Fetal Monitors and 4Runners

           You may not be able to tell if you’ve been reading my columns, but I have ethics. I would not, for instance, force my political views on you, despite the fact I’m right and your so wrong your vote should be given to someone more responsible, like, well, me. I would not criticize your religion, sexual practices, or position on gun control and I certainly wouldn’t, just because I have a column and you don’t, blatantly use it to brag about my new grandson Will, born 7 lbs., 12 oz. with black hair so cute he looks like he’s already had his first haircut.

            I would use this column, however, to alert you to a barbaric practice now in use in the hospitals using a device resembling something you might see in a museum of torture devices designed in 1400. It’s called the fetal spiral electrode. Wait until the CIA sees this “medical instrument.” They’ll be lining up to trade in their waterboards.

            The wrapper for this device says it’s “for use on patients requiring fetal heart rate monitoring, by way of fetal scalp, during labor.”

            In case you’re not following, this monitoring device is attached during labor, before the defenseless little baby has even been born. How, you might be asking yourself, do they do that?

            They screw it into the baby’s head!

            In the diagram the tip of this thing looks suspiciously like an upholstery pin, you know, the spiral, needle-pointed wire with a plastic button on top women use to attach covers to the La-Z-Boy to protect the arms from cheese dip? How do I know it’s women? Have you ever seen a man use an upholstery pin?

             The instructions advise, “Push the Grip back until the spiral tip contacts the presenting part.” What, you might be asking yourself, is the presenting part? It was little Will Moore’s sweet head! “Turn it clockwise one full turn until mild resistance. WARNING: Do not over-rotate.” You think! I’m feeling queasy.

            Now, you’re probably asking yourself, what does this have to do with $40,000 baby incubators and Toyota 4Runners?

            According to a posting on engadget.com, a lot of babies die in developing nations due to lack of incubators, you know, those heating units that keep baby chickens and humans warm? Used incubators are often donated, as new ones cost about $40,000 each. Often lacking either the technicians or the parts to fix them, however, most of the incubators don't work.

            Enter Dr. Jonathan Rosen of Boston University's School of Management, who's ingeniously devised an incubator out of the abundant Toyota 4Runners found in developing nations. Apparently, if you want your nation to develop, you first have to get a bunch of Toyota 4Runners.  Rosen cobbled together an incubator using headlights as the heating source, the filters for air purification and the door alarm for emergency notification. The resulting incubator costs about $1,000 to make and can be repaired by auto mechanics. (I would like to see Dr. Rosen’s job description, the part where it says teach students to become managers and oh, by the way, invent incubators.)

            I’m writing an email right now to Dr. Rosen (I know, wrong kind of doctor) to ask him to find another way to attach a heart monitor to a baby. If he can cannibalize a 4Runner to make an incubator, he could do this job in his sleep.
            Little Will has had a couple bumpy days, heart rate too high and not exactly stable, but he’s okay. My heart rate might be too high, too, if somebody attached a monitor to the top of my head using an upholstery pin. 

July 4th

JULY 4TH MEANS HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA

by Schubert Moore

            Only America has July 4^th and with the exception of explosives, nothing is more associated with July 4^th than politicians making speeches. We here at the NOTES research department have put together this handy pocket guide in an effort to help you decipher the real meaning behind political rhetoric.

            I’m not a politician, means I’d like to be, but either a) I can’t get elected or b) I don’t understand how government works.

            I bring vital leadership, means I’m way hotter than my opponents. OMG! have you seen them?

            We need to set priorities, means I have no idea what we should be doing.

            I can’t advise you on this issue, means my staff is still arguing about what I should think.

            That’s a really good question, means my staff didn’t prepare me for this question.

            Times are tough right now, means there is no chance you’ll get any help.

            We need to get back to the basics, means I’m going to cut what you want out of the budget.

            My number one priority, means my number one priority for this audience.

            I’ve been going around the district talking to people, means I can’t afford pollsters.

            I know how to listen, means I can afford pollsters.

            We need to take a closer look at this issue, means I’ve hired a pollster.

            I’m not afraid to stand up for what’s right, means if it polls well.

            This issue is critical, means until something else polls sexier.

            This is a very important issue, means you’ll never pin me down.

            I’m open to considering this issue, means would you like to make a contribution to my campaign fund?

            We need to learn more, means delay.

            It’s never easy to vote to raise taxes, means it’s easy to vote to raise taxes if I can find cover.

            Finding cover, means blaming someone else.

            Local control, means I put my secretary on it.

            We need to consider that carefully, means there’s no chance I’ll consider it.

            We need to keep in mind, means I promised something different to the last audience.

            I’m a very strong supporter of this issue, means my big money is a strong support of this issue.

             This is an interesting question, means I have no interest in this question.

            This is a pretty frustrating issue, means I’m having trouble remembering what I said before.

            We need to change the way we govern, means boy, you hated what I tried the last time.

            I have a vision, means my big money has a vision.

            I’m fiscally conservative, means I won’t spend any of your money on projects unless they’ll help me get reelected

            I have a wealth of experience, means I’m a living argument for term limits.

            Several aspects should have been vetted, means I’m in deep doo.

            I want to spend more time with my family, means my affair is about to go public.

            It was an honor to represent you, means it was an honor to represent you.

It all ends up here

IT ALL ENDS UP HERE, YOU KNOW

by Schubert Moore

            I live at the beach. If you don’t, if you’re like most, you wish you did. Why is that? What is it about the edge of the earth, where the sand meets the surf?

            In summer on weekends and holidays you stake your claim to your patch of sand with beer and blanket that hold your fragile family, your cute kids. Beginnings are so sweet.

            Why did you come? To escape the heat? Was it the scent? Or for some other reason you can’t quite say. 

            But it’s winter now. The rain comes in level and hard, thin things, shingles, siding, tin signs, wind chimes, flying. 

            You can smell the sea before you see it, metallic, salty, some say, but it’s bacteria feeding on seaweed and plankton dying. Dimethyl sulfide. Beginning and ending. The smell of birth. The smell of death.

            The sea sits rocking, does it not, a deep, cold question, like the widow turning one hundred in Kansas City who said, I want to see the ocean before I die.

            You’re drawn here. You’re drawn back.

            We’re closer to the truth now.

             If you walk the sand some, you will see enough of death to last you a lifetime.

The beach is littered with the afterlife of broken shells your precious children bring in their hands. They spy a seagull skeleton, a feather here and there, sometimes a vortex of gulls pointing at a seal, recumbent in the rollers, its eyes picked out.

            You’re not the only one coming. It all ends up here, you know. When we clear cut, you can see the hillside in the river after a rain, turning the stream brown.            

            Solitary Hood, white Denali, absolute Everest, the slices of stone Himalayas, the brutal Rockies, their rough edges are being carved and smoothed. You know, of course, you can polish anything away. They will all be here one day.           

             Amazon, Potomac, Yellow, Blue Danube, Green River, silt carried down Big Muddy, the mighty Columbia, the river makes its bed, soiled, cleans itself. The rivers serve the sea.

            You wiggle your toes in sand that was Idaho, Utah, Colorado and who can say what else?

            You’re using the wrong scale. Push the marks apart from decades to eons.

            Give water time. We have plenty of that.

            Water will have its way.

            Even the earth’s core will come. Volcanoes vomit boiling rock, cooled, rain-washed, worn, carried by the rivers, it will all be here sometime.

            You will, too. No matter where you die, Minneapolis or Mumbai, if you’re kept in the Pyramids or in a vase on the mantel, given enough time, an eon or two, atoms equally distribute. Some particle of you, star born and still here, will come to my beach. Eventually entropy wins.

            You’re coming back.

            You must know this now, leaning on your cane as your grandchildren bring you shells bleached to a whiteness you’ve understood all your life, in your bones.

            I’ll be here, too, to greet you, part of me, anyway.