offer insight into public perceptions of a technically challenging dilemma facing paramedicine: what is the right level of care?
The Goal of Journalism
I believe that a free press is required for a free society. The goals of journalism are two:
1) to protect democracy by holding those in power accountable
2) to deepen an honest understanding of the world around us
The role of a journalist is to answer questions that achieve one, or both, of those goals using accurate and balanced reporting.
If you were to call me right now and say “Blair, that piece you wrote for VICE.com last week (plug!) was full of shit” I would say to you:
1) Were there factual inaccuracies?
2) Was it balanced?
The goals of journalism essentially involve tension. They involve questions and answers that some people may not like. There will always be criticism, more detail that could have been added, more jargon that could have been said.
And, yes, those goals involve communicating those questions and answers to an audience. It is HERE that paramedics must stop and reflect; journalists and their editors know their audience. We must put ourselves in their shoes: how do we communicate a complex issue to an audience? This was the greatest struggle for me in J-school. “World Peace!” is not a story, and neither is “Dopamine causes more arrhythmia than norepinephrine in the treatment of septic shock.” Too broad. Too specific. Journalism requires laser focus and the ability to communicate complexity to people who don’t possess technical expertise, without being condescending or boring. It’s actually quite hard to do well!
The Question Wasn’t Wrong
Journalists start with a question. At the beginning of the broadcast, Mr. Newman ponders if people are playing “roulette” when they call 911; he observes “in Canada, calling 911 doesn’t always guarantee the paramedic who arrives can do everything in their power to save your life – in fact in most provinces, some of them are prevented from doing that.”
Put more technically, Mr. Newman asks what harms a person might experience if a primary care paramedic – rather than an advanced care paramedic – arrives on scene, noting that it seems to, at least at times, be chance.
This question is not unreasonable. Health human resource questions like this have been prominent in public discourse for decades. As governments fight to contain costs, we have seen RN positions replaced by RPN positions, we have seen physician services transfer to pharmacists and nurse practitioners, and we have seen family doctor home visits replaced by community paramedics. It is not unreasonable to ask “what impact does this have on patients, systems and the economics of health care?”
Let’s Just Admit One Thing…
Allow me a brief anecdote. Many years ago I suffered a kidney stone. When I say suffered, I am of course exercising restraint. It was fucking awful. A paramedic, I called 911, begging for morphine. When two PCPs arrived at my door, my heart sank. Not because I didn’t trust or respect the PCPs – but because, in that moment, I really wanted a narcotic! Years later, when a colleague was involved in a car accident, I was relieved when I heard it was an ACP crew that transported her to a trauma centre. There is little rationale in this comfort, but I nonetheless felt that way. I’m sure many of you can relate. We want the very best caregiver in our personal circumstances – everyone does – evidence and economics be damned.
So, to begin, I say “bravo!” to W5 for asking a reasonable question.
Then, I wonder how the hell a well respected group of journalists could get the answer to that question wrong.
What Makes A Good Story?
Tension – there must be some component of debate. Important or Counterintuitive – the story that makes me say “I want to read that.” Underreported – if I have already heard about it, I’m unlikely to pay any attention. Timely – it must be something that is happening now (or soon). Substance – while cat videos defy this criteria, a good story has meat to it.
Let’s apply these criteria to 911 Roulette
Tension: emergency patients are critically ill, but not all paramedics are equally trained.
Important or counterintuitive: when you call 911, you might not get the help you need.
Underreported: while we all know about level of care intimately, the public, it seems, does not.
Timely: not particularly, but we all might need an ambulance tomorrow.
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So, we have a reasonable question that makes a good story. Sounds like it’s worth answering!
How Do Journalists Answer Questions?
Start by turning a given truth upside down. Some of the best journalism comes by asking questions we thought we actually knew the answers to, but didn’t. Then, use human sources, data, documents and field work to answer the question.
Step 1: Question everything you think you know.
Step 2: Pick up the phone and talk to people. Lots and lots of people. Ask those people questions. Question everything they think they know. “How you know that?” “Who might disagree with you?” “When might that not be the case?”
Step 3: Research the data. Policies. Legislation. Reports. Manuscripts. Graphs. Charts. Look at the data: does it reflect what people are saying?
Step 4: Get the documents. Court files, government registrations, computer records. Find hard evidence of what is happening.
Communicating A Story: it’s ugly, but it works.
Now the tricky part: communicate the answer. This is where you sell a little bit of your soul to communicate your message in a way that someone will hear it. Attention spans are short, and demand for attention high. This makes the art of journalism critical, if not a bit ugly. A radio clip might be limited to 75 seconds; an article to 600 words; a broadcast to 23 minutes. Here, clarity and brevity are required, leading to one cutting, slashing and burning their story from a beautiful thesis to a reported story. In this process, granularity is lost, details are left out, and jargon is replaced with terms my grandmother would understand.
For example, a needle thoracostomy and a tube thoracostomy are two very different things. Colloquially, we might call one a “chest needle” and the other a “chest tube”. But in a brief broadcast, it really doesn’t matter to my grandmother; ACPs can stick a thing in her chest to make her better, and a PCP cannot. If I tried to explain the difference to her (she’s dead, so this is metaphorical) she would roll over in her grave. So, paramedics, get over it: no jargon, no details, just clear facts. (Yes, some of the facts were wrong… keep reading!)
What W5 Got Right
The electronic record of the defibrillator is a document that raises legitimate concerns about delays to defibrillation. Out of context, it is hard to fully interpret… for example, a patient may be in V Tach with a pulse, receive an alarm, but not require a shock. Still, it’s worth reporting. They also gave the context that the paramedics were investigated and received additional training. While they missed that “STEMI – pads on!” is a new standard, they raise a fair point in asking if a different crew might have done something different.
The controversy of making paramedicine self-regulated isn’t new, but it’s worth having in the public eye. W5 correctly raised the issue.
Three Things W5 Got Wrong
I will not list every factual inaccuracy in the piece, aside from noting the following, and cautioning that a simplification is not necessarily an inaccuracy. The Medicine: Nitroglycerine does not save lives. Chest needles do not fix pulmonary arteries. To say that the difference between life and death was an ACP intervention is dubious. The Evidence: there is a large base of scientific evidence to draw from to make decisions about how best to model an emergency medical system. W5 didn’t report any of it. The Balance. There was no interventional cardiologist to explain that STEMI bypass is preferred to closest hospital. There was no base hospital physician or Paramedic chief explaining why different levels of care exist. There was no PCP to offer perspective. The paramedics in question were not featured. The system in Saskatchewan was selectively reported, and the Ontario-Saskatchewan comparison, framed as like-like, is apples-and-oranges. It’s hard, in a 23 minute broadcast, to present all points of views, and first person accounts are important. But in this case, they swayed away from balanced reporting.
My Analysis:
Objectively, the episode in question accomplished the goal of journalism: to deepen an honest understanding of an issue that is relevant to the audience. The issue of “why doesn’t everyone get an advanced care paramedic” is controversial and not settled. It is debated throughout North America.
The idea of self-regulation and the public benefit of such is also hotly debated, and many in Ontario have been advocating for this for years. Further, it is fair to question why certain features of scopes of practice are the way they are: the current model is a bit archaic, and perhaps not fully patient-oriented despite the best intentions of those involved. The model is, in fact, the reason I left paramedicine and went into a self-regulated profession.
Yet, as a paramedic, scientist, physician and journalist (I think I need to stop going to school!) I was saddened by how this story was told. I will focus on the following critiques of the story:
1)Some of the facts were wrong, and that led the story in the wrong direction.
2) The balance was way off. The closing statement of Ms. Calberry in particular required a counterstatement to offer a different point of view; surely it is not smart to drag loved ones into your car and rush them to hospital when they are dying of a heart attack. Emotion should be balanced with reason, and that was missing from the episode. W5 has since responded to this criticism online.
This story hits close to home; not only does it offend me as a paramedic, it challenges me as a journalist. As I strive to achieve the goals of journalism, I must always challenge my own biases, question everything, and seek proof over hyperbole, no matter how sexy the headline may be.
“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Want to read more about my foray into journalism? Click here!
Need some lighter reading? Click here to read how you cram more into a day.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
That’s what I questioned, exasperated and confused, when one of my mentors picked up the phone. Even on the opposite end of the continent, he could tell I was panicked and responded with the slow, confident voice I needed to hear. “Tell me about another time you felt uncertain on day one” he asked wisely. Examples abounded. “Has your gut ever been wrong?” he asked. No, not on matters like this. “Tell me why you signed up for this; why journalism?” I paused.
The industry of medicine is engrained in dogma, fixed in many of its beliefs, and takes a conservative approach to change. For those who work in, and depend on, modern healthcare delivery, challenging perceived truths and brining public light to the untold stories of those with soft voices is daunting if not impossible.
Equipped with training in communications and journalism, I hope to develop a sharp ability to ask important questions, to report on issues that are counterintuitive, and to prompt people to think differently.
Easier said than done. We continued to flush out my discontent, acknowledging that while “Man Bites Dog!” is an interesting story, it doesn’t tell us anything about dog bites. But there are other stories, deeper stories, about problems that affect us all. Or maybe they don’t, but they could. Or maybe they couldn’t, but you really want to know about them. Or maybe you don’t, but I want you to. Maybe that’s enough. To walk away in April knowing how to spot the important stories, how to build an emotional connection with those I report on and express those emotions those I report to, so that what seems important to me seems important to you.
When a man suffers from the problem, he has to go through a sildenafil cipla great level of difficulty keeping or achieving healthy erection for pleasing intimacy. The medication is also not recommended for http://cute-n-tiny.com/tag/jaguar/ viagra on line individuals that suffer from erectile dysfunction and strive to make it swelled. There are several reasons why males over 60 years of cialis generika 5mg cute-n-tiny.com age may be experiencing erectile dysfunction. Enjoy a moderate consumption of chocolates and have an getting prescription for viagra amazing sexual life. “You’re not the guy who stitches up someones head and goes home” said my mentor. “To be a great physician, you need to advocate for a better society. Reporting is one way for you to do that.”
I guess we all have mentors for a reason.
So I now realize why I came home deeply dissatisfied with my day. I was worried about writing about things that were fleeting and inconsequential, like so many of the news articles I read this morning while sipping a tea on the GO train. But there are important stories, stories that matter, happening all around me. Our constant need for order forces us, as individuals, organizations and societies to apply preconceived and convenient truths to aggregate populations. Whole populations fall through the cracks of conventional discussion. By digging deep, voices can rise up, trees lost in the forrest.
Yep. Why not? After my bid in 2008 failed to secure me a job with the Canadian Space Agency, the next recruitment for the Canadian Astronaut Corps closes next week and my application is ready to go. Below is my (draft) cover letter. I’ve decided to crowd-source editors (you!) to help me shine! Have at ‘er in the comment section below 🙂
To The Canadian Space Agency:
The last time I applied to be an astronaut, I did so because I thought space exploration was an exciting and noble avenue. Since then, my commitment to being an astronaut has strengthened and my motivation has matured. As a physician and flight paramedic, I am uniquely suited to provide health care in adverse environments and stay calm and resilient in stressful operational situations. As a scientist, I am intellectually positioned to contribute to our understanding of the physical and biological world we live in, and ethically bound to the highest standards of integrity. As a traveller, public speaker and writer, I am well positioned to communicate the virtues of space exploration to a global audience; and as an accomplished collaborator, I have the temperament and disposition to represent Canada in the global space industry. Most importantly, my motivation and industrious nature, combined with my dogged determination, should assure you that I will succeed as a Canadian astronaut.
Since I was a child, I have been an explorer. I have a fascination with Earth, indeed having tried to visit every corner of the globe, from SCUBA diving the depths of the Pacific to hiking in the heights of the Himalayas. On every trip I take, I can’t help but lay out in the open air in the middle of the night, staring at the sky, noticing which constellations I can spot from different points on the earth. In these star-gazing moments, my mind wanders to what I assume are the borders of the universe, and knocks on what is beyond even my wildest imagination. The moon, particularly, makes me feel united and whole wherever I am on Earth; I reach for it, feeling both small and big all at once. So many worldly problems can be solved if we advance our understanding of the planet we live on. To do that best, we must sometimes leave it.
Allow me to articulate why I am a formidable candidate for the Canadian Astronaut Corps. You will find supporting evidence demonstrating these qualities and abilities in my CV.
Integrity. My mantra has always been “integrity above all else.” Success in both my personal and professional lives has been facilitated by my commitment to honesty, sincerity and effort. I have developed a reputation for being dependable, determined and trustworthy. As a scientist, the validity of my findings are judged first on my personal reputation, and then, on the methods of the research. In medicine, the bonds I have developed with other health care providers determines if my clinical opinion is respected and acted upon. I am invited to collaborate on international, national and local committees based on my past performance and ability to not only build but maintain relationships. This is only achievable when one places their personal integrity above all other considerations.
I might be in over my head…
Judgment. Throughout my career, excellent judgment has lead to excellent results. As a flight paramedic, I was faced with critically ill patients, incomplete information, a small, loud environment where traditional stethoscopes and interviews were useless, and time was of the essence. Here I developed skills to make important clinical and operational decisions based on “best available” information, adapting plans as new information arose or clinical changes dictated an alternate course of action. In this mobile, dangerous and stressful environment, I developed the ability to control my own responses to stimuli, demonstrate resiliency, and maintain situational awareness. As a scientist, there are many “easy ways” forward but few “right ways”. Good judgment is required to ask the right question, develop a rigorous and ethical approach to answering it, and develop the systems and collaborations required to execute a research project. Further judgment is required to navigate the political and technical aspects of academia, grant mechanisms and publishing. As a physician in the emergency department, I have continued to develop outstanding judgment skills. While not as chaotic as the field, I have evolved in my ability to multitask: some days there are over 100 people in the emergency department at any given time. Lastly, my travels have taken me to 76 countries, many of which required cultural, environmental and security considerations. Whether scuba diving, mountain climbing or exploring an urban core, I have a commitment to absorbing all available information, processing it without undue emotional noise, and acting accordingly.
I hope they were looking for my match-up of cranial nerves to the muscles of extraocular movement… “four to the floor, six to the sticks, and 3 for everything else”
Reasoning. I have a demonstrated ability to take large amounts of information and make sense of it. And when I do, I’m trained to check my assumptions against possible biases, challenging my mind and my gut to ensure I am on the right track. I believe in analytic, evidence-based reasoning so long as it passes the “gut check.” I am trained to intuitively and quickly make split second decisions, all while checking my instincts against tried-and-tested tests. Be it in medicine, flight paramedicine, scientific study, or the board room, I bring a questioning mind that formulates accurate answers.
Resourcefulness. Whether treating patients in Ontario’s North or remote Uganda, I am often working in an underresourced setting. Just recently, I was the night physician for a music festival where 50,000 people camped out on a farmer’s field. Providing medicine in austere environments forces one to think outside the box, adapt previous habits, and solve problems with available resources. This includes managing physical as well as human resources to maximize operational effectiveness. I believe a key factor in one’s success in resource-limited settings is to know the resources available; when a preferred medication is not available, another might be appropriate for substitution; when a piece of equipment is broken and can’t be repaired, duct tape, suture string, or laceration glue may be sufficient to return the tool to service temporarily. In Uganda, I remember mixing salt and boiled water to make a sodium chloride infusion; a strong understanding of the solution allowed me to create what was lacking, rather than stare helplessly at the empty stock cupboard. Preparation and knowledge, when combined with experience and creativity, have allowed me to be resourceful in difficult situations. This is something I learned from Perry Belcher. get levitra What can I do to assist me not to get this ailment? No one has lowest viagra price control over sickness but you. Healthy diet must be accompanied by proper counseling so that you wouldn’t cialis 5mg tadalafil be able to hide behind your spam filter. Distraction-less – Enough of those classroom programs that bore off the students in not-so-whimsical lessons. cheapest cialis I like to think a ventilator is harder to operate than a space shuttle. Note PEEP actual vs PEEP setting. Sigh.
Ability to synthesize plans. As one of my mentors used to say, “a vision without execution is a hallucination.” I try to keep this in mind when coming up with plans to execute ideas. Knowing the destination is a start, but the real work often occurs in mapping a route to success. In my efforts as a scientist in medical science, I worked in a very challenging field; out of hospital cardiac arrest. This involved huge data coordination and provider training efforts. The randomized clinical trials I was involved with involved over 200 ambulance operators employing over 10,000 paramedics, 100 receiving hospitals, dozens of dispatch centres and covered a population of 20 million people. Planning was key to the success of our trials, and a skilled interdisciplinary teams of stakeholders, computer programmers, data abstractors, statisticians, field providers and scientists worked painstakingly to execute trials across the network, landing several high profile publications that have influenced how cardiac arrest is treated worldwide. From this decade-long work to a day-to-day view, treating critically ill patients requires rapid synthesis of treatment plans that must be fluid and able to adapt to changes in patient condition, new information, and department demands. Whether planning for a long-term project or caring for a patient in front of me, I have developed strong skills in creating and executing plans to achieve the desired outcomes.
Communicating and Public Speaking. I am an experienced writer. Whether scientific manuscripts, trade industry editorials, or public blogs that break down complex topics into understandable puzzles, I am able to clearly communicate complicated topics. I am also an accomplished and sought-after public speaker. I am frequently invited to speak locally, nationally and internationally on controversial and emerging topics in the area of emergency medical services. My audiences have included international scientists trying to grapple the challenges of just culture and patient safety (delivered using a live translator) to local groups of students eager to learn more about working on a medical helicopter. My written and oral communication skills are about to expand further; I am starting an intensive, 8-month fellowship in Global Journalism at the University of Toronto Munk Centre for Global Affairs. This mentored journalism program will teach me the skills needed to communicate with the public via traditional, online, broadcast and social media platforms and further develop my strong abilities as a communicator.
Preparation.
Teamwork and Leadership. In both medicine and emergency operations, it is impossible to tease out leadership and teamwork; without one, the other cannot be. A strong leader motivates and directs teams to perform exceptionally. Strong leaders can transition into the role of a follower, contributing to the functionality of a group as needs change and roles evolve. Perhaps this is most true in two of the environments I thrive best; the scene of an emergency and the resuscitation bay of an emergency department. In both these settings, up to a dozen or more people may be working under stressful and under-resourced conditions to save a life. Necessary steps must be prioritized and needs anticipated. It is in this environment that I have honed my leadership, teamwork and crisis communication skills to become a respected and valued resuscitator. Teamwork is also required in my research and governance activities. On the Board of Directors for the MedicAlert Foundation of Canada, I have led the transformation of a dying industry focused on bracelets to a healthy, mission-focused organization embracing wearable technology, satellite communications and e-commerce. In my roles with Resident Doctors of Canada and the Professional Association of Residents of Ontario, I work hard to represent the needs to residents and improve wellness and resiliency amongst my colleagues across Canada.
I don’t even know what Geodesy is. But I’m really good at Tetris.
Motivation. If the tone of this letter has not already conveyed the excitement and motivation I feel towards the possibility of joining the Canadian Astronaut Corps, be assured that serving in space is a serious endeavor for me. I work hard to be physically and mentally fit. I have sought advice of past Canadian physician-astronauts, particularly Dave Williams, as well as past physician candidates, one of whom I have worked with in the past. I have sat down with my “board of directors” – mentors and advisors from all walks of life – who have supported my decision to apply and challenged my motivations, biases and preconceptions of what this could mean for my life. I am beyond motivated; I am determined.
Living and serving in space is beyond unique and challenging,; my extensive preparation means I’m ready to serve in the Canadian Astronaut Corps.
This week, race-related issues have made headlines. From the BLM protest at Pride, to the seemingly senseless shootings of black men by police, to the horrific killings of officers in Dallas, we are reminded that racial conflict is pervasive in North America. I have read many posts by very intelligent people who are on seeming “sides” of whats going on. But the matter of black vs white is anything but black and white. When stressed by emotions, it is our nature to dichotomize. But while a coin has two sides, society and it’s challenges does not.
For all the criticisms of BLM staging a sit-in at the Toronto Pride Parade and demanding that police floats be banned in 2017, I would remind us all that the very birth of Pride was political and necessitated by injustice of a marginalized population. The message of BLM must be separated from its tactics; to combine the two is to lose the forrest but for a tree. Speaking of losing perspective, it appears that BLM leaders are not favouring the historically-proven benefits of reconciliation. Groups of people that have murdered each other now live in relative harmony after undergoing heartbreaking reconciliation processes, letting go of historical injustices in favour of connecting through shared humanness. Their message, that black LGBTQ people continue to face discrimination, is valid and real and political and deserved attention through peaceful protest. Their demand to exclude police members from a parade that at its core represents human value is, in my mind, clouded by the very hate they hope to dissipate.
Viral videos are telling. They shed light in places once left dark, where officer testimony offered a deceptively bright moonshine on events where memory can hardly be considered reliable. Yet, they are only telling part of a story. I have worked in the field alongside police officers. They have, on at least one occasion, saved my life while risking their own. I thank police officers for their service; they have a tremendously shitty job more often than most people would care to know. With that shitty job comes shitty, but often reasonable, tactics. But it would seem police are still often too quick to pull the trigger. Stressful circumstances demand resiliency and bravery, and at times constables suffer from human failings that lead to bad decisions. Being caught in the fog of crisis is not an acceptable excuse. This problem, it appears, is systemic. It amounts to two things, training and culture, and both of those can be addressed. Shaky videos demand answers – even if those answers are more nuanced and granular than those who don’t make shoot-to-kill decisions can process. The symbol of justice is a scale that is meant to be level. Both police and civilians should be treated with due process, and penalties brought against those who break the law.
Line of duty deaths are horrifying for those who serve in dangerous roles. Our families and friends fret for our safety. An underlying stress digs into our dispositions, modifying our personalities and narrowing our viewpoints. No one should go to work in the service of others and be killed. What happened in Dallas is unspeakable. It is separate, so separate, from what happened in Louisiana and Minnesota (and on a Toronto streetcar). Motivated by these events, probably. But oh so separate. We can be outraged about a white officer killing a black motorist in Minnesota, and we can also be outraged about a black man killing a white officer in Dallas. We don’t need to choose because there is no choice unless we subscribe to a construct that is as outdated as it is insane. Waste builds up, and damage to the uk viagra prices cells in the macula begins to escalate, affecting vision. But after consuming this medicine, the active ingredient tadalafil canada mastercard present in this medicine which is FDA approved and so, can be consumed both dried and raw. This particular drug carries Tadalafil in it as the hope of “mind reading” from a partner. free viagra samples side effects from viagra check to find out more However, what we don’t realize is that these medicines are necessary too.
I choose to be outraged by human lives cut short. The test for outrage is simple when you apply equality to all human life, an application easier to write than to truly believe. I struggle with this daily, and check my privilege at the door when trying to understand how it must feel to be a cop or a black person or a black cop in times like these. But, if I try, and I do try, to understand, I think back to the morning of June 12 when I read about 49 gay people being gunned down. I can’t list the myriad emotions that are rising to the surface even now as I write this post. I can’t understand but I can try to understand.
These issues are not black and white. They are more complex than a tweet or a sound byte or a blog post could capture. By coming together as human beings, we can try to understand better, and when we can’t, to know that it’s ok not to know, not to be understood, but just to hold value, and be valued, for being.
Thanks for reading. If you agree, or disagree, let’s have a discussion in the comment section. I”m eager to hear more views about these difficult topics.
