The Shocking Truth

"Squad 51, a possible heart attack; 111 Wellington Place, 1-1-1 Wellington, cross street Harrison; time out, 2044."

Upon their arrival, Gage and Brice found a very ill looking man sitting on the ground next to his still-running lawn mower. He was wide-eyed, restless, gray in coloring and sweating profusely. Johnny shut off the mower, handed Brice the B/P cuff and stethoscope, attached the monitor to the patient and then began setting up the biophone and anticipated IV.

"Sir," asked Brice, "are you having any pain?" Grunting and wincing, the man could only nod. "Can you point to where it is?" Again, the man pointed wordlessly toward the middle of his chest. "Does it go anywhere? Does it feel like anything in particular?" The man moaned, gasped then nodded. "My-my-my back, my arm, my j-jaw. Feels heavy." He moaned again. "I c-can-can't breathe."

"Gage, B/P is 88/58; pulse is 120, thready and irregular; respirations are 36 and grunting. I hear rales in the bases of his lungs." Johnny nodded as he wrote down the vital signs and then relayed them to Dr. Early at Rampart General Hospital. At the same time, Brice set up the oxygen tank and placed a mask on the increasingly frantic man.

"10-4, 51. I am seeing on the monitor sinus tachycardia with ST elevation and PVC's. Is that what you are also seeing?"

"That's affirmative, Rampart."

"51, start an IV D5W, TKO, and give Metaraminol, 1 mg IV push." Johnny began scribbling down the orders on the log sheet. "Also, once his pressure is above 90 systolic, give him 1 mg MS IV push per minute, until his pain is relieved. Place the patient on O² at 6 liters per minute by mask, place the victim in a semi-sitting position, monitor vital signs and cardiac rhythm and transport as soon as possible."

"10-4, Rampart," he said, confirming the orders given by the hospital.

"Gage, he's out."

Johnny turned and saw the patient slump forward, and Brice catching, then easing him backward into a supine position. Suddenly the man stiffened, and began a hoarse, primal-sounding scream. He started to thrash violently—a seizure—all the while the eerie scream continued. Then, after what seemed to be an eternity—actually, it was only 30-45 seconds—the man suddenly became limp and silent.

"Gage, I've lost the pulse," reported Brice. Simultaneously they looked at the monitor.

"V-fib!"

Brice quickly made a fist and gave the arrested patient a sound thump to the middle of his chest while Johnny prepared the defibrillator. He charged and gelled the paddles then handed them off to his erstwhile partner.

"Remember, Gage," said Brice, "we are now operating under a new protocol."

"Yeah, I remember. Charged at 200."

"Clear," then, "No change. Charge again."

"300," Johnny called out.

"Clear." "Still no change."

"Charging at 360," Johnny said.

"Clear. No change in rhythm, and the patient is still pulseless and apneic, Gage. I'm beginning CPR."

Brice began compressions while Johnny updated the hospital on the man's deteriorating condition. He secured the man's airway with an esophageal airway, started the ordered IV, then administered two amps of bicarb and followed with an amp of epinephrine as ordered by Dr. Early.

Once the medications had been artificially circulated through CPR, Brice said, "Let's defibrillate one more time…Gage, the paddles are dry, and his chest is dry as well. I require more conductive gel on the paddles." Johnny squirted a generous amount on one paddle while punching the charge button once again. Brice rubbed the paddles together to distribute the gel evenly then placed them on the arrested man's chest.

"Charged at 360," Johnny called.

"Clear."

SNAP!

Johnny saw a ribbon of electricity arc from the paddles and a brief flash of light. Brice was unaware of this, felt no pain, at least not initially…all he knew was that he felt a sensation like a snap, then his arms flew up involuntarily, the paddles flying off in opposite directions.

"Shit!" The word flew out of Brice's mouth as involuntarily as the movement of his arms had been. Then the pain hit. Sharp. Sudden. All the way up to his shoulders. He brought his arms toward his chest, hugging himself, and clenched his teeth in pain.

Still kneeling by the biophone, Johnny was briefly stunned by what he just witnessed. But then he dropped the receiver and started moving over toward the patient. Brice, thinking that Gage was coming over to help him, waved him off.

"I'm okay! I'm okay! Just keep going! The patient…" He stopped, a quiet moan escaping as a new muscle spasm struck his arms. Reflexively, he grasped his arms more tightly.

Johnny grabbed the HT and spoke tersely into its microphone: "LA, this is Squad 51! We have a patient in cardiac arrest and a code I! Request another squad and ambulance respond to this scene."

"10-4, 51." He dropped the radio as he heard more tones being set off and reached for the biophone to update the hospital.

"Rampart, we now have another patient, the victim of an electric shock. Be advised the patient is Craig Brice, and that he has received a charge of 360 watts/second. Patient number one is still in cardiac arrest, with the monitor showing v-fib, and we are unable to use the defibrillator at this time. Another squad has been dispatched. Patient number two is conscious and in pain, complaining of muscle spasms in his arms. I am unable to assess him more completely, as I am continuing CPR on patient number one until more help arrives."

"10-4, 51, continue CPR and notify us of any change in either patient."

"10-4, Rampart."

Johnny then turned his attention once again toward their stricken patient and began to do CPR by himself. He kept one worried eye on the monitor, wishing he could be certain that he could use the defibrillator safely; the other he kept on Brice.

His temporary partner was still kneeling, clutching his arms to himself in a bizarre type of bear hug and grimacing as waves of pain washed over him with each muscle spasm. Brice was almost certain he'd cracked a molar from clenching his teeth so hard. How could this have happened, he wondered miserably.

Time seemed to be suspended for the two paramedics. Gage was beginning to tire from doing CPR by himself, while Brice wondered if the spasms in his arms would ever stop. Finally the wail of sirens could be heard in the distance, gradually growing closer. A squad pulled up to a stop behind their truck—it was 45's medics. Johnny breathed a sigh of relief as an ambulance also came to a screeching halt behind them.

Bellivue and Phillips hurried up to the two men, equipment in hand, questioning looks upon their faces.

"Bob, Tom," Johnny panted while continuing his efforts on their first patient. "Our defibrillator kicked back the charge up Brice's arms. This patient is still in v-fib, but I can't shock him…at least not with our equipment!"

The two men nodded, and quickly had the arrested patient hooked to their own monitor and defibrillator. The two paramedics from 45's then took over from Johnny, allowing him a brief respite before turning his attention to the fallen Brice.

Johnny gently urged Brice first to sit, then to lie back on the ground; he found it a more difficult task, however, to convince Brice to keep his arms down.

"Hold still, Brice! I can't get these leads on you if you keep grabbing your arms!"

"I-I'm trying, Gage, but these spasms aren't stopping…." He groaned in pain again. "I don't understand what happened; I did everything according to protocol…"

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Brice; will you shut up about regulations for once? You're hurt! Why don't you stop thinking about what happened for now, and concentrate on letting me help you? Right now, what I need for you to do is to lie as still as you can—I know you're hurting and that your arms are in spasm, but try, okay? Now tell me: are you hurting anywhere else? Do your remember what happened to you? And for the last time, lie back or I'll sit on you!"

Meekly, Brice submitted to Gage's assessment and ministrations. Another spasm struck. He grimaced, tensing up his arms, but then he forced them to go limp once more.

"No, only my arms hurt, and to be quite honest with you, Gage, I'm not sure…I know I went to defibrillate the patient, but I don't know what happened."

"Well, did you feel anything when you defibbed him that last time?" Johnny finished getting Brice's vital signs and was preparing to report to Rampart his full assessment.

"No, not really. Uh, wait, Gage, I think I felt a kind of buzz, or a-a-a snap! Yes, that was it. I sensed a 'snap.'" Johnny nodded.

"Gage?" Bellivue looked across their now packaged cardiac patient. "How about you riding in with Brice, and we'll bring you back to the squad?"

"Yeah, Bob, that'll be fine. Thanks."

"All right, then, see you there. Hang in there, Brice."

Brice nodded his head and closed his eyes, trying to force himself to relax and lie as still as possible. But all he could think of were two things: If only these spasms would stop! And, What did I do wrong? While agonizing over the events, he heard, as if through a tunnel, Gage reporting on his condition to the hospital. He opened his eyes and stared unseeingly at the clear blue sky above.

"Rampart, Squad 51 with an update on patient number two."

"Go ahead, 51." Dr. Early was still manning the base station.

"Rampart, recapping the history; victim is a 31 year old male, recipient of a low voltage electrical shock. He received a charge of 360 watts/second while attempting to defibrillate a patient in cardiac arrest. He is alert and oriented, complains of pain and muscle spasms in both arms, but denies any other pain. He denies having any difficulty breathing. There are no burns evident on his hands or arms. Vital signs are B/P 140/90, pulse is 112 and regular, respirations are 16. Lung sounds are clear, his pupils are equal and reactive to light, skin is pale but warm and dry, and the monitor is showing sinus tachycardia."

"10-4, 51, start an IV with Ringers TKO, place the patient on O2 at 3 liters per minute by nasal cannula, continue to monitor cardiac activity and vital signs, and transport as soon as possible."

"10-4, Rampart, I hear the ambulance arriving now."

Brice, still withdrawn in his misery, barely felt Johnny start the IV on him. Gage frowned at the paramedic's seeming lack of awareness.

"Brice?" Johnny first waved his hand before the other man's eyes, then shook his shoulder sharply. "Craig!" Brice started, blinked, then focused on his caregiver. "Where were you, man? You looked like you were a million miles away!" He shook his head and closed his eyes, sighing.

"I'm all right, Gage. I-I just don't feel much like talking."

Johnny smiled and patted his shoulder. "I understand. All right, I'll leave you to your thoughts…on the condition that you will tell me if anything changes. Deal?"

Brice nodded without opening his eyes. "Deal."

He felt two pairs of hands slide underneath him and lift him onto the ambulance cot. A blanket was placed over him, then the safety straps were secured. He felt the weight of the monitor and oxygen tank being placed next to and between his legs. He was next aware of the sensation of being lifted into the ambulance and felt the cot being locked into place. He heard his partner's voice asking the attendant if he could lock up the squad. At this, Brice opened his eyes.

"Gage."

"Yeah, Brice?"

"You'll need the key. It's in my left pants pocket."

"Uh, thanks, Brice. Um—you wouldn't mind if I…" Johnny hesitated.

"No, no. I don't mind at all. After all, it is necessary to lock up the squad, and with the IV in this arm and the muscle spasms…"

"Yeah, well, okay. Look, if you lean a little more toward the right, I can reach in more easily...and...Got it!"" He tossed the keys toward the ambulance attendant. "Look—Ah—Brice, I'm sorry…" Johnny's voice trailed off. After all, what could you say to someone into whose pocket you just had to reach?

"No apology is necessary, Gage. You had to do it in order to secure the squad."

Johnny sighed, relieved that at least Brice was beginning to sound more like his normal self.

Soon, the ambulance was en route to Rampart with two paramedics aboard: one consoled that his colleague's injury did not turn out to be all that serious, the other subdued, wishing he could be left alone, and wondering still what had gone wrong.

Once at the hospital, Brice barely had time to ponder over the events leading up to his injury. There was such a fuss, so many questions to answer, so many tasks that had to be completed in order to determine whether he had sustained any further injury! But finally, the last EKG had been traced, the last drop of blood drawn, the last neurological exam completed, and he was settled in a room by himself.

He scratched somewhat distractedly at the monitor electrodes still adhered to his chest, wishing he didn't have to remain on a monitor overnight. But he knew it was necessary. After all, it was protocol for anyone who'd sustained an electric shock. At this thought, he snorted disdainfully.

Protocol! What was the sense in having a protocol if it didn't protect me? I did everything by the book…I looked to make sure that neither Gage nor I were in contact with the patient…Twice! The paddles were gelled and I and made certain that they were completely coated…and I am sure that I had applied the paddles to his chest with sufficient pressure…so what could have gone wrong?

He sighed, closed his eyes, and vainly tried to find a somewhat comfortable position in order to get some sleep, but those darned wires…! His train of thought derailed at the sound of the door opening. A part of him wanted to look up, but he was so caught up in his self-misery that he ignored the unknown, uninvited visitor.

"Brice, how are you doing?"

Gage, Brice thought miserably, He's probably stopped by to rub this in…but his thoughts were interrupted by the other paramedic's voice.

"Brice, I know you're awake and that you're ignoring me, but you've got to talk about this…this…" Brice's eyes sprang open and he glared at Johnny in irritation.

"'This' what, Gage," Brice snapped, "this mistake? That I made an error that not only jeopardized my life, but also that of the patient's…and yours? Is that why you've come by, to have a good laugh at my expense?"

At first Johnny was taken aback by the other paramedic's anger, but then he bristled in turn. "No, Brice, I'm not here to laugh at you. Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, I stopped by to see you…to see how you were feeling? To see if there was anything you needed? To see if there was anything I could do for you? Or to see if you would just want some company?"

Brice couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had heard all the jokes and comments made about his fastidiousness, his seeming obsession with procedure and order, his high standards of perfection. Most of the time he ignored such things. After all, they were not what was important. As a result, when it came to the camaraderie shared among the other firefighters and paramedics, he often felt like he was standing alone outside, looking in through a window. Could it be he was wrong about that assumption?

Gage watched the conflicting emotions flicker across Brice's face and sympathized with him. He knew how it felt to be injured in a seemingly senseless accident. He softened his tone of voice.

"Look, the hospital's clinical engineers and the defibrillator's manufacturers are inspecting the unit to see what might have happened. Knowing how…" here he fished for an appropriate word, "…how cautious you are when it comes to policy and procedure, the primary consideration is that it was mechanical failure and not…" Here he left the remaining words unspoken. No use saying it, Brice already blamed himself. One look toward the man in the hospital bed and he knew that it was already foremost in Brice's mind. John watched the other man curl up and turn away from him, and he mentally kicked himself for his unintentional implication.

"Go ahead, you can say it," came the muffled reply. I know you and the others are thinking it…'operator error.'" His voice took on an embittered tone. "Brice, the 'Perfect Paramedic,' 'the Walking Rule Book,' made a mistake. Oh, ha-ha, let's all have a good laugh! Go ahead, I don't care!"

Johnny was torn between responding back in anger, sympathizing with the distraught man's maelstrom of emotions, or just laughing at his self-pity. He silently stood at Brice's bedside before finally deciding that none of these would be right. Quietly, he told him, "I can see that you still haven't made up your mind concerning your feelings about this accident." This time, Brice detected no hesitation in his voice when he said that word. "And I can see that you want to be left alone. All right, then. I'll leave you alone, but only for now. I'll stop by later and see how you are feeling. Anytime you want to talk, you know how to reach me. I'll be happy just to listen…" Here, Brice heard a small chuckle come from Gage. "After all, I do know a thing or two about accidents!" He heard the door open, then shut, and then he was alone once more.

Brice remained immobile in bed for some minutes after hearing Gage's departure before rolling over on to his back. He stared at the ceiling, no longer in despair. His thoughts were all a-jumble again, but this time without any of the miserable, self-pitying emotions felt earlier. He still was confused by the events of the day, still wondered how it could have happened to him. Well, he silently corrected himself, at least how it could have happened to anybody. As he continued to think about the accident, he began to ponder the future: could he ever handle the defibrillator again or would he be too frightened to do so? Is there some way he could ensure this type of an accident would not be repeated, not only for himself, but also for all others who use such equipment?

He looked over at the telephone at his bedside. Deep down, he knew he wanted to talk to someone, but to whom? Gage? He's still on duty at 51's and would come by if asked. His own partner, Bellingham? They had worked together long enough, and even if it wasn't apparent to most casual onlookers, the two paramedics had actually forged a strong bond of friendship. He could talk to Bellingham about it…After all, he thought ruefully, 'Animal' talks to me about everything! The use of his partner's nickname while lost in thought evoked a slight smile. Funny, he mused silently, I can't bring myself to call him 'Animal' to his face.

He thought back once again to the circumstances of his injury. I looked around, and made sure that neither Gage nor I was touching the patient, so I know it wasn't that…. I wonder if…His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock at the door. The look of surprise was evident on his face when Roy peered around the door before entering.

"DeSoto," Brice began. "I'm assuming that your return means everything is all right in San Francisco?" He saw Roy startle slightly at his stiff, formal inquiry, but then watched the other man smile slightly and give a small shake of his head.

"Yeah, Jo's mother is going to be fine, thank you. And I'm assuming, Brice, that you're feeling better since you asked me that. At least, you sound more like your normal self. I'm sorry this happened to you. How are you?"

Recalling his earlier thoughts of being an unwelcome outsider looking in on a tightly knit, exclusive clique, Brice felt a sudden rush of gratitude. Perhaps he—Brice—was not such the interloper after all? Right then he vowed silently that he would change and not be so stiff or formal in the future. And one of the first things he would do is amend the manner in which he addressed other people…but not right now. He just wasn't ready. He simply had too many other things on his mind. "DeSoto," he began, then he stopped. Why should he wait to change? And why did the thought make him feel so unexpectedly nervous? He licked his suddenly dry lips, took a deep breath, and started again.

"DeSoto—Ah—Roy…" There. He'd said it! Brice saw the other paramedic's eyebrows rise slightly, indicating his surprise, but he ignored it and plunged on with his thoughts. "I'm feeling better now." More than you'll ever know, DeS—Roy, he thought silently. "Other than an elevated cardiac enzyme result, all my other labs have returned within normal limits."

"That's understandable, considering the shock you received—Craig." At this small gesture of informality, Brice felt his face begin to flush. He turned away toward the bedside nightstand and poured himself a drink of water, using the distraction as a way to regain his composure.

"Thanks again for asking. Since I've been in this room, I have had some time to think, and I wonder if I might run an idea past you?"

Craig Brice? Asking for my opinion? This time, Roy successfully hid his surprise. "Sure, go ahead." What could be on his mind that he'd want to ask me?

"Does using the defibrillator make you nervous?" He saw the other paramedic blink in surprise, but he decided to continue before he forgot what he had to say. "I know that the persons investigating this incident will eventually find the cause, and give suggestions as to future prevention. But I'm beginning to think this is not going to be enough…for me, anyway. I don't know if I can use it sometime in the future and be certain that this will not happen again. DeS—Roy, that thought makes me nervous. I mean, a paramedic too afraid to use his own equipment?" He watched as Roy moved a seat over toward his bed and sat down, looking at his hands for some moments before speaking.

"Brice—Craig, I'm not sure what to say, other than it's probably going to be something you'll have to face only when the time comes. It's like the time your SCBA ran out of air while trying to rescue a victim trapped in a fire. The next time that kind of situation presented itself, you still went in and did your job, even though the memory of that other incident was foremost in your mind, right?" He watched the injured man nod from his bed. "Always remember this, Craig. I can't predict how you'll react when the situation comes up once more, but this I do know: you won't be alone. You'll have other people there, your partner especially, to back you up."

"Thank you. That really helps me…Roy. It does have me thinking, though. I wonder if there could be a way of making defibrillation less hazardous to us and all others present?"

Roy chuckled and told him, "Craig, if there is anyone who will find a way, I know it'll be you!"

The next morning, Dr. Early stopped by the nurses' station to review the charts of his patients on the floor before seeing them on his rounds. Glancing over the nurse's notes in Craig Brice's chart, he was pleased to see that not only had the paramedic's condition remained stable overnight, but that his demeanor had greatly improved. He made a few notations in the chart, outlining discharge orders once a final set of lab work and one last EKG had been obtained. He flipped the chart closed and turned toward the younger man's room. Purely out of the habit borne from his upbringing, Dr. Early lightly knocked on the door before entering. Without waiting for an answer, however, he walked in. He approached the patient's bed, a gentle smile of amusement on his face.

Craig Brice was sitting upright in his bed. Even though he remained hooked up to the heart monitor, he still managed to find a project to keep himself occupied. The rolling table which should have held the paramedic's breakfast was littered instead with technical manuals and professional journals as well as pages filled with what looked like hand-drawn sketches, mathematical equations and chemical formulae. Brice himself was unaware of the physician's entrance; rather, his attention was focused on the tube of EKG conductive gel held in his hand. With a quiet clearing of his throat, Joe broke the other man's concentration.

"Good morning, Brice. I'd ask how you were feeling, but it looks like I have my answer."

"Good morning, Sir. Yes, I do feel better. "

"What is all this?"

Here the bespectacled paramedic paused momentarily before answering. "Well, Dr. Early, I'm trying to find a cause for my accident yesterday, as well as a way to make it safer for me—and for everybody else, actually—to use a defibrillator whenever it is needed."

"It certainly looks like you're on to something here, Brice. Let me do one final check on you, and then you can tell me about it before I let you go home."

Ten months later:

Johnny and Roy entered Rampart's emergency room on a quest for supplies. They both noted Squad 116 parked in the lot next to an ambulance—Brice and Bellingham had arrived a short time earlier. The two paramedics from Station 51 knew from listening to the other crew's radio traffic that it had been a difficult cardiac call and they wondered how it concluded.

As they approached the nurses' station, they saw Bob 'the Animal' Bellingham leaning on the counter and talking to nurse Dixie McCall. He looked up at the sound of their approaching footsteps and saluted his fellow paramedics with his index finger. "Hey, guys," he greeted them.

"Hey, Bob."

"Hi, Bob. Sounded like you had a rough one. How's the patient," Roy asked.

"Don't know; Craig's still in there with the doc. Last I saw, it wasn't too good."

"Hey, Dix," Johnny said, while Roy handed her their list of supplies needed, "Have you heard the news? Craig Brice is being featured in an article of the department newsletter because of his invention: a system for hands-off defibrillation."

"Yeah," Roy chimed in, "There's a big buzz going up and down the department grapevine about it; seems there's a few medical equipment companies that are interested in purchasing the rights to his product. They're saying it's going to revolutionize the industry when it comes to increasing the margin of safety for anyone having to use a defibrillator."

The nurse looked up from the supplies she was counting and glanced over at Animal, her eyebrows arched in surprise. "Is that what I saw attached to the patient you just brought in, Bob?" He nodded.

"Yep. Craig made a couple of prototypes for us to test—with the department's and Dr. Brackett's blessing, of course."

The sound of a door opening and the sight of Brice, Brackett and nurse leaving the treatment room interrupted any response Dixie might've had. The trio's weary body language told the others gathered around the counter all they needed to know: the patient did not survive his heart attack. They watched as Kel turned toward Craig and briefly put a hand on his shoulder. Then with a quick glance and nod in their direction, they saw the doctor turn toward the waiting room, approach a small group of people and usher them into his office with the accompanying nurse's aid. When the dejected paramedic joined the little knot of his peers, they commiserated with him in silence—they knew what it was like to work so hard to save someone's life only to have that person die in the end. They all had been there, too.

A short time later, they saw Dr. Brackett's office door open and the nurse leading the weeping family members into the treatment room where the patient still lay. The doctor himself walked past the room and approached them. He smiled slightly.

"Even though this man did not survive, Brice, I think this hands-free defibrillation system has possibilities. I'm going to make my recommendations to the department to permit you to sell the idea. Let me know if you need help in lining up investors. You can certainly count me in." He shook the slight man's hand. "Congratulations." He then turned away and headed toward treatment room three along with Dixie as another squad brought in their patient.

Craig couldn't believe his ears. The next thing he realized, the others were crowded around him once again, shaking his hand, pounding him on his back or just telling him congratulations. He felt a rush of gratitude once more as he recalled the conversation he had had with Roy some months earlier. And suddenly he realized that what had been said to him at that time was not meant for just that one situation, but for any circumstance in his life:

"…You won't be alone. You'll have other people there, your partner especially, to back you up."

Author's Note: From the time I first learned how to operate a defibrillator as a paramedic student more than twenty years ago, I have been scared to death of it. After all, it's a dangerous piece of equipment! This accident involving a defibrillator happened to me more than ten years ago, exactly the way I portrayed it happening to Brice. It's one of those incidents that I put into the category of "Things You Don't Tell Your Parents!"

Since my accident over a decade ago, a new product has come on the market: Stat Padz. These large, pre-gelled pads are placed on a patient's chest and back and the wires leading from the pads end in a universal-type plug, which in turn is plugged into the defibrillator itself. No longer do we have to touch the patient when defibrillating. Now when a paramedic/nurse/physician/PA/CNP shocks a patient, all that is needed is to charge the machine, then press a button on the plug.

While the cause of my accident was never discovered, I do recall a couple of interesting things from my own experience. One, it remains to this day the first and ONLY time I have ever sworn in front of a patient. And two, according to the advanced cardiac life support protocols as set forth by the American Heart Association, I should have kept the charge of the defibrillator at 360 watts/second as I shocked my patient that fourth time. However, for reasons known only unto God Himself, I broke protocol that day and dropped it back down to the minimum charge of 200 watts/sec.

I think that just might have saved my life.

To the MuskE!tE!E!rs, for their beta reading and nit-picking excellence; to MJ, who originally gave this story a home; to Jane who has very kindly taken in yet another orphan and given it a new home; and to Stella, my Brice-expert-in-residence, much thanks.

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