Warning: contains description of graphic injury.

I settled down to watch an episode of Ambulance: Code Red with Master Levi last night, a series that we’ve been watching together lately. Master and I enjoy these “frontline” documentaries, but particularly, and for whatever reason, the emergency services ones. It helps to foster an appreciation for the great work these people do. 

I was working in the kitchen at the time, but Master tells me that he’d put the series on. He also says that he “hope(s) there are no graphic injuries like last time”. 

“That was gross” he adds. I shrug it off. 

“A part of life as a first responder” I reply.  

The “graphic injury” that Master referred to was an elderly lady who had fallen and lacerated her underarm on the handle of her stroller: the handle had sliced through her underarm area in the fall and the soft tissues of her arm were left, bloodied and hanging, with about a 3-inch deep visible laceration extending from front to back. When she lifted her arm so it could be dressed, daylight could be seen from the other side of the wound. 

It was quite graphic, but it is also a part of life. 

I’m not a paramedic, but I have done first aid training and I’m often the go-to girl for injuries with our friends. When one of Master’s friends experienced a compound broken clavicle after a particularly vicious football tackle, I was the first on scene. 

The man still dotes on me, purely because I knew what I was doing, I accurately assessed his injury and I knew that he needed (and thus I got him) help. 

I got called away, but when I returned the episode had ended, and Master was a little glum. 

“That was a sad episode” he says, apparently the sweet old lady who fell in this episode died two weeks later at home. It is sad, but… it’s life. 

A little later, Valkyries is having a softer moment. I’m not bothered by it or put off by it – I love that they both have softer sides. 

I do tease Valkyries, though, about “doing Domination wrong” – about them both not being “big, bad mean Dominants.” 

Valkyries says that it’s to “lull me into a false sense of security” and I laugh. I tell him that “I’d have to be fooled for it to be false.”

I know exactly what I’m looking at, Sir. 

I tease him about being a “big, bad teddy bear”, and Master Levi too. Master raises an eyebrow at me and I just know my goose is cooked. 

“Teddy bear?” He asks, “how are you spelling that? With an -ie or a -y?”

Well shit. 

Heck, I’m already in trouble. I might as well go all-in. 

“That’s a good question!” I say, “so in your case, it’s ‘teddy’ with a y.”

As it was nothing did happen, but I remain alert and aware. 

I did announce too, at the stroke of midnight, that from today, “the Teddy Bear Doctrine” shall come into effect: the big, bad softies who try to post as big, bad meanies shall thusly be identified as “teddy bears”. Queen Elena has ruled.

I did have a happy accident in the kitchen last night. Actually, I had one on Tuesday too, so just quickly: I forgot to buy brioche buns for our burgers, and the result of that was “skinny” (bunless) burgers. I thought Master would object, but he actually preferred them as less filling. That’s worth remembering in future. 

Last night, I used my vegetable chopper on the red pepper. My plan was speed and efficiency, but I thought it chopped the red pepper maybe a little bit too small.

That was until I added the sweet chilli sauce and cooked chicken to the wok, along with the pepper: the sauce thickened and the pepper stuck to the chicken in a way that almost made it seem relish-like and intentional. A simple way to get one of our five a day in us in a way that seemed like there weren’t any veggies at all.  

Our new rice cooker works well, too. 

This morning I was visited by two gentlemen from the local Jehovah’s Witnesses Church. They were pleasant and personable, but I knew immediately what they wanted. 

They started off their invitation to attend their Memorial of Jesus’ Death event by pointing out that it’s free to attend. I found that a little bit… odd. 

“I thought most churches are free to attend?” I said. 

“There’s no collection” one of them said, the other explained it like going to the supermarket and taking what you want, and either paying for it or not if you don’t want to. 

“That’s called theft?” I argued. I wasn’t trying to be difficult, but I was confused about his analogy. 

They stayed for a while, and we had quite a nice chat. One of the gentleman was convinced my name was “Marianne”, probably the very last name I wanted to be called. 

They have said they will return, but they will be disappointed. What I don’t want to give to organised religion isn’t my money; it’s my time. 

Matthew 6:6 — “But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”