UnSpace

Nancy's sister received the same biopsy results as their mom.

My back started bothering me Saturday before we went out to eat. I didn't do anything particular that would make it hurt. Sunday, I skipped church so that I might get better. I should have skipped a family event at the church that night, but I promised to take photos. Monday, I could barely move.

The pain was so bad, I rationed my food. Getting up to go to the bathroom was agony, but I knew I had to keep drinking water to help my back heal. I couldn't even sit at the desk. I've been here about 15 minutes, and I think that was 5 too long.

Prayers appreciated. I'll be back eventually. I hope Blogfest 10 was fun. I wish I could have gone.

Is the news from the doctor bad or annoying? Is this problem livable, life threatening, or something to joke about? Uncertainty is, in and of itself, painful to deal with. Then again, there's the fear that at some time in the future, one might look back on uncertainty with longing. Even dealing with the anxiety uncertainty causes can cause uncertainty and anxiety.

There's a couple things going on in our family. In a week or two, I might feel stupid about having worried about anything. Normally, I hate to feel stupid, but right now I'm looking forward to looking back and wondering why I got so worked up over nothing.

Blogging isn't a high priority item right now. I might blog, to calm my nerves, or I might find spending time with loved ones to be more important. I don't know. Expect me when you see me, as Galen would say.

A Newsweek article has been sitting in my browser. Elizabeth Edwards was interviewed about her recent cancer diagnosis and her faith in God. Some of the things Elizabeth had to say made a lot of sense to me at the time. I wasn't looking for a chance to test it out, though.

If you've come here for the Friday's Feast, I apologize if I don't visit yours. I hope you'll understand.

For those so inclined, prayers would be appreciated.

The phone rang yesterday with the news that a young man in our extended family had been kidnapped.

Technically, I've found out from speaking to police and lawyers, it's not a kidnapping. The people involved (including the person who took this young man) are using the word "kidnap" incorrectly. So, no Amber Alerts, no milk cartons, and no immediate action to get the child back.

As I write this, it occurs to me that I made a terrible mistake. I should have called the Grammer Police; had I done so, this would all be over by now. And to think I call myself a writer…

I'm a paramedic. I resort to an inappropriate affect and terribly inappropriate humor when I'm frightened enough to crap my pants. I've also worked hard at making this post obscure, for obvious reasons.

From what I understand, the whole thing, while not "over" for a long, long time, should be resolved to a satisfactory stalemate sometime today or maybe tomorrow. In the meantime, I plan on doing whatever keeps my anxiety level below "Malignant Heart Rhythms." I probably won't blog, but who knows? I doubt I'm much fun to read right now. If you're used to a regular fun read or cool critter pictures at UnSpace, I hope you'll give me a day or two to take care of myself. Go read "Bad News Travels at Lightspeed." Everyone seems to have ignored it the first time around, and I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever written, especially with the obvious movie reference.

If anyone is so inclined to pray or whatever for this situation, and for the entire extended family to survive this emotionally, I would be grateful.

Steve Irwin, the Croc Hunter, died Monday after being stung in the heart by a stingray. He was filming an underwater documentary off the north coast of Australia. Steve leaves behind his wife, Terri, his daughter, Bindi Sue, and his son, Bob.¹

There might be a temptation by some to say of a man who wrestles crocodiles, alligators, and handles poisonous snakes "That was predictable." But it really wasn't predictable at all. The danger to Irwin was always minimal, the exaggerations serving to remind the public "Don't try this at home!" Steve was educated and methodical in his interaction with animals, and he always put a great emphasis on safety, both for himself and for his co-workers.

Stingrays are not known for attacking humans. They flee when there is trouble. When they sting people, the injury is almost always to the foot or leg. Not all wounds are envenomated, but the venom mostly causes pain. There's no specific antedote for the venom, and the usual treatment is supportive with lidocaine to ease the pain. Irwin's death was an oddball accident, probably due to the physical damage caused by the barb spine to the heart.

I always thought that Steve Irwin would live a long life, like his father, and that some day he'd be helping out his children as they run the Australia Zoo.

Many readers have come here to see my photographs of wildlife on this blog. If you go back through those photographs, I hope you'll see that Steve Irwin was my inspiration. Nancy introduced me to The Croc Hunter years ago, getting me to watch the episodes again and again with her. We even went to the movie which we enjoyed despite (or maybe because of) its hokiness.

Steve Irwin will continue to inspire us and our backyard "choc-a-block" with wildlife.

God be with his wife and children; I have no doubt they were his last thoughts on Earth and that he did not want to leave them so soon.

Fair dinkum.

1. Stingray kills 'Crocodile Hunter', CNN, 2:48 a.m. EDT, September 4, 2006 [back]

Bob O'Connor became mayor when Pittsburgh was in severe financial trouble. His tasks were difficult, and yet he appeared to be getting done the thankless tasks required to save the city. He was doing what few thought could be done.

Back when he was a councilman, he attended the swearing-in ceremony of some new paramedic Crew Chiefs, one of whom was yours truly. He's not in the official photographs we were given of the event (I checked), but I clearly remember him shaking my hand and thanking all of us for what we were doing for the people of Pittsburgh. He was the only councilperson at the ceremony. Bob O'Connor was a politician, but even so, his enthusiasm for us and our work was genuine.

A while ago, they announced Mayor O'Connor was suffering from a rare form of brain cancer. The official repots were so full of hope. I decided not to blog about his illness, because I was afraid my own intuition, that it would end badly, might creep through anything I would write.

Now, the mayor is listed "hour by hour." Clearly, any hope that Bob O'Connor might beat the cancer has gone. I sincerely wish my medical intuition had been wrong.

If anyone is so inclined, prayers or kind thoughts for Pittsburgh's Mayor Bob O'Connor, his family, friends, colleagues, and the entire city would be appreciated.

Pittsburgh is losing one of its best.

May God bless and keep Bob O'Connor, now and always.

We've been out of coconut-flavored creamer for a few days, and so I've gone back to chocolate-mint coffee. I don't know why I find mint so relaxing, but on the days Nancy feeds the birds mint, I've been known to go into the bird room, close my eyes, and just breathe.

Relaxing with the coffee is difficult. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, is a horrid list of things I have to do today. I've already done a few; they were things I even wanted to do, but for some reason they were painful.

I'm a marathoner. Marathons, and even marathon training can be painful. But the marathon isn't the hardest. Even the 20 mile runs aren't the hardest. It's the 12 mile runs on the Saturdays in between the 20 mile runs that are the killers. On marathon day, you can say "I'm going to run a marathon!" On a 20 mile run, you can say "I'm going to do a 20 mile run!" These are accomplishments. Even though those runs will hurt, pride is invoked, bragging rights accrued, and accomplishment earned.

"I'm going to run 12 miles." So? You ran 20 miles last week, you'll run 20 miles next week, and in a couple more weeks, you'll have to run 26.2 miles. There's no inspiration. There's no glory. There's just twelve long, boring miles over a course you've run time and again. A couple months ago, 12 miles was an accomplishment. Now, it's just a workout that's both too long and not long enough.

That's the sort of stuff I have to do today. Pay bills, work on organizing the garage. There's no glory. No inspiration. Just drudgery for a person very easily bored. If I let my mind brush up against the thoughts of what I need to do, I sense pain. It's not a pain I can localize; the pain is systemic, but also somewhere else. If I am at the origin coordinates for the physical and time dimension, then the pain is at (0,0,0,0,-1), where the pain is slightly displaced in some unknown fifth dimension. Saying "Kltpzyxm" does not help. At least I've still got my sense of humor: I actually tried that!

Even blog posting is difficult. There's a bunch of Tiger Swallowtail photos to sort through, clean up, resize, upload, post, and comment on. Today, that's just too much, especially since there's another bunch of butterfly pictures to tackle after that.

Yes, I'm depressed. Yes, I'm back on medication. That's not the source of the pain, at least not exactly. Think of the depression as a rushing stream. I get tossed around a bit, occasionally getting dunked, but as long as I go with the flow, it's not too bad.

Today, I'm trying to fight the stream. I'm swimming opposite the water, and it's a lot of work and it hurts. And it's a metaphorical Saturday between two 20 milers with a marathon in a little over a month.

Yeah, I switched metaphors from running to swimming. On a good day, I'd rip this post apart and do a rewrite to find some way to harmonize the two. Today, I'm going to just let it go and hope you readers can deal with it.

Well, the second cup of coffee is gone. A third cup would just make things worse, and not just for the intollerable caffeine levels. Time to do a quick check of this post, come up with an RSS tag, hit enter, and get to work.

There's so much to do, and I'll just have to do it like I do the 12 milers. I just start moving and think only of the current footfalls, ignoring the thousands of footfalls yet to come. One clichéd step at a time.

As always, prayers or kind thoughts for me are appreciated. Thanks.

Expect a new post when you see it…

That's all the blogging for today. Maybe even tomrrow. I don't know.

I worked hard yesterday around the house and did quite a bit of writing on the computer. Today, I played bass in church¹ and then tried to capture a photograph of a dragonfly in flight (waiting for the dragonfly to move does not work), which means I held the camera steady for far too long. It's a heavy camera, for those of you looking for ideas for a name.

I can barely move my fingers. My forearms feel like my thighs did after the Pittsburgh Marathon. My left index, middle, and ring fingers scream every time I hit a key. I think I set the action a bit too high on the bass, meaning I had to press much harder than normal.

I was hoping to tell you about my new bass and guitar effects pedals gear bag (two for $11 at Walgreens) but how about some other time?

Expect me when you see me. God willing, that will be tomorrow, or Tuesday if I decide to take an extra day rest.

Prayers and kind thoughts are always appreciated.

1. Yes, I'd love to do an article on praise music based on the songs we did this morning (no 7-11s), but as I'm explaining, that ain't gonna happen for a while. [back]

I remember the 1967 Arab-Israeli war. I remember being afraid the conflict would get out of hand and a world war might begin. I remember praying.

Once again, the news from the Middle East is frightening. Again, the possibility exists of the conflict getting out of hand. I would ask you to pray, should you be so inclined.

Last night, driving home from taking the photograph of Pittsburgh, I happened upon the "Savage Nation" radio show. The host asked everyone, whatever their political orientation, to pray for President Bush and his advisors, that they be granted wisdom. What George W. Bush does in the next few days could have a profound effect on how this conflict goes.

I would like to join Michael Savage in his call for prayer for our President and all the other world leaders, that they might lead us out of this dangerous situation.

Note: Michael Savage, on his radio program, followed the inspiring request for prayer for the President with a "straw man" attack on liberals like myself that was ignorant, ill-informed and deliberately polarizing. I was disappointed at the rapid U-turn from intelligent, serious request to obstructionist partisan demagoguery. I obviously do not support Mr. Savage in his attacks on all those "evil liberals" like Condoleeza Rice and myself.

Note: Karen, my friend in Jerusalem: I doubt you'll read this or that you even know I have a blog, but you and your family are part of my thoughts, concern, and prayers during this crisis. You folks are what makes the news real to us.

Pittsburgh's Mayor, Bob O'Conner, was diagnosed with lymphoma over the weekend. I'd ask you to pray for the mayor or send good thoughts his way, as you're so inclined. I know the Pittsburgh bloggers (especially the Christian ones) have already done so, but a surprising number of my readers aren't from Pittsburgh, so I thought I'd mention it, even if it is a bit redundant locally.

According to KQV News yesterday, the mayor as T-Cell type primary central nervous system lymphoma, which is rare. There are lesions noted in his brain. Only about 50 cases are known, but the mayor's oncologist is "optimistic."

I hope Pittsburgh's mayor has a speedy recovery, but I don't hold out hope that he'll win the Tour de France like Lance Armstrong did once he beat testicular cancer (with lesions on his brain, as well). Then again, who knows?

Funeral cards…

The viewing room for Jeff (PghGuy) at the funeral home was packed. I only know Jeff from our blogs, e-mail, and from the get-together we had in Shadyside. There weren't even any other bloggers that I recognized. I signed the book and picked up a funeral card. Had Jeff and I gotten to know each other a little longer, we would have found that we shared birth dates, though over a decade apart.

Jeff lay there in the casket, looking like Jeff but with none of his energy. Rather than a suit, Jeff was dressed with a t-shirt covered by a regular shirt; he would have appreciated that touch. There were flowers around the room, photos, and other reminders of Jeff's time with the people who obviously loved him so much.

Jeff's mother stood there, and the numerous visitors attempted to comfort her. The massive sudden stroke took her son from her, and now she had to endure a loss every parent fears. Jeff's sister was nearby, explaining the meaning of the various photos on a poster about Jeff. They didn't know that Jeff had a blog, nor that he had organized small blogger get-togethers. I told them of Jeff's ability to get people together and the energy he brought to those gatherings. She laughed to hear that we had all hoped that Jeff would find that special someone, just as she had hoped. Jeff's family now knows that numerous bloggers, from Pittsburgh and elsewhere, had them in their hearts and were sharing her loss. His sister apologized for the death notice getting out so late, but she was reassured that there was no need to apologize. Everyone understood how difficult, confusing, and painful this time was.

Jeff's dad stepped out. I never got a chance to speak with him. I may have identified the wrong person as Jeff's father, I'm not sure.

If you go to the death notice at the Tribune-Review, there's a guest book. If you read Jeff's blogs or met him in person, please stop by and leave a kind note for the people he left behind.

Jeff, you were a fascinating fellow. I wish I'd gotten to know you even better.

A friend sent me a link that took me to:

Jeffrey R. Pencosky
Regent Square
Formerly of South Park

Jeffrey R. Pencosky, 34, of Regent Square, formerly of South Park, died suddenly on Wednesday, June 28, 2006. Loving son of Joe and Marie (Broccolo) Pencosky. Cherished brother of Stacy (Lou) Broccoli. Devoted grandson of Frank and the late Rita Broccolo and the late Joseph and Frances Pencosky. Dearest nephew of Richard Golebiewski, Patty (John) Feeney, Frances Block, Nancy (Chuck) Sullivan and Kathy, Edward (Candy) and Tony (Norina) Broccolo. Cousin of Shawn, Johnny, Bryan, Kaelyn, Trevor, Brittny, Christine, Sandy, Sharon and Michelle. Visitation will be from 1 to 4 and 6 to 9 p.m. Friday at the JEFFERSON MEMORIAL FUNERAL HOME INC., 301 Curry Hollow Road, Pleasant Hills, where services will be at noon Saturday. Interment in Jefferson Memorial Park.

I don't know what to say. Please pray for his friends and family.

I'll skip the "Great news, he's only got a broken neck!" schtick and just say thanks for the concerns and the comments and prayers. John's being discharged from the hosptial, and soon enough he'll be back to 100%.

Of course, continued prayers for his recovery will be gratefully accepted. This could have been much worse. The doctors, nurses, and paramedics of the ambulance, initial hospital, the helicopter, and Childrens' here in Pittsburgh did a wonderful job.

Thanks.

BTW: No disrespect was meant toward Children's by calling them "Kiddies." It's what I called the place since I was 2 and had severe pneumonia. Ok, technically I only called it that after I'd been there a few days and could get enough air to speak again…. I (and a lot of Pittsburghers) owe them a lot.

"You're not very close to your nephew, are you?" the woman half asked, half stated.

Is that really how people see me?

Sure, I sat in the E.R., calmly watching John, a hand on his shoulder as he slept. I didn't bug the nurses. I didn't scream that the trauma team wasn't hovering over him every second. I didn't keep waking him, saying "You can't go to sleep!"¹ When he got up to the room, I was friendly with his nurses, comforted the mother and grandmother caring for their own child in the next bed. I sat in the chair beside the bed and waited for his parents, for his doctors, and for the morning.

I guess no one noticed that I was sweating horribly in an over-air-conditioned room. No one knows that I'm continuously monitoring vital signs, noticing every twitch and flinch and comparing them with what I know about pediatric trauma, ready to scream for help at an inkling of a problem. The pains in my heart and my stomach don't show on my face. I'm friendly to the nurses, so that they will listen to me when I speak and might even try just a little bit harder. I evesdrop on the doctors as they discuss John, swipe looks at the chart, and analyze each medical professional's every action. Once, I even used one of my paramedic "Jedi Mind Tricks" to get a more complete answer out of a harried physician.

Do you really think I don't want to flop on the floor screaming? Does anyone think I'm not scared? I'm Mr. Worry, and one of my personal mottos is "If you're not worried, you're not paying attention." I'm paying very close attention.

My stomach wouldn't be so messed up if I could just cut loose. Even a good cry would help. But I've had to help throw family members out for just such behavior.² Freaking out might make me feel good, but it would take away from John's care and get me thrown out of the room, if not the hospital.

By holding it in, I could be there for John every time he wakes up in the night, able to say "I'm here, and your parents are on the way." If I appear cold and clinical, it is only in the service of the roiling emotions that I hide and use to stay alert through the night.

This is what I thought when the woman asked me the question "You're not very close to your nephew, are you?" I couldn't manage to come up with something to say. And so she continued on.

"It's obvious you love him. I heard that he was lifeflighted to Pittsburgh. It's a shame you live so far from him, but at least that meant you were able to be here for him when he needed you."

Oh. That kind of "not close."

I thanked her and said something about doing what I could. As I looked at her face, I realized I was seeing my reflection. The clinical detachment was painted on, I knew exactly where look to see the concern and fear that we shared.

I keep promising myself a good gut-wrenching crying session. Every time something comes up, I say "Later, when you're not needed, when it won't cause problems." I certainly need it. But somewhere, I think I forgot how to cry. I wish I could remember how, and not just for this latest incident.

John continues to recover. Thank you for those who prayed or left notes. And yes, I left out a lot of information and even fudged some things to make it difficult for anyone to track him down based on my blog. He's my nephew, and it's my job to protect him.

1. Note: Sleeping, by itself, is not bad for trauma patients — even head trauma patients. It doesn't break things or cause more damage. If anything, it gives the body a chance to heal, which is the general idea. The problem is, it makes it harder to evaluate how well the patient's doing. Changes in mental state can be the first clue to a progressing injury. There are other things to look for, of course, and waking the patient every once in a while to check the level of consciousness is sufficient under almost all circumstances. [back]
2. Have you ever noticed they let family members into the treatment area on E.R. (TV show) during the first crucial minutes? Ever notice that's where a lot of the drama comes from? Ever notice no hospital on the planet lets family members into the treatment room until things have calmed down and they know the family member can be trusted? TV needs drama. An E.R. doesn't. [back]

My nephew, John, was evaced by helicopter last night to Kiddie's here in the 'Burgh.

Odds are that John will be fine, but there are sound reasons the docs at the first hospital went all out. We all hope he doesn't need it, but should he require the best care available, John's in the right place.

Nancy and I got the phone call last night from my mother-in-law. They'd gotten the call from their son about their grandson, and they called to tell us what was up. I was out the door before Nancy finished the conversation with her mom. This morning, when his parents finally got here (after car trouble on the way down, of course!), John's dad turned and said to John's mom, "See, I told you Rob would be here." There are times when being predictable is a good thing.

I'm not posting details about John; there's nothing much to post other than "nominal" and and speculative "what-ifs." He's not my son, and even if he were, I'm not sure I'd post any more than I already have.

But I hope you can see that we're all concerned and maybe you'll take a moment to think of this young man as he recovers, and of the extended family that loves him and prays that all will continue to go well.

I've been scarce lately. With the furnace deader than a doornail right in the middle of spring cleaning, income tax due, and other things moving into high gear, I haven't had much time to blog or read other people's blogs.

I'll blog when I can, but right now real life takes precidence. I hope that, come April 17th, things might become sane enough that I can get back to the regular blogging.

I apologize to all my regular readers, and I hope you'll be here when I come back.

BTW: Reggie the parakeet is healthy and back home in West Virginia, happy to be back with his humans and the other birdies in his home: the birdie in the bathroom mirror, the birdie in the mirror on the floor, the birdie in the microwave window, and most of all, the birdie in the little piece of chrome on the refrigerator.

Prayers, as always, are appreciated.

Roses for Nancy

The loss of Puffer Pete hit both Nancy and me hard, but especially Nan. I've been working extra hard at cheering her up.

Friday, I came home from the grocery store with a Hershey bar, spaghetti sauce with meatballs from the Prince of Peace Lutheran Church and roses. We had a nice sedate evening of "Dr. Who" on the Sci-Fi channel, and she helped me play another hour of "24: The Game." Boy, does Jack Bauer drive badly!¹

Saturday included a trip to the East End Food Co-op where Nancy got all the bulk foods like amaranth, split red French lentils, split yellow peas, whole rye, hard red spring wheat, black turtle beans, teff, bulgur, quinoa, and polena. We got some mixed nuts for us — salted but not too salted as one would expect for a store like the Co-op.

Then we drove all the way over to the Yough Trail to go looking for skunk cabbage, which was successful as I reported earlier. On the way back, we stopped at "Frosty Cone" on McKeesport Road near Lovedale Road. They were open even though it was early in the season! So Nancy had a chocolate cone dipped in chocolate and I got a baby cone with tangerine soft serve.

When we got home, we had a nice dinner together, with nothing but meat for me. I'd blown every carb I owned on the ice cream. Nancy was starting to cheer up, and we laughed about some silly things.

Late last night, Nancy discovered she'd come down with the stomach virus that has been going around and she'd managed to avoid so far. No longer. She slept as much as possible today, with me taking over her chores. The birdies were annoyed when I brought them their lunch instead of Nancy! My poor lady is going to try some boullion for dinner tonight, her first food today.

If anyone's so inclined, some prayers for Nancy would be appreciated. She's had a rough group of days.

1. Actually, it's my bad driving. With me playing, Jack wastes a lot of ammo as well. [back]

Vice President Dick Cheney shot his 78 year old hunting companion, Harry Whittington, while quail hunting today. Thankfully, the hunting companion is in stable condition, although at 78, anything like this is never good for the patient's overall health.

A lot of people will jump on this, either to mock Dick Cheney or to "prove" that all guns should be banned. The Vice President has made some very questionable decisions, made demonstrably incorrect statements, and caused many to question this administration with his links to Haliburton. But that has nothing to do with today's accident. The two are separate and should be treated as such.

As a fellow gun owner, I am all too aware of the simple mistakes that can happen when using firearms. Guns require the utmost concentration when being used. Safety measures must always be used and be striclty obeyed. Knowledge of the lethality of a weapon must always be upermost in one's mind.

The Vice President shot his companion by accident. That makes the shooting no less the Vice President's fault. One of the goals of all those safety measures is to ensure that, even if an accident happens, no one is injured. The only way the shooting could have occurred is if some safety rule was violated. Even if the companion contributed to the accident, the one holding the gun must always be certain of what is in the possible kill zone and only shoot when there is absolutely no doubt. Clearly, that is not what occurred.

Vice President Cheney should admit his mistake publicly and attempt to make ammends to prevent more of an impact on gun owners. Were he to use this as a time to remind everyone of the need for gun safety, he would accomplish a lot. He might encourage a lot of people to take a gun safety class when they can see that even a long-time hunter can inadvertently violate the rules and injure someone.

The Vice President should consider giving up hunting. He claims he is a leader, and this is a time when he should lead by example. Even though his shooting his companion was an accident, by retiring from hunting, he is emphasizing the need for utmost care when using a firearm and acknowledging the consequences of his mistake. By giving up his sport, he would set the standard for other hunters and gun owners. I believe we would all benefit from such an example, and I would have more respect for him were he to do so.

My sympathies go to the Vice President and his companion, and my concern and prayers are for Mr. Whittington and his family. I hope Mr. Whittington continues an uneventful recovery. Please remember everyone involved in your prayers.

So I'm sitting here, trying to not watch the pre-pre-pre-game Super Bowl hype. What is there to do? How about trying to find a use for some used electronics equipment? I've never been good at this, which is why I don't work for Mythbusters.

Well, there's this used test thingie with obvious electronics inside. What can I do with that? A lot less than you'd think.

Getting the thing open was far tougher than it should have been. I managed to get the plastic case apart, but dislodging the electronics from the plastic case almost stumped me. I pried and twisted and struggled and almost decided to go for brute force when I noticed a screw. I bet the Mythbusters would have looked for a screw. I didn't.

The middle piece is the most interesting part. On the right is an "eject mechanism" for the test strip. It's clever, although it seems to be based on a gum band (rubber band for all you non-Pittsburghers). Once the band breaks, it's done for. I know folks that have built "toy bomb releases" for radio controlled airplanes from Equal tablet dispensers, but I'm not that good.

The electronics itself appears to be pretty specific to the task it's designed for. With more test strips, one could do more tests, but the test strips may be matched to the electronics, so that's not a good idea. The battery can be salvaged, I guess.

I might just be able to unsolder the screen. Working out the pin-outs might be a little more difficult, but even I might be able to do that. Getting something to activate the pin-outs properly…that might be beyond me.

That's a shame, because I've got just the use for it. In high power rocketry, the altimeter connects to small explosive charges that send out the parachutes. Now, having the ejection charges fire while the rocket is still on the ground is both dangerous and really, really annoying. To prevent such an "oopsie," the altimeter is "armed" once the rocket is placed on the launch pad. One of the problems, though, is that the beeping of the altimeter, saying it's ready to go, can be difficult to hear. I have trouble with that because of my years as a paramedic.

Using this screen to let me know when the altimeter of my rocket is armed would be useful. I wonder, though, what other people would think. Would they undertand that "Not Pregnant" meant the altimeter is not armed, and "Pregnant" meant it was?

I don't even know if the "Pregnant" circuit works on this machine. That's also why I'm dismantling this thing and trying to figure out what to do with it. Tearing this thing apart has been a good way to keep from thinking about the results.

If I can make this a rocket readout, at least something good would have come of this gizmo.