Latest news with #EMTs
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Yahoo
A Drunk Driver Crashed Into Me. When I Woke Up, I Was A Completely Different Person.
On a Tuesday morning in 2006 in Dutchess County, New York, a woman ran out of beer. She was drunk at 10 a.m. but not as drunk as she wanted to be, so she stole a truck, procured a case of Bud, then crushed a parked car. I was in the parked car. EMTs pried me out. I woke up in a freezing room where techs were extracting sharp things from my skin. It was a Code 4 emergency, which means my life was threatened. Then it wasn't my life. The good news was that I survived. The bad news was brain damage. Years later, a neurologist said I suffered the same type of injury that former Rep. Gabrielle Giffords suffered when she was shot in the head. ,So were my legs and my arms and my feet. Post-truck, I was parked with trauma patients, rolling Play-Doh balls and pounding pegs in boards. We included a former physician, a former professor of psycholinguistics, a former custodian and a former owner of a kebab café. There's not much demand for brain-damaged writers. Since I couldn't comprehend — leave alone manage — business affairs, an attorney completed my last career financial transaction which was refunding a five-figure advance to a client known from Burundi to Beverly Hills. To pay mounting bills, he was forced to sell our home. This was all far above my new head. Movers I can't recall packed boxes I can't recall for a trip I could not wrap my head around. I landed in a sleepy southern town east of somewhere and west of somewhere else in a rambling wooden farmhouse peering out from tangled brush. It was nine hours south of my old life and my child. No trace of the move remains in my mind — it's like it didn't happen or I wasn't there. I rarely recalled I'd been moved to Virginia. This means I wondered if I should move to a place I already lived in, or leave a place I already left. My child stayed in college in New York while I spent one year in outpatient therapy. I relearned how to walk, how to talk, how to place my hands on a keyboard, how to read, how to write, how to make a cup of tea. Three years post-truck, the Social Security Disability Administration ruled my injuries were 'permanent and incurable.' Still, my daughter's 'diagnosis' was by far the worst. She said her mom disappeared. In my first life, I made sense of thousands of stories on global warming and lip gloss and sports bras and organized closets and candidates. Normal people do things like that, plus wake up, brush teeth, get dressed, eat breakfast, get kids to school, keep clients happy and clean dryer lint. It felt like I had been thrown from a plane. Then it felt like trying to piece together any remnants of the person I was before I was thrown out of the plane. And then? It kept feeling that way. Most of us lose people we love. I lost the person I was. Related: The author several years after the accident. Related: The new 'me' had never read books I loved, never shared favorite times with my child. They tested my brain hundreds of times and found lots of things bit the dust, like the file that encodes new memories, and the file that integrates physical movements so you don't fly down the steps or fall out of your chair. I lost what happened a minute ago, a page ago, a lifetime ago. This is called amnesia. Amnesia can take anything and make it disappear. Your child's first words. Your mom's last words. Mine came with a side of aphasia. That means I couldn't find the words I needed or put them together so they made sense. I said stuff like 'white stuff sky,' which meant snow, or 'cow thing pants' which meant belt or 'green thing dirt,' which meant plant. Words often seemed to start mid-sentence — and end there, too. There are three stages of making a memory: encoding (which means you learn something), consolidation (which means you store it), and recall (which means you can find it again). Learning was hard. Storing was hard. Recall was almost impossible. I was impaired and could not be repaired. A doctor told me so. There's an irony: The drunk woman who hit me was impaired, too. You may wonder if 'insurers' covered health care bills or compensated me for pain and suffering. The answer is no. The drunk driver had three prior DUIs and no longer had a license or insurance. Because she had stolen the truck she was driving, the owner's insurance didn't pay either. The car I was in was parked and I was waiting for the woman who owned it to return, so she was not at fault and her insurer didn't pay. As a result, most of the massive medical bills were paid by me, or rather the power of attorney on my behalf. Health insurance did not/does not cover motor vehicle accidents. I encountered a Catch-22 that removed me from outpatient rehab at the end of year one, which may or may not have been linked to insurance, too. Or, rather, lack of it. The head guy (pun intended) in neuro rehab decided I was both too screwed-up and not screwed-up enough to keep receiving help. If I were more screwed up, they could do something. If I were less screwed-up, they could do something. But I wasn't, so they couldn't. And, so, I relearned to read under the patient care of no one at all. I achieved mixed results. In year two post-accident, I began trying to read a book. I read the same pages for two years. At first, they meant nothing. Then they meant something, for a few seconds. If I began where I'd left off, say on page 5, and found a character was on a train, I had no idea why he was on it or where he was going. At the same time, I started scratching anything I could recall on any surface I could find — paper plates, paper cups, placemats, napkins, coffee stirrers and Popsicle sticks. I called them scraps. They were not in alphabetical order, not in numerical order, not in chronological order, but out of order, like me. I stuffed them in brown paper shopping bags and then stashed the bags in a closet. A few years ago, Google provided 115,000,000 ways to 'clear your mind.' These included clearing your mind of stress, clearing your mind of guilt, clearing your mind of clutter, clearing your mind of negative thoughts, clearing your cookies, clearing your cache, clearing your sinuses, and clearing your mind of all thought. I had. I also found 8,310,000 jokes about brain injury on Google. Plus, of course, in cartoons all over the planet, people like us are hilarious, especially when our skulls get smashed. Think baseball bats, rifle butts, and coconuts on craniums. The intact brain is amazing. The three-pound blob remembers the theme music for The Flintstones, the name of your fifth-grade French teacher, and your childhood phone number. But put it through a windshield at 70 miles an hour,r and then it's a crapshoot. You might remember something that happened a moment ago, or you might not. You might not walk or talk again. You might wake up as an entirely different person. Or you might never wake up. Seven years ago, I began attending a newly formed brain trauma group. One member, Daniel, 'came back' from two weeks in a coma. Daniel's counselor says that the 'old' Daniel is gone. The new Daniel has new frontal lobes and a new personality, as well as the wife of his former self and three kids he can't name. Another member, Mel, kept saying, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' like he did something wrong. We were told most of us were in the program due to someone driving while drunk. A recent photo of the author. Brain trauma is not about the past: the successes, accomplishments, accolades. It's not even about losses. It's a muddy, rutty, hands and knees crawl up to the first rung of the ladder, and up each rung after that. There is no cure. I'm sharing this story not because I think it is exceptional, but because I know it is not. Many others with similar stories can't write because they're more disabled than I am or because they lost their lives. We all have plaque in our brain — some of us know it. Plaque can advance like armies in the night, taking more and more of us, leaving less and less. You take a detour when you see us coming, and think we don't notice, but we do. In 2021, the latest year for which there are numbers, the National Highway Safety Traffic Administration (NHSTA) reported 401,520 Americans were killed or injured due to someone driving while drunk. Also according to NHSTA, two out of three Americans will be impacted by drunk driving in their lifetime. Every day, lives of adults and kids are taken by impaired drivers who gain a few seconds, then take a few lives. Each statistic is a person. Each death is preventable, as is each injury. According to a recent article in The New York Times Magazine, 'From 2020 to 2021, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration has since calculated, the number of crashes in the United States soared 16 percent, to more than six million, or roughly 16,500 wrecks a day.' The article goes on to point out that, 'For public-messaging reasons, vehicular wrecks are almost never referred to by experts as 'accidents,' wording that implies no culpability on the part of the participants.' The fatality figures were somehow even worse. In 2021, the latest year for which there are figures, 42,939 Americans died in car crashes, the highest toll in a decade and a half. 'Of those deaths, a sizable portion involved intoxicated or unrestrained drivers or vehicles traveling well in excess of local speed limits.' This would be a different story if I regained my former life, complete with my former mind. I didn't. Eighteen years post-accident. I still think with a stutter, speak with a limp, and have less usable space in my brain, so I run out of memory fast. Today I had two coins in my hand. One was a dime and one was a nickel, and I didn't know which was which. I can spackle all I want but underneath I'm still broken. I frustrate others by leaning on them and by not leaning on them, and baffle them when I seem normal and when I don't. It takes decades to build a life, and seconds to destroy it. The next time someone warns you to be careful when driving home from a night out, don't roll your eyes. Heed their warning. Disabled people are the single largest minority in the world, and likely the least heard from. We are also the only minority anyone can join at any time. Trust me, you won't want to be disabled — or to take someone's life. Judith Hannah Weiss freelanced for 25 years, writing print and broadcast promotion for New York, The New Yorker, Vanity Fair, Vogue and other major media. In 2006, she was hit by a drunk driver, which put things on a long pause. Her post-accident work has appeared on NBC News and in The Washington Post, The Oldster, Iowa Review, The Rumpus, Dorothy Parker's Ashes, Memoir Monday and The Pulse. You can find her on Substack at and at This article originally appeared on HuffPost in April 2024. Also in Goodful: Also in Goodful: Also in Goodful:
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Yahoo
A Drunk Driver Crashed Into Me. When I Woke Up, I Was A Completely Different Person.
On a Tuesday morning in 2006 in Dutchess County, New York, a woman ran out of beer. She was drunk at 10 a.m. but not as drunk as she wanted to be, so she stole a truck, procured a case of Bud, then crushed a parked car. I was in the parked car. EMTs pried me out. I woke up in a freezing room where techs were extracting sharp things from my skin. It was a Code 4 emergency, which means my life was threatened. Then it wasn't my life. The good news was that I survived. The bad news was brain damage. Years later, a neurologist said I suffered the same type of injury that former Rep. Gabrielle Giffords suffered when she was shot in the head. ,So were my legs and my arms and my feet. Post-truck, I was parked with trauma patients, rolling Play-Doh balls and pounding pegs in boards. We included a former physician, a former professor of psycholinguistics, a former custodian and a former owner of a kebab café. There's not much demand for brain-damaged writers. Since I couldn't comprehend — leave alone manage — business affairs, an attorney completed my last career financial transaction which was refunding a five-figure advance to a client known from Burundi to Beverly Hills. To pay mounting bills, he was forced to sell our home. This was all far above my new head. Movers I can't recall packed boxes I can't recall for a trip I could not wrap my head around. I landed in a sleepy southern town east of somewhere and west of somewhere else in a rambling wooden farmhouse peering out from tangled brush. It was nine hours south of my old life and my child. No trace of the move remains in my mind — it's like it didn't happen or I wasn't there. I rarely recalled I'd been moved to Virginia. This means I wondered if I should move to a place I already lived in, or leave a place I already left. My child stayed in college in New York while I spent one year in outpatient therapy. I relearned how to walk, how to talk, how to place my hands on a keyboard, how to read, how to write, how to make a cup of tea. Three years post-truck, the Social Security Disability Administration ruled my injuries were 'permanent and incurable.' Still, my daughter's 'diagnosis' was by far the worst. She said her mom disappeared. In my first life, I made sense of thousands of stories on global warming and lip gloss and sports bras and organized closets and candidates. Normal people do things like that, plus wake up, brush teeth, get dressed, eat breakfast, get kids to school, keep clients happy and clean dryer lint. It felt like I had been thrown from a plane. Then it felt like trying to piece together any remnants of the person I was before I was thrown out of the plane. And then? It kept feeling that way. Most of us lose people we love. I lost the person I was. Related: The author several years after the accident. Related: The new 'me' had never read books I loved, never shared favorite times with my child. They tested my brain hundreds of times and found lots of things bit the dust, like the file that encodes new memories, and the file that integrates physical movements so you don't fly down the steps or fall out of your chair. I lost what happened a minute ago, a page ago, a lifetime ago. This is called amnesia. Amnesia can take anything and make it disappear. Your child's first words. Your mom's last words. Mine came with a side of aphasia. That means I couldn't find the words I needed or put them together so they made sense. I said stuff like 'white stuff sky,' which meant snow, or 'cow thing pants' which meant belt or 'green thing dirt,' which meant plant. Words often seemed to start mid-sentence — and end there, too. There are three stages of making a memory: encoding (which means you learn something), consolidation (which means you store it), and recall (which means you can find it again). Learning was hard. Storing was hard. Recall was almost impossible. I was impaired and could not be repaired. A doctor told me so. There's an irony: The drunk woman who hit me was impaired, too. You may wonder if 'insurers' covered health care bills or compensated me for pain and suffering. The answer is no. The drunk driver had three prior DUIs and no longer had a license or insurance. Because she had stolen the truck she was driving, the owner's insurance didn't pay either. The car I was in was parked and I was waiting for the woman who owned it to return, so she was not at fault and her insurer didn't pay. As a result, most of the massive medical bills were paid by me, or rather the power of attorney on my behalf. Health insurance did not/does not cover motor vehicle accidents. I encountered a Catch-22 that removed me from outpatient rehab at the end of year one, which may or may not have been linked to insurance, too. Or, rather, lack of it. The head guy (pun intended) in neuro rehab decided I was both too screwed-up and not screwed-up enough to keep receiving help. If I were more screwed up, they could do something. If I were less screwed-up, they could do something. But I wasn't, so they couldn't. And, so, I relearned to read under the patient care of no one at all. I achieved mixed results. In year two post-accident, I began trying to read a book. I read the same pages for two years. At first, they meant nothing. Then they meant something, for a few seconds. If I began where I'd left off, say on page 5, and found a character was on a train, I had no idea why he was on it or where he was going. At the same time, I started scratching anything I could recall on any surface I could find — paper plates, paper cups, placemats, napkins, coffee stirrers and Popsicle sticks. I called them scraps. They were not in alphabetical order, not in numerical order, not in chronological order, but out of order, like me. I stuffed them in brown paper shopping bags and then stashed the bags in a closet. A few years ago, Google provided 115,000,000 ways to 'clear your mind.' These included clearing your mind of stress, clearing your mind of guilt, clearing your mind of clutter, clearing your mind of negative thoughts, clearing your cookies, clearing your cache, clearing your sinuses, and clearing your mind of all thought. I had. I also found 8,310,000 jokes about brain injury on Google. Plus, of course, in cartoons all over the planet, people like us are hilarious, especially when our skulls get smashed. Think baseball bats, rifle butts, and coconuts on craniums. The intact brain is amazing. The three-pound blob remembers the theme music for The Flintstones, the name of your fifth-grade French teacher, and your childhood phone number. But put it through a windshield at 70 miles an hour,r and then it's a crapshoot. You might remember something that happened a moment ago, or you might not. You might not walk or talk again. You might wake up as an entirely different person. Or you might never wake up. Seven years ago, I began attending a newly formed brain trauma group. One member, Daniel, 'came back' from two weeks in a coma. Daniel's counselor says that the 'old' Daniel is gone. The new Daniel has new frontal lobes and a new personality, as well as the wife of his former self and three kids he can't name. Another member, Mel, kept saying, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' like he did something wrong. We were told most of us were in the program due to someone driving while drunk. A recent photo of the author. Brain trauma is not about the past: the successes, accomplishments, accolades. It's not even about losses. It's a muddy, rutty, hands and knees crawl up to the first rung of the ladder, and up each rung after that. There is no cure. I'm sharing this story not because I think it is exceptional, but because I know it is not. Many others with similar stories can't write because they're more disabled than I am or because they lost their lives. We all have plaque in our brain — some of us know it. Plaque can advance like armies in the night, taking more and more of us, leaving less and less. You take a detour when you see us coming, and think we don't notice, but we do. In 2021, the latest year for which there are numbers, the National Highway Safety Traffic Administration (NHSTA) reported 401,520 Americans were killed or injured due to someone driving while drunk. Also according to NHSTA, two out of three Americans will be impacted by drunk driving in their lifetime. Every day, lives of adults and kids are taken by impaired drivers who gain a few seconds, then take a few lives. Each statistic is a person. Each death is preventable, as is each injury. According to a recent article in The New York Times Magazine, 'From 2020 to 2021, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration has since calculated, the number of crashes in the United States soared 16 percent, to more than six million, or roughly 16,500 wrecks a day.' The article goes on to point out that, 'For public-messaging reasons, vehicular wrecks are almost never referred to by experts as 'accidents,' wording that implies no culpability on the part of the participants.' The fatality figures were somehow even worse. In 2021, the latest year for which there are figures, 42,939 Americans died in car crashes, the highest toll in a decade and a half. 'Of those deaths, a sizable portion involved intoxicated or unrestrained drivers or vehicles traveling well in excess of local speed limits.' This would be a different story if I regained my former life, complete with my former mind. I didn't. Eighteen years post-accident. I still think with a stutter, speak with a limp, and have less usable space in my brain, so I run out of memory fast. Today I had two coins in my hand. One was a dime and one was a nickel, and I didn't know which was which. I can spackle all I want but underneath I'm still broken. I frustrate others by leaning on them and by not leaning on them, and baffle them when I seem normal and when I don't. It takes decades to build a life, and seconds to destroy it. The next time someone warns you to be careful when driving home from a night out, don't roll your eyes. Heed their warning. Disabled people are the single largest minority in the world, and likely the least heard from. We are also the only minority anyone can join at any time. Trust me, you won't want to be disabled — or to take someone's life. Judith Hannah Weiss freelanced for 25 years, writing print and broadcast promotion for New York, The New Yorker, Vanity Fair, Vogue and other major media. In 2006, she was hit by a drunk driver, which put things on a long pause. Her post-accident work has appeared on NBC News and in The Washington Post, The Oldster, Iowa Review, The Rumpus, Dorothy Parker's Ashes, Memoir Monday and The Pulse. You can find her on Substack at and at This article originally appeared on HuffPost in April 2024. Also in Goodful: Also in Goodful: Also in Goodful:
Vancouver Sun
3 days ago
- Sport
- Vancouver Sun
B.C. comes back golden from World Police and Fire Games
Seven first responders from the Lower Mainland's paramedics services helped represent Canada at the recent World Police and Fire Games in Birmingham, Ala., earlier this month. The Olympic-style competition has more than 60 events, and draws thousands of paramedics, law enforcement officers, firefighters, and border protection officers from across the world come together every two years. The 2023 games in Winnipeg marked the first time paramedics and EMTs were invited to compete. Vancouver's Sabrina Porreca, who swam collegiately for SFU, cleaned up in the pool, medalling in all nine events she entered. She finished with three gold, four silvers, and two bronzes. Start your day with a roundup of B.C.-focused news and opinion. By signing up you consent to receive the above newsletter from Postmedia Network Inc. A welcome email is on its way. If you don't see it, please check your junk folder. The next issue of Sunrise will soon be in your inbox. Please try again Interested in more newsletters? Browse here. Delta's Troy Derish helped The Beavers — a team comprised of Toronto Fire and RCMP members — defend their gold medal in dodge ball from 2023, going undefeated through round robin and playoffs against 15 other teams. Abbotsford's Shadia Chen-Campbell competing in bench press and push-pull events, placing first in the women's unlimited 84 kilometre bench press with a new competition record of 265 pounds, then bettered that in the unlimited push-pull event (270.1 lbs.), finishing second overall in that discipline with a 688.94 lbs. total. The B.C. members who played sevens rugby — Randi Bowman (Vancouver); Shelby Turnbull (Burnaby); Kate O'Reilly (Burnaby) and Sarah Paget (Richmond) — were part of Team Canada Blue, which finished fifth overall. Canada East took first in the event.
CBS News
5 days ago
- Climate
- CBS News
Dangerous heat prompts Code Red Extreme Heat Alert in Baltimore, open cooling centers
Baltimore City has issued a Code Red Extreme Heat Alert with extreme heat expected across Maryland through Tuesday, July 29. The blast of heat could make the temperatures feel like they're at least 105 degrees. The Code Red Extreme Heat Alert will allow Baltimore City to enhance safety protocols to protect city employees, particularly frontline and outdoor employees, including sanitation crews, public works staff, emergency responders, and others working in high-exposure environments. "With dangerous heat in the forefront, our top priority is protecting the health and well-being of our residents," Baltimore Mayor Brandon Scott said. "Extreme heat can be life-threatening, especially for our older adults, children, pets, and our police officers, firefighters, EMTs, Sanitation workers, and all city employees who work tirelessly outdoors to keep our community clean and safe." The alert also allows Baltimore to open several cooling centers throughout the city. According to the Baltimore City Health Department, Code Red Extreme Heat Alerts are prompted when temperatures are considered to be dangerous. "As we head into what will be an extremely hot weekend, I am issuing a Code Red Extreme Heat alert to protect the health and safety of our community," said Interim Health Commissioner Mary Beth Haller. "I urge everyone to take precautions – stay hydrated, avoid strenuous outdoor activity during the hottest parts of the day, and check in on neighbors and loved ones." The WJZ First Alert Team issued Alert Days for Friday through Sunday due to the risk of dangerous heat, particularly for those who are working outdoors. Friday will be one of the toughest days of the heatwave. High temperatures are forecast to reach the upper 90s to near 100 degrees, but topical levels of humidity will make the heat feel dangerously hot. It will easily feel hotter than 100 degrees. A few neighborhoods could feel as hot as 110 degrees on Friday afternoon. Saturday and Sunday will feature more brutal heat and humidity. Several cooling centers will be open throughout Baltimore. Friday, July 25 Saturday, July 26 Monday, July 28 Tuesday, July 29 The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) says these tips can help prevent heat-related illnesses:
Miami Herald
08-07-2025
- Politics
- Miami Herald
DeSantis' push to eliminate property taxes masks its real consequences
Defunding services The July 4 Miami Herald editorial, 'DeSantis right to veto property tax study. But not for the reasons he may think,' correctly criticizes the governor's policy goal of eliminating property taxes for Florida homeowners. These are, of course, taxes that local governments depend upon to provide essential services for their communities. Over the years — and with considerable bluster and demagoguery — DeSantis' political strategy has been to reflexively blame every societal evil on what he characterizes as 'the left' (or previously, former President Biden and 'the left'). I was startled to read about his embrace of a strategy to end Florida property taxes which, though he has not yet embraced the mantra, essentially 'defunds the police,' as well as fire fighters, EMTs, schools, road maintenance, street repair, garbage pickup and more. Howard L. Simon, Gainesville Freedom or anarchy? Paul Mullen's July 4 op-ed, 'This Independence Day, you are not as free as you think,' demonstrates the absolute absurdity of much libertarian thinking. Without the federal taxes Mullen rails against, we have the freedom to be enslaved by any minor foreign power (think Fidel Castro). We would have the freedom to be poisoned by uncontrolled chemicals released by our free neighbors. We would have the freedom to die of poisoned food and drink and of diseases for which we, as individuals, have no means to control. We would have the freedom to spend two days traveling on dirt roads between Miami and Palm Beach. The list of new freedoms goes on. Freed from state taxes, we would have the freedom to drive 150 miles per hour without a license in an unsafe, unreliable vehicle. Freed from state and local taxes, we would have the freedom to have only ourselves to protect our homes from fire, storms and violence and the freedom to pay the full cost of our children's education in private schools. Without zoning laws, we would have the freedom to live next door to a slaughter house, garbage dump or 24-hour party venue which our free neighbor could allow. As 18th century Swiss philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau demonstrates in 'The Social Contract,' man can only be free by relinquishing some freedoms to the state to insure the common good. This bedrock truth of human society is frequently lost in libertarians of Mullen's ilk. Martin Motes, Redland Squirrels and nuts Have you ever seen a Fox squirrel? It is a Florida resident. Fox squirrels are quite tall and get their name from their pointed snout and tall pointed ears. They are beautiful. They are also closely monitored by Florida's environmental agencies, as they are a fast disappearing species. Over the years, I have been lucky enough to see several fox squirrels from the Ocala area to the Big Cypress. More than once, I have seen them at the side of the jet port road where the Alligator Alcatraz sign has been erected. They seemed to use a stand of cypress next to the road just off the Trail. Soon after sunrise, I would I see them sitting on their haunches taking in the sun. My friends and I used the jet port road as access to points further north into Big Cypress. We frequently saw deer, numerous birds of all types, occasionally a bear and other wildlife. Surprisingly, not that many alligators. The Big Cypress is an environmental treasure and is being despoiled by men who do not have a sense of the beauty of nature. I can only pray that my fox squirrels will be safe. John Falcone, Palmetto Bay What we need Re: the July 2 Miami Herald story, 'American Dream Miami mega-mall will pay Miami-Dade $5M. But wants subsidy help, too.' We do not need another mall. We need homeowners insurance relief. We need better public schools and libraries. Alden Howard, Aventura Two sides, one coin Re: the July 4 op-ed, 'This Independence Day, you're not as free as you think.' Interesting how the extreme right wing Heritage Foundation ends up where the extreme left wing lives — centralized government or communism/socialism. Those of us from Cuba or Venezuela know it does not work. None of us may like property taxes, but it gives us local control over police, fire, schools, zoning and code enforcement and many other services. Who really wants to live with a centralized legislature (i.e., politburo) that controls the entire state? Think about it, folks. Juan A. Galan, Jr., Coral Gables Looking crazy President Donald Trump infamously suggested he could shoot someone and not lose one supporter. He has proven his point. We, as a nation, witness people being picked up randomly by masked individuals displaying no identification. Many of Trump's supporters do not find this behavior disturbing or questionable. Trump has normalized what for most of us is and was unthinkable. Sid Kaskey, South Miami Canceled election I hope the citizens of Miami are as appalled by the decision of the city mayor and commissioners to cancel the upcoming November elections, in spite of the city charter. Where are the lawyers to stop this lawless act? Where is the opposition? I hope the people are turning out in numbers to protest. Now is the time to stop this atrocity. This isn't normal. The people should not role over and let this happen. Speak up and stand for democracy. Carlos Mccauley, Palm Bay Fickle trickle One facet for the justification of President Trump's 'Big Beautiful Bill' is that tax cuts for high earners would trickle down and create jobs. Looking at history, this was proven wrong when attempted by former President Reagan. His 'trickle down' policy failed. Trump's policy also will fail. Joe Smariga, Fort Lauderdale Fear factor Fear for personal safety has become a reality for many public officials under President Donald Trump's leadership. Numerous members of Congress have reported receiving death threats and fearing for their families simply for considering a vote or statement against Trump. Some have even resorted to wearing body armor or hiring private security after breaking ranks. This intimidation isn't limited to Washington. Local officials, journalists and legal professionals involved in Trump-related cases have faced harassment and credible threats from his supporters. Many now avoid public comment out of concern for their safety. Most concerning, this climate of fear hangs heavily over the vote for Trump's so-called 'Big Beautiful Bill.' Lawmakers are not just weighing the merits of the legislation, but also the risk to themselves and their loved ones if they defy Trump. His rhetoric, which often seems to encourage retribution, only adds to the pressure. This is not how democracy is supposed to work. Our representatives should be able to vote their conscience and serve the public interest, not act out of fear for their lives. We must reject political intimidation and demand a return to civility and safety in our public discourse. Paul Howard, Naples Senior living? At 81 and alone, I am unable to find assisted living if I need it. Sadly, it is all about profit. Medicaid facilities are limited even if one is available. Unless I can afford up to $4,000 a month, I am, as they say, screwed. How in our great country am I to be treated like an old car that is too costly to repair? How on earth did we change from the beacon of the world to a small light lit by a single candle? I cannot afford assisted living. I pray we look at ways to protect our seniors. Elephants and dolphins protect each other better then we humans do — and they do it naturally. Meanwhile, we look at the bottom line. Bernard I. Silver, Bradenton
