麻豆传媒

I knew a surgeon once who had lost a child to a tragic injury. Whenever we spoke on the phone, he would lower his voice and ever so gently, ever so kindly, say, "Hey Ed, be careful out there." It was the wise, caring voice of a man who understood loss.

I am looking out the window at a heavy snowfall, soon to be followed by ice. As a lifelong Appalachian, I know winter. When I was in junior high I remember a blizzard that crossed into West Virginia in 1977.

From the hilltop where Beverly Hills Junior High was positioned like a citadel, we could watch those dark, menacing clouds crossing the Ohio River. School was canceled, power failed, and we spent several days camped around a kerosene heater in our living room, my mother cooking noodles on top of the thing. How we avoided carbon monoxide poisoning I do not know.

The Ohio River froze solid that year. The plowed roads in front of our house had great hunks of snow cast to the side and frozen over and over in the bitter nights. The sound of the plow scraping was familiar to us at all hours.

We did not go out; maybe Dad or Mom did, I don't recall. But it was just too dangerous to do much; and far too cold. Sure, we neighbor kids played on sleds and made snow forts and snowballs until our hands ached and we felt that we needed hot chocolate and toast to survive. We walked on the rare wonder of our creek, frozen several inches thick. But as children, there was nothing we really needed to do.

As an adult, I understand snow and I know ice. I know the odd, almost snake-like hissing sound it makes as if falls from the heavens and coats cars, driveways, roads, and power lines. I know its beautiful, treacherous sheen on surfaces. I know the way it produces broken bones and head injuries in those who fall; and hypothermia in those stuck outside.

I well recall the helpless feeling of driving and suddenly discovering there is no way to control the vehicle; that brakes are pointless and that even the steering wheel can seem like a waste of time. That's the gift of ice.

I remember my father driving us down a highway on the ice, headed in a direction that could have led us under a cattywampus tractor-trailer. He was saying, "Jesus help us; Jesus help us." And he did. We missed it entirely.

I anticipate that I will be without electricity at some point in the night. I have charged my devices, prepared some food, and will keep my flashlight on hand. I have no fireplace to rely upon, and my wife, Jan, is not with me tonight for us to share the warmth of years of marriage.

Indeed, "."

So, I have some suggestions:

• To those curious about the roads and weather, turn on the radio or use your smartphone as long as it has a charge. Don't drive out to look.
• If you absolutely have to be out, make sure your car has blankets, flashlights, water, a little food, and warm clothing. And a fully-charged telephone or radio.
• To those who need anything from the store, get it quickly or just wait. The snow and ice won't last that long. And you probably don't need as much . Hopefully all of your medications are stocked up.
• If you have a medical problem that is an emergency, call 911 or go to the ED (carefully). But if it isn't an emergency, if it's something that's been going on for weeks or months and you're just curious, or if it isn't a big deal to you, then just wait. Hospitals everywhere are full to the breaking point and the weather won't make it any better.

The thing is, hospitals tonight will be struggling because staff will have difficulty getting to work, or leaving work for home. Hospitals have frozen and ruptured pipes like every other building. Hospitals lose power and Internet (a bigger deal than you might think) and sometimes run on generators.

Furthermore, it will be very difficult for hospitals to transfer people with serious illness or injury who they can't manage locally. This is because the roads will be treacherous even for ambulances, and because those ambulances will also be responding to accidents on the highway or to other weather-related crises.

As for medical helicopters? You can generally expect them not to fly. And nobody can blame them. Visibility will be poor and rotors and engines don't do well with ice and snow. I've been a physician in those helicopters, and trust me when I say that everyone, from pilot to nurse to paramedic to doctor, is leery of bad weather. Those crews are dedicated to their patients, but they also want to go home at the end of the shift.

Medics, police, and firefighters will still be out there doing their best, responding to accidents, arresting drunk drivers, cutting people out of wrecked cars, taking care of those with heart attacks, pneumonia, strokes, and every other kind of affliction. Bitter winter weather makes their jobs harder, and for all of their skill and dedication, they risk life and limb to be available for the people they serve. (And do it at a discount rate, to be sure.)

The same is true for the linemen who keep electricity flowing, the workers who manage water and sewage lines, the tow-truck drivers, and the road workers plowing and salting highways.

So, in honor of my surgeon friend all those years ago, I can only say, "Be careful out there." And suggest that we should all do our best to stay safe. And also to make less work (and less danger) for those who have to "weather the storm" to protect us all.

Now go make some hot cocoa before the power goes out!

A version of this piece originally appeared in the Substack, .

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