Emily Smiles

A drunk driver nearly destroyed my family's Christmas. My mother and sister, who are incredibly close, haven't seen each other in years. Our extended family and friends joined forces to make it possible for my mom to visit Emily, who moved to Charlotte several years ago to be closer to our (now deceased) father while he battled cancer. When Dad died last October, Emily decided to stay in Charlotte. She'd made friends and our Dad's side of the family lives close by, and a move wasn't financially viable, to say the least. When my mother's best friend offered to use her frequent flyer miles to buy a ticket for Mom to go see Emily, the rest of us figured out how to make it work. A neighbor is taking care of her dogs; her sister sent some money so that they could buy groceries while Mom was there. Emily, working two jobs, can barely make ends meet and my mother's meager government disability stipend barely covers her living expenses. My boyfriend and I arranged to drive Mom to and from the airport. Emily couldn't even take time off while Mom was there; they visited around my sister's considerable work schedule. But we were all so happy that Mom was going to get to see Emily; we all knew it would be the best Christmas gift they could possibly receive.

They had barely arrived at home on Christmas Eve when the drunk driver of a Trans Am hit Emily's car. He smashed into it so hard that he shoved it some 30 feet down the street; the car is so badly totaled that they can't move it anywhere (right now it's blocking a driveway). We can't even scrape together enough money to have the car towed anywhere, and her insurance company picked a fight with her when she called them to report the accident last night. The driver fled the scene but miraculously a neighbor was outside when it happened, saw the whole thing, and got the guy's plate number...then went to Emily's door to let her know her car had just been destroyed. My mom is leaving tonight and instead of spending these last few hours together enjoying each other's company they are calling around frantically for help to get Mom to the airport. Emily has to work a thirteen hour day tomorrow and will have to take buses two hours there and back. She's a 24-year old bright spot of sunshine and good humor in the lives of everyone who knows her; there is not a more compassionate, vivacious, beautiful person in the world than Emily Barrowclough. She has also lived through some horrific incidents in her very young life, from being the victim of an armed home robbery while living in Colorado to the death of our father to losing a dear friend in Charlotte to a heroin overdose just this past year. She's such a good, kind, loving person; I don't know why these terrible things keep happening to her.

I spent my Christmas Day today setting up a donation fund for her so that she can get some help securing transportation. Please consider donating to the Emily Smiles Fund (there is a donation button at the top right on this blog). Thank you.

This...Is Frostnip

The word "Frostnip" sounds adorable. Like Jack Frost's puppy, or the latest winter cocktail. It's also fun to say (oh, just try it, you know you wanna: frost-nip, frost-nip, frost-nip...okay, okay, that's enough). It is NOT fun, however, to actually deal with.

Frostnip is the first stage of frostbite (ahh, logic in pseudo-scientific terminology). eMedicineHealth.com describes it as such: "When only the surface skin is frozen, the injury is called frostnip. Frostnip begins with itching and pain. The skin then blanches and eventually the area becomes numb. Frostnip generally does not lead to permanent damage because only the top layers of skin are involved. However, frostnip can lead to long-term sensitivity to heat and cold." Doesn't sound like fun, does it? Well, fortunately, I only skimmed the surface of potential frostnip myself today, biking to work in -10 degree weather.

In my defense, I don't have a car, taking the bus system would have taken 30-45 minutes and increased my carbon-footprint guilt, and since I didn't really pay attention to the deep freeze that began yesterday and apparently continues to consume Colorado tonight (at this posting, it's -2.6 degrees outside) I figured I'd get the usual sunny Colorado day-after-a-weekend blizzard weather to deal with on my ride to work: cold, bracing, but not really freezing. Never again will I make such an assumption.

As usual, I prepared my messenger bag and my bicycle, threw on the lovely fleece I usually ride to work in, and headed out to greet the day. The roads were still covered in packed snow, and as I descended the staircase from my third-floor apartment, bike and bag in tow, I was paying much more attention to my footfalls, as a slip would be quite simple to sustain and likely have dire consequences, than I was to the weather. Having safely descended, I jumped on my bike, pulled my hat a little lower, and wobbled carefully into the rightmost set of tire tracks on the road. This is a Boulder thing, and I don't suggest trying it elsewhere. In Boulder, they will grimace, scowl, shake their fists, curse and sometimes roll down windows to scream at you but they will not, if you are on a bicycle and they in a car trying to pass you, actually hit you. At least not on purpose. While I feel a little bad knowing I'm a slow-moving obstacle that the clenched-teeth SUV-driving, Starbucks-latte gulping, Bluetooth-headset wearing driver behind me really wishes he could just mow down, I reconcile such thoughts with, wait a minute, I am making up for that douchebag's carbon Bigfoot print with every jam forward onto my crank. He can kiss my arse. And they get a break in traffic, and they go around. Big deal.

Today, however, I had no such thoughts, because I had no time for such thoughts, because my lungs were not functioning. I was forcibly separated from my bicycle for a few days last week as it underwent a tube change and was a bit terrified, thinking, oh my God, it's only been a few days and my lungs are burning like they're on fire, and my skin is frozen, and my progress is pathetic. Yes, I was in slippery. slidey snow but I usually make better time than this! Then I realized I could hear myself breathing over the music on my Nikepod, and my breathing terrified me even more. Think of a severe case of tuberculosis in the 19th century, something like Doc Holliday on his deathbed. Then put it on several shots of espresso and amphetamines. That's what I sounded like. A caffeinated TB patient. On top of this, my fleece jacket, usually a great top layer because it allows some breathability while keeping me somewhat warm, was performing about as well as a fishing net. I was chilled to my bones and panting rapidly. No good could come from this, and I seriously started worrying about my health.

I eventually made it to work and it wasn't for another hour that I discovered exactly how frigid the air outside was. I think we had a high of 4.3 degrees today. Without any proper gear--though I had some in my bag, at least a Gore Tex jacket to overlay my fleece with, had I known it was that cold--including a balaclava or some similar attire to keep the arctic air from being sucked straight into my lungs, I was literally killing potentially hundreds of alveoli in my lungs with every breath. I was informed of this by my colleague Alice, who has an impressive breadth of knowledge on this subject, as I sat at my desk beside her wheezing tremendously. The shot of albuterol I sent down my airway once I got to work probably didn't help. I found out later that the temperature was around -10 degrees while I was riding. No wonder. My face was bright red thanks to the very earliest stages of frostnip, and my hands and arms didn't fully warm for about half an hour.

When I got home after work--my loving boyfriend picked me up and we left the bike in the rack for the night--I looked in the mirror for the first time and noticed that my cheeks were dotted with red bumps and blotches where blood vessels had frozen and then restarted during and after my frozen ride to work. I didn't take these until a few hours later, and it's gone down considerably, but anyone who knows me knows my cheeks and ears aren't generally this red:




So, lessons here: Even the gentlest nip of frost is unpleasant. Check the weather report before you leave to bike to work...and, well, um, don't bike to work in negative 10 degree weather! But if you must, layer as much as you can. Your body will thank you. Mine is still dodgy, but I'm sure it'll come around eventually.