Diabetes Case Study Essay - 889 Words

HLTEN611B – Apply Principles of Diabetic Nursing Care Assessment 1 – Case Study James is 18 years of age and has just presented (with his parents) to his GP with a 2 week history of extreme fatigue, polyuria, polydipsia, and weight loss. His random BGL is 41mmol/l and his blood ketones show 3.2mmol/l. His GP has diagnosed Type 1 diabetes with DKA and has sent him to the emergency department to see an endocrinologist at your public hospital, St Health Skills. The endocrinologist has decided on inpatient stabilisation. James has been deemed stable enough with his DKA to avoid ICU admission, but requires acute nursing care. He is severely dehydrated, his potassium and sodium levels are low and he is experiencing muscle and abdominal†¦show more content†¦Type 1 diabetes can also be caused by a virus that damages the pancreas in some way. This condition is not preventable and those with type 1 require regular ongoing insulin injections to balance blood glucose levels. (WebMD , LLC, 2012) Type 2 diabetes (insulin resistant) is when not enough insulin is produced by the pancreas leaving the body unable to control sugar levels in the blood. It is believed that obesity causes the body’s cells to become resistant to insulin therefore this type of diabetes is mainly associated with a lack of physical activity, obesity and poor diet. This condition is preventable through early lifestyle changes. The person may not have symptoms prior to diagnosis and the disease develops gradually meaning that as the disease gets worse the pancreas may make less insulin. (WebMD , LLC, 2012) Diagnosis of diabetes mellitus involves; patient history and physical examination. Blood tests including; FBG level exceeding 7.0mmol/l, OGTT level exceeding 11.0mmol/l using a 75g glucose load, postprandial blood glucose, HbA1c over a 2-3 month period 8%, lipid profile, serum urea and serum creatinine, electrolytes. Complete urinalysis. (Brown Edwards, 2012) Question 3 How will you approach this initial meeting with James and his family? What things do you need to consider? Are there any emotional considerations? James is feeling anxious and angry about the situation heShow MoreRelatedDiabetes Case Study923 Words   |  4 PagesIn Diabetes blood glucose levels raise after a meal and remain above normal levels because insulin is either inadequate or ineffective. Type 2 diabetes is the most common form of diabetes, it accounts for 90 to 95% of cases.(1) The primary defect is insulin resistance or a lack of sensitivity to insulin in eight main areas which includes muscle, adipose cells, liver, beta cell in the pancreas, alpha cells in the pancreas, intestine, kidney and brain. Muscle is affected by becoming resistant to insulinRead MoreDiabetes Case Study1733 Words   |  7 Pages Diabetes case study Q1. Compare the incidents of diabetes within each region of the U.S. for the past year and identify which state has the highest burden of this disease. Although the increasing prevalence of diabetes has been long noted in the media, only recently have the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) begun to compile state-specific data on diabetes. Southern states have the highest diabetes rate. Among the 10 states with the highest diabetes rates, only Arizona is not in the SouthRead MoreDiabetes Case Study914 Words   |  4 Pagescross section study among type 2 diabetes patients with hypertension comorbidity at Jimma University specialized Hospital (JUSH) from April 4 to May 11,2016. The hospital is the only teaching and referral hospital in Southwestern part of Ethiopia. It provides specialized health services for approximately 15,000 inpatient, 160,000 outpatient attendants a year(29). The hospital ambulatory care clinic serves for 1700 type 2 diabetes and 2017 hypertensive patients. Patients with diabetes and hypertensionRead MoreDiabetes Case Study1337 Words   |  6 Pagesare not more effective than injections at helping people with type 1 diabetes control their blood sugar levels and people with type 2 diabetes can control their glucose level by following a healthy meal plan and losing excess weight and by taking medications. The medications will often change during the course of the disease for each person. Insulin also is usually used with type 2 diabetes to control glycaemia (National Diabetes statistics report, 2014). The people have sufficient training couldRead MoreCase Study Of Diabetes1327 Words   |  6 PagesOf 236 patents, 115 patents were followed up intensively. The demographic, anthropometric details of the study population were presented in table 1. In both the groups’ majority of the participants were males with the diabetic duration of 12.2 and 11.5 years in group I and Group II, respectively. Majority of the patients were on mixed diet (non vegetarians). Presence of family history of diabetes (group I: 65.28 %; group II: 53.91%) family history of diabetic nephropathy (group I: 11.39 % ; group II:Read MoreDiabetes Case Study865 Words   |  4 PagesThe Human body needs glucose to perform many important body functions, however too much glucose within the system, provided by foods high in sugar content, can become problematic and even life-threatening. Diabetes mellitus, more specifically type II, is becoming more prominent among younger generations and this could be due to the increased consumption of higher glycemic index foods. To fully understand how the body responds and adjusts to glucose levels, a group of physiology students at OklahomaRead MoreDiabetes Case Study1292 Words   |  6 Pagesany ethnic difference in the prevalence of diabetes as well or is the difference only geographical? Which ethnic groups have an increased prevalence and why? Based on geography and ethnicity. Africa An estimated 14.2 (9.5-29.4†¡) million adults aged 20-79 have diabetes in the Africa Region, representing a regional prevalence of 2.1-6.7%.The Africa Region has the highest proportion of undiagnosed diabetes; over two thirds (66.7%) of people with diabetes are unaware they have the disease. TheRead MoreDiabetes Case Study1331 Words   |  6 PagesL. Peters, A. Tsapas, R. Wender, D.R. Matthews, Management of hyperglycemia in type 2 diabetes, 2015: a patient-centered approach: update to a position statement of the American Diabetes Association and the European Association for the Study of Diabetes, Diabetes Care. 38(1) (2015) 140-149. [3] M. Grzybowska, J. Bober, and M. Olszewska, Metformin-mechanisms of action and use for the treatment of type 2 diabetes mellitus, Postepy. Hig. Med Dosw. 65 (2011) 277- 285. [4] S. Matthaei, and H. Greten,Read MoreDiabetes Case Study1188 Words   |  5 PagesWith an impact of over 300 million people worldwide, diabetes has become the fastest developing chronic disease (Bonner, et. al, 2016, p. 1). Uncontrolled diabetes mellitus type II has serious health implications such as chronic hyperglycemia, heart disease, stroke, retinopathy, neuropathy, and nephropathy (Bonner, et. al, 2016, p. 2). Whether you have Type I or Type II diabetes, you have an increased risk for developing an open wound or ulcer on your foot. Ulcers usually happen because a personRead MoreDiabetes Case Study Essay765 Words   |  4 PagesNursing B05: Med/Surg Case study # 1, Scenario Y.L. makes an appointment to come to the clinic where you are employed. She has been complaining of chronic fatigue, increased thirst, constant hunger, and frequent urination. She denies any pin, burning, or low-back pain on urination. She tells you she has a vaginal yeast infection that she has treated numerous times with over-the-counter (OTC) medication. She admits to starting smoking since going back to work full time as a clerk in a loan company

Cahills How The Irish Saved Civilization Essay - 737 Words

Cahills How the Irish Saved Civilization Thomas Cahill opens his story describing Romes fall, â€Å"For as the Roman Empire fell, as all through Europe matted, unwashed barbarians descended on the Roman cities, looting artifacts and burning books, the Irish who were just learning to read and write, took up the just labor of copying all of western literature - everything they could get their hands on. These scribes then served as conduits through which Greco-Roman and Judeo-Christian cultures were transmitted to the tribes of Europe, newly settled amid the rubble and ruined vineyards of the civilization they had overwhelmed.† (Cahill, p.3) The theme of this book is that the scribes did something unique, they saved civilization, not the†¦show more content†¦(Cahill, pp. 171- 184) Growth continues as Columbanus establishes the first Italo-Irish monastery where monks continue to pray and copy. Between these two men Irish monasteries were established in England, Scotland, Italy, France and beyond. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Historically the Irish are not credited with a major role in this time period and Cahill attempts to prove the society/culture of this time has its roots in Ireland. He states, â€Å"Ireland, at peace and copying, stood in the position to become Europes publisher.† The Saxons had blocked routes to the English mainland. A new, illiterate Europe was rising from Roman ruins... Ireland would reconnect Europe with its own past by way of Irelands scribal hands. (Cahill, 183) These monasteries become centers for learning, presumable the predecessor of modern universities. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;I have two favorite parts to this book, first, the contrast Cahill makes between Augustine and Patrick. I am catholic, from birth, and I never really thought of Augustine in the manner Cahill portrays him, the dark versus bright side of Chrisitanity. Augustine becomes self-conscious, â€Å"the man who cried I...† (Cahill, p/ 39) He wanted truth. We see the classical world through him. Patrick on the otherhand is a Christian convert, an escaped slave, who returns to Ireland to save it. He brings the Roman alphabet and Roman literature with him. He alsoShow MoreRelated Cahill Essay705 Words   |  3 Pageswould be no civil rights movement, democracy or even history. Thats the central, sweeping premise of The Gifts of the Jews, the latest book by Roman Catholic scholar and best-selling author Thomas Cahill. The Jews gave us the Outside and the Inside -- our outlook and our inner life, writes Cahill, who will be at Temple Judea in Coral Gables tonight to talk about the book. We can hardly get up in the morning or cross the street without being Jewish. We dream Jewish dreams and hope JewishRead MoreRule of St. Benedict1160 Words   |  5 Pagesconstitution and rule of law for most monasteries, policies could be seen as harsh by some but the overall message is built around a positive spirit of reconciliation. The Rule of St. Benedict most significant role for the development of European civilization was education. The beginning of Christian monasticism can be divided into two main types, the eremitical or solitary and the coenobitical or family type. St. Anthony may be called the founder of the purely eremitical system or hermit life styleRead More Editorial: Ireland’s Past? Essay2614 Words   |  11 Pagesby a variety of perspectives. Emigration has made such a huge impact on Irish history that the Irish diaspora and its descendants far outnumbered the inhabitants of the Ireland of Ireland itself, and many of those outside Ireland who claim Irish descent remain emotionally attached to a conception of the â€Å"old country,† whose image in their minds is strongly associated with the distant experiences of their ancestors. The Irish tourist industry, conscious of the lucrative market linked to such conceptions

Bite Me A Love Story Chapter 14 Free Essays

14. The Samurai of Jackson Street II Katusumi Okata had lived among the gaijin for forty years. An American art dealer, traveling through Hokkaido in search of woodblock prints from the Edo period, had come into Katusumi’s father’s workshop, seen the boy’s prints, and offered to bring Okata to San Francisco to create prints for his gallery on Jackson Street. We will write a custom essay sample on Bite Me: A Love Story Chapter 14 or any similar topic only for you Order Now The printmaker had lived in this same basement apartment since. He’d once had a wife, Yuriko, but she had been killed in front of him on the street when he was twenty-three, so now he lived alone. The apartment had a concrete floor covered by two grass mats, a table that held his printmaking tools, a two-burner stove, an electric kettle, his swords, a futon, three sets of clothes, an old phonograph, and now, a burned-up white woman. She really didn’t go with anything else, no matter how he arranged her. He thought he might make a series of prints of her-her blackened, skeletal form posed about the apartment like some demon wraith from a Shinto nightmare, but the composition wasn’t working. He walked up to Chinatown and bought a bouquet of red tulips and put them on the futon beside her, but even with the added color and design element, the picture wasn’t working. And she was making his futon smell like burned hair. Okata was not used to company, and he wasn’t sure how to keep up his end of the conversation. He had once made friends with two rats who came out of a hole in the brick wall. He had talked to them and fed them on the condition that they not bring any friends, but they hadn’t listened and he was forced to mortar up the hole. He figured they didn’t speak Japanese. To be fair, however, she wasn’t doing very well holding up her side of the conversation, either-lying there like a bog person dipped in creosote, her mouth open as if in a scream of agony. He sat on a stool next to the futon with his sketch pad and a pencil and began to sketch her for a print. He had very much admired the great cape of red curls that streamed out behind her when he’d seen her on the street, and he was sorry that all but a few strands had burned away in the sun. A shame. Perhaps he could draw the red curls in anyway. Make them swirl around the blackened rictus like one of Hokusai’s waves. He knew what she was, of course. He was still healing from his encounter with the vampire cats, and it took no little bit of sketching to fill in the details, especially as her fangs were pointing prominently at his ceiling right now and they were far too long and sharp to be those of a normal burned-up white girl. He filled three pages with sketches, experimenting with angles and composition, but on the fourth page he found that a sadness had overcome him that he could not chase away with the moment created in making a drawing. Katusumi retrieved his wakizashi short sword from the stand on his work table, unsheathed it, and knelt by the futon. He bowed deeply, then put the point of the sword on the pad of his left thumb and cut. He held his thumb over her open mouth and the dark blood dripped over her teeth and lips. Would she be like the cats? Savage? A monster? He held the razor-edged wakizashi ready in his right hand, should a demon awake. But if he’d been able to raise his beloved Yuriko, even as a demon, wouldn’t he have? All the years that had passed, kendo training, drawing, carving, meditating, walking the streets unafraid, alone, hadn’t they all been about that? About making Yuriko live? Or not living without her? When the burned-up girl jerked with a great, rasping intake of breath, cinders cracked off her ribs and peppered the yellow futon and water began to flow from the swordsman’s eyes. RIVERA AND CAVUTO Marvin the cadaver dog took them to the Wine Country. There they found Bummer and Lazarus, the Emperor’s dogs, guarding a Dumpster in an alley behind an abandoned building. Marvin pawed the Dumpster, and tried to stay on task while the Boston terrier sniffed his junk and the golden retriever looked around, a little embarrassed. Nick Cavuto held the lid, ready to lift it. â€Å"Maybe we should call the Wong kid and see if our sunlight jackets are done, then open it.† â€Å"It’s daylight,† said Rivera. â€Å"Even if there are, uh, creatures in there, they’ll be immobile.† Rivera still had a very difficult time saying the word â€Å"vampires† out loud. â€Å"Marvin says there’s a body in there, we need to look.† Cavuto shrugged, lifted the lid of the Dumpster and braced himself for a wave of rotten meat smell, but there was none. â€Å"Empty.† Bummer barked. Marvin pawed at the side of the Dumpster. Lazarus chuffed, which was dog for, â€Å"Duh. Look behind it.† Rivera looked in. Other than a couple of broken wine bottles and the rice part of a taco combo plate, there was nothing in the Dumpster, yet Marvin still pawed at the steel, which was the signal he had been trained to give when he’d found a corpse. â€Å"Maybe we should give Marvin a biscuit to reset him or something,† said Rivera. â€Å"No corpse, no biscuit, that’s the rule,† said Cavuto. â€Å"We all have to live by it.† At the mention of a biscuit both Bummer and Marvin stopped what they were doing, sat, looked dutiful and contrite, and gave Rivera the â€Å"I need and deeply deserve a biscuit† look. Frustrated with what biscuit whores his cohorts were, Lazarus went to the side of the Dumpster and started pawing the space between it and the wall, then tried to stuff his muzzle in behind it. Cavuto shrugged, pulled on a pair of form-fitting mechanics gloves from his jacket pocket, and pulled the cement blocks from under the Dumpster’s wheels. Rivera watched in horror as the realization hit that he was probably going to get Dumpster schmutz, or worse, on his expensive Italian suit. â€Å"Man up, Rivera,† Cavuto said. â€Å"There’s police work to be done.† â€Å"Shouldn’t we call some uniforms in to do it? I mean, we’re detectives.† Cavuto stood up and looked at his partner. â€Å"You really believe the movies when James Bond kills thirty guys hand to hand, blows up the secret lair, gets set on fire, then escapes under water and his tux doesn’t even get wrinkled, don’t you?† â€Å"You can’t just buy one of those off the rack,† Rivera said. â€Å"It’s a high-tech fabric.† â€Å"Just give me a hand with this thing, would you?† Once the Dumpster was in the middle of the alley, the three dogs more or less dogpiled in front of the boarded-up window, Marvin doing his highly trained, â€Å"There’s a dead guy in here, give me a biscuit† paw scrape, Bummer barking like he was announcing the big sale event down at Yap-mart and everything had to go, and Lazarus rolling out a long, doleful howl. â€Å"Probably in there,† said Cavuto. â€Å"Ya think?† said Rivera. Cavuto was able to work his fingers between the sheet of plywood and the window frame and pulled it out. Before he could even set it aside Bummer had leapt through the window into the darkness. Lazarus pawed the windowsill, then leapt after his companion. Marvin, the cadaver dog, backed away, then ruffed twice and tossed his head, which translated to, â€Å"No, I’m good, you guys go ahead, just give me my biscuit. I’ll be over here-well, would you look at that-those balls definitely need some tongue attention. No, it’s okay, go on without me.† Marvin had a nose that could distinguish as many different odors as the human eye could colors, in the range of sixteen million distinct scents. Unfortunately, his doggie brain had a much more limited vocabulary for giving name to those scents and he processed what he smelled as: dead cats, many, dead humans, many, dead rats, many, poo and wee, many flavors, none fresh, and old guy who needs a shower; none of which would have given him pause. The smell that he couldn’t file, that he didn’t have a response for, that stopped him at the window, was a new one: dead, but not dead. Undead. It was scary, and licking his balls calmed him and kept his mind off the biscuit that they owed him. Rivera shone his flashlight around the room. The basement appeared empty but for piles of debris and a thick layer of dust and ash over the floor, textured with the paw prints of hundreds of cats. He could see the movement of Bummer and Lazarus just at the edge of the flashlight’s beam. They were scratching at a metal door. â€Å"We’ll need the crowbar out of the car,† said Rivera. â€Å"You’re going in there?† asked Cavuto. â€Å"In that suit?† Rivera nodded. â€Å"There’s something down there, one of us has to.† â€Å"You’re a goddamn hero, Rivera, that’s what you are. A real, dyed in the worsted wool and silk blend hero.† â€Å"Yeah, there’s that, and you can’t fit through the window.† â€Å"Can too,† said Cavuto. Five minutes later they were both standing in the middle of the basement, fanning their Surefire ballistic flashlights through the dust like they were wielding silent light sabers. Rivera led the way to the steel door that the hounds were going at as if someone had duct taped it to a fox. â€Å"You guys, shut up!† Rivera snapped, and much to his surprise, Bummer and Lazarus fell silent and sat. Rivera looked back at his partner. â€Å"That’s spooky.† â€Å"Yeah, and praise Willie Mays that’s the only spooky thing going on here.† Cavuto was a deeply religious San Francisco Giants fan and genuflected whenever he passed the bronze statue of Willie Mays outside the ball park. â€Å"Good point,† said Rivera. He tried the door, which didn’t budge, but it was clear from the arc plowed into the dust and ashes that it had been opened recently. â€Å"Crowbar,† he said, reaching back. Cavuto handed him the crowbar and at the same time drew his gun from his shoulder holster, a ridiculously large Desert Eagle.50-caliber automatic. â€Å"When did you start carrying that thing again?† â€Å"Right after you said the v-word out loud at Sacred Heart.† â€Å"It won’t stop them, you know.† â€Å"It makes me feel better. You want to hold it while I pry the door?† â€Å"If there’s a-one of them-in there, they’ll be dormant or whatever you call it. It’s daytime, they can’t attack.† â€Å"Yeah, well, just in case they didn’t get the memo.† â€Å"I got it.† Rivera fit the crowbar in the door jamb and threw his weight against it. On the third push, something snapped and the door scraped open an inch. Bummer and Lazarus were up instantly, with their noses in the gap. Rivera looked back at Cavuto, who nodded, and Rivera pulled the door open and stepped away. A pile of shelving and junk blocked the doorway, but Bummer and Lazarus were able to thread their way through it and were in the room, barking in frantic, desperate yelps. Through a gap in the junk, Rivera played the beam of his flashlight around the small storeroom, over barrels, shelving, and piles of dusty clothing. â€Å"Clear,† he said. Cavuto joined him in the doorway. â€Å"Clear, my ass.† The big cop kicked his way through the barricade, holding his flashlight high in one hand and the Desert Eagle trained on a row of barrels on the right side of the room, where Bummer and Lazarus were currently indulging a hurricane-level doggie freakout. Rivera followed his partner into the room, then approached the barrels while Cavuto covered him. Beyond the barking, he heard a faint metal tapping coming from one of the barrels. The barrel was upside-down and had held some kind of solid, the label said something about water-filtering mineral. It was sitting on its lid, which was only partially crimped on. â€Å"Something’s in there.† â€Å"Plug your ears,† said Cavuto, cocking the hammer on the Desert Eagle, and aiming for the center of the barrel. â€Å"Are you high? You can’t fire that thing in here.† â€Å"Well there’s can’t and there’s shouldn’t. I probably shouldn’t fire it.† â€Å"Cover me, I’m pushing it over.† Before Cavuto could answer Rivera grabbed the edge of the barrel and shoved with all his might. It was heavy, and fell hard. Bummer and Lazarus rocketed around to the exposed lid and were pawing at it. â€Å"Ready?† said Rivera. â€Å"Go,† said Cavuto. Rivera kicked the edge of the lid and it clanked off, then landed with a dull thud in the thick dust on the floor. Bummer rocketed inside while Lazarus frisked back and forth outside. Rivera drew his weapon and moved to where he could look into the barrel. He was met first by a gray storm of hair, then two crystal blue eyes set in a wide, weathered face. â€Å"Well that was unpleasant,† said the Emperor, around the sloppy bath of dog spit he was receiving from Bummer. â€Å"I’ll bet,† said Rivera, lowering his weapon. â€Å"I may require some assistance extricating myself from this container.† â€Å"We can do that,† said Cavuto. Cavuto was fighting back a very bad case of the empathy willies, imagining himself spending a night, maybe longer, upside-down, shoved inside a barrel. He and the Emperor were about the same size. â€Å"You in pain?† â€Å"Oh no, thank you, I lost the feeling in my arms and legs quite some time ago.† â€Å"I’m guessing you didn’t get in there on your own, did you?† said Rivera. â€Å"No, this was not my doing,† said the Emperor. â€Å"I was roughly handled, but it appears to have saved my life. There wasn’t enough room in the barrel for any of them to become solid. There were hundreds of the fiends around me. But you saw them as you came in, I’m sure.† Rivera shook his head. â€Å"You mean the cats? No, there are tracks everywhere, but the place is empty.† â€Å"Well that’s not good,† said the Emperor. â€Å"No, it’s not.† Rivera was distracted. He’d been playing his flashlight beam around the room, looking for something to help them get the Emperor out of the barrel. He stopped the beam on a spot by the shelves where the dust hadn’t been stirred by their rescue efforts. There, as clearly as if it had been made in plaster of Paris to send home for Mother’s Day, was a single human footprint. â€Å"That’s not good at all,† he said. From outside the window Marvin barked three times quickly, which Rivera thought was a warning, but translated from dog to: â€Å"Hey, can I get a friggin’ biscuit out here, or what?† How to cite Bite Me: A Love Story Chapter 14, Essay examples

Bite Me A Love Story Chapter 14 Free Essays

14. The Samurai of Jackson Street II Katusumi Okata had lived among the gaijin for forty years. An American art dealer, traveling through Hokkaido in search of woodblock prints from the Edo period, had come into Katusumi’s father’s workshop, seen the boy’s prints, and offered to bring Okata to San Francisco to create prints for his gallery on Jackson Street. We will write a custom essay sample on Bite Me: A Love Story Chapter 14 or any similar topic only for you Order Now The printmaker had lived in this same basement apartment since. He’d once had a wife, Yuriko, but she had been killed in front of him on the street when he was twenty-three, so now he lived alone. The apartment had a concrete floor covered by two grass mats, a table that held his printmaking tools, a two-burner stove, an electric kettle, his swords, a futon, three sets of clothes, an old phonograph, and now, a burned-up white woman. She really didn’t go with anything else, no matter how he arranged her. He thought he might make a series of prints of her-her blackened, skeletal form posed about the apartment like some demon wraith from a Shinto nightmare, but the composition wasn’t working. He walked up to Chinatown and bought a bouquet of red tulips and put them on the futon beside her, but even with the added color and design element, the picture wasn’t working. And she was making his futon smell like burned hair. Okata was not used to company, and he wasn’t sure how to keep up his end of the conversation. He had once made friends with two rats who came out of a hole in the brick wall. He had talked to them and fed them on the condition that they not bring any friends, but they hadn’t listened and he was forced to mortar up the hole. He figured they didn’t speak Japanese. To be fair, however, she wasn’t doing very well holding up her side of the conversation, either-lying there like a bog person dipped in creosote, her mouth open as if in a scream of agony. He sat on a stool next to the futon with his sketch pad and a pencil and began to sketch her for a print. He had very much admired the great cape of red curls that streamed out behind her when he’d seen her on the street, and he was sorry that all but a few strands had burned away in the sun. A shame. Perhaps he could draw the red curls in anyway. Make them swirl around the blackened rictus like one of Hokusai’s waves. He knew what she was, of course. He was still healing from his encounter with the vampire cats, and it took no little bit of sketching to fill in the details, especially as her fangs were pointing prominently at his ceiling right now and they were far too long and sharp to be those of a normal burned-up white girl. He filled three pages with sketches, experimenting with angles and composition, but on the fourth page he found that a sadness had overcome him that he could not chase away with the moment created in making a drawing. Katusumi retrieved his wakizashi short sword from the stand on his work table, unsheathed it, and knelt by the futon. He bowed deeply, then put the point of the sword on the pad of his left thumb and cut. He held his thumb over her open mouth and the dark blood dripped over her teeth and lips. Would she be like the cats? Savage? A monster? He held the razor-edged wakizashi ready in his right hand, should a demon awake. But if he’d been able to raise his beloved Yuriko, even as a demon, wouldn’t he have? All the years that had passed, kendo training, drawing, carving, meditating, walking the streets unafraid, alone, hadn’t they all been about that? About making Yuriko live? Or not living without her? When the burned-up girl jerked with a great, rasping intake of breath, cinders cracked off her ribs and peppered the yellow futon and water began to flow from the swordsman’s eyes. RIVERA AND CAVUTO Marvin the cadaver dog took them to the Wine Country. There they found Bummer and Lazarus, the Emperor’s dogs, guarding a Dumpster in an alley behind an abandoned building. Marvin pawed the Dumpster, and tried to stay on task while the Boston terrier sniffed his junk and the golden retriever looked around, a little embarrassed. Nick Cavuto held the lid, ready to lift it. â€Å"Maybe we should call the Wong kid and see if our sunlight jackets are done, then open it.† â€Å"It’s daylight,† said Rivera. â€Å"Even if there are, uh, creatures in there, they’ll be immobile.† Rivera still had a very difficult time saying the word â€Å"vampires† out loud. â€Å"Marvin says there’s a body in there, we need to look.† Cavuto shrugged, lifted the lid of the Dumpster and braced himself for a wave of rotten meat smell, but there was none. â€Å"Empty.† Bummer barked. Marvin pawed at the side of the Dumpster. Lazarus chuffed, which was dog for, â€Å"Duh. Look behind it.† Rivera looked in. Other than a couple of broken wine bottles and the rice part of a taco combo plate, there was nothing in the Dumpster, yet Marvin still pawed at the steel, which was the signal he had been trained to give when he’d found a corpse. â€Å"Maybe we should give Marvin a biscuit to reset him or something,† said Rivera. â€Å"No corpse, no biscuit, that’s the rule,† said Cavuto. â€Å"We all have to live by it.† At the mention of a biscuit both Bummer and Marvin stopped what they were doing, sat, looked dutiful and contrite, and gave Rivera the â€Å"I need and deeply deserve a biscuit† look. Frustrated with what biscuit whores his cohorts were, Lazarus went to the side of the Dumpster and started pawing the space between it and the wall, then tried to stuff his muzzle in behind it. Cavuto shrugged, pulled on a pair of form-fitting mechanics gloves from his jacket pocket, and pulled the cement blocks from under the Dumpster’s wheels. Rivera watched in horror as the realization hit that he was probably going to get Dumpster schmutz, or worse, on his expensive Italian suit. â€Å"Man up, Rivera,† Cavuto said. â€Å"There’s police work to be done.† â€Å"Shouldn’t we call some uniforms in to do it? I mean, we’re detectives.† Cavuto stood up and looked at his partner. â€Å"You really believe the movies when James Bond kills thirty guys hand to hand, blows up the secret lair, gets set on fire, then escapes under water and his tux doesn’t even get wrinkled, don’t you?† â€Å"You can’t just buy one of those off the rack,† Rivera said. â€Å"It’s a high-tech fabric.† â€Å"Just give me a hand with this thing, would you?† Once the Dumpster was in the middle of the alley, the three dogs more or less dogpiled in front of the boarded-up window, Marvin doing his highly trained, â€Å"There’s a dead guy in here, give me a biscuit† paw scrape, Bummer barking like he was announcing the big sale event down at Yap-mart and everything had to go, and Lazarus rolling out a long, doleful howl. â€Å"Probably in there,† said Cavuto. â€Å"Ya think?† said Rivera. Cavuto was able to work his fingers between the sheet of plywood and the window frame and pulled it out. Before he could even set it aside Bummer had leapt through the window into the darkness. Lazarus pawed the windowsill, then leapt after his companion. Marvin, the cadaver dog, backed away, then ruffed twice and tossed his head, which translated to, â€Å"No, I’m good, you guys go ahead, just give me my biscuit. I’ll be over here-well, would you look at that-those balls definitely need some tongue attention. No, it’s okay, go on without me.† Marvin had a nose that could distinguish as many different odors as the human eye could colors, in the range of sixteen million distinct scents. Unfortunately, his doggie brain had a much more limited vocabulary for giving name to those scents and he processed what he smelled as: dead cats, many, dead humans, many, dead rats, many, poo and wee, many flavors, none fresh, and old guy who needs a shower; none of which would have given him pause. The smell that he couldn’t file, that he didn’t have a response for, that stopped him at the window, was a new one: dead, but not dead. Undead. It was scary, and licking his balls calmed him and kept his mind off the biscuit that they owed him. Rivera shone his flashlight around the room. The basement appeared empty but for piles of debris and a thick layer of dust and ash over the floor, textured with the paw prints of hundreds of cats. He could see the movement of Bummer and Lazarus just at the edge of the flashlight’s beam. They were scratching at a metal door. â€Å"We’ll need the crowbar out of the car,† said Rivera. â€Å"You’re going in there?† asked Cavuto. â€Å"In that suit?† Rivera nodded. â€Å"There’s something down there, one of us has to.† â€Å"You’re a goddamn hero, Rivera, that’s what you are. A real, dyed in the worsted wool and silk blend hero.† â€Å"Yeah, there’s that, and you can’t fit through the window.† â€Å"Can too,† said Cavuto. Five minutes later they were both standing in the middle of the basement, fanning their Surefire ballistic flashlights through the dust like they were wielding silent light sabers. Rivera led the way to the steel door that the hounds were going at as if someone had duct taped it to a fox. â€Å"You guys, shut up!† Rivera snapped, and much to his surprise, Bummer and Lazarus fell silent and sat. Rivera looked back at his partner. â€Å"That’s spooky.† â€Å"Yeah, and praise Willie Mays that’s the only spooky thing going on here.† Cavuto was a deeply religious San Francisco Giants fan and genuflected whenever he passed the bronze statue of Willie Mays outside the ball park. â€Å"Good point,† said Rivera. He tried the door, which didn’t budge, but it was clear from the arc plowed into the dust and ashes that it had been opened recently. â€Å"Crowbar,† he said, reaching back. Cavuto handed him the crowbar and at the same time drew his gun from his shoulder holster, a ridiculously large Desert Eagle.50-caliber automatic. â€Å"When did you start carrying that thing again?† â€Å"Right after you said the v-word out loud at Sacred Heart.† â€Å"It won’t stop them, you know.† â€Å"It makes me feel better. You want to hold it while I pry the door?† â€Å"If there’s a-one of them-in there, they’ll be dormant or whatever you call it. It’s daytime, they can’t attack.† â€Å"Yeah, well, just in case they didn’t get the memo.† â€Å"I got it.† Rivera fit the crowbar in the door jamb and threw his weight against it. On the third push, something snapped and the door scraped open an inch. Bummer and Lazarus were up instantly, with their noses in the gap. Rivera looked back at Cavuto, who nodded, and Rivera pulled the door open and stepped away. A pile of shelving and junk blocked the doorway, but Bummer and Lazarus were able to thread their way through it and were in the room, barking in frantic, desperate yelps. Through a gap in the junk, Rivera played the beam of his flashlight around the small storeroom, over barrels, shelving, and piles of dusty clothing. â€Å"Clear,† he said. Cavuto joined him in the doorway. â€Å"Clear, my ass.† The big cop kicked his way through the barricade, holding his flashlight high in one hand and the Desert Eagle trained on a row of barrels on the right side of the room, where Bummer and Lazarus were currently indulging a hurricane-level doggie freakout. Rivera followed his partner into the room, then approached the barrels while Cavuto covered him. Beyond the barking, he heard a faint metal tapping coming from one of the barrels. The barrel was upside-down and had held some kind of solid, the label said something about water-filtering mineral. It was sitting on its lid, which was only partially crimped on. â€Å"Something’s in there.† â€Å"Plug your ears,† said Cavuto, cocking the hammer on the Desert Eagle, and aiming for the center of the barrel. â€Å"Are you high? You can’t fire that thing in here.† â€Å"Well there’s can’t and there’s shouldn’t. I probably shouldn’t fire it.† â€Å"Cover me, I’m pushing it over.† Before Cavuto could answer Rivera grabbed the edge of the barrel and shoved with all his might. It was heavy, and fell hard. Bummer and Lazarus rocketed around to the exposed lid and were pawing at it. â€Å"Ready?† said Rivera. â€Å"Go,† said Cavuto. Rivera kicked the edge of the lid and it clanked off, then landed with a dull thud in the thick dust on the floor. Bummer rocketed inside while Lazarus frisked back and forth outside. Rivera drew his weapon and moved to where he could look into the barrel. He was met first by a gray storm of hair, then two crystal blue eyes set in a wide, weathered face. â€Å"Well that was unpleasant,† said the Emperor, around the sloppy bath of dog spit he was receiving from Bummer. â€Å"I’ll bet,† said Rivera, lowering his weapon. â€Å"I may require some assistance extricating myself from this container.† â€Å"We can do that,† said Cavuto. Cavuto was fighting back a very bad case of the empathy willies, imagining himself spending a night, maybe longer, upside-down, shoved inside a barrel. He and the Emperor were about the same size. â€Å"You in pain?† â€Å"Oh no, thank you, I lost the feeling in my arms and legs quite some time ago.† â€Å"I’m guessing you didn’t get in there on your own, did you?† said Rivera. â€Å"No, this was not my doing,† said the Emperor. â€Å"I was roughly handled, but it appears to have saved my life. There wasn’t enough room in the barrel for any of them to become solid. There were hundreds of the fiends around me. But you saw them as you came in, I’m sure.† Rivera shook his head. â€Å"You mean the cats? No, there are tracks everywhere, but the place is empty.† â€Å"Well that’s not good,† said the Emperor. â€Å"No, it’s not.† Rivera was distracted. He’d been playing his flashlight beam around the room, looking for something to help them get the Emperor out of the barrel. He stopped the beam on a spot by the shelves where the dust hadn’t been stirred by their rescue efforts. There, as clearly as if it had been made in plaster of Paris to send home for Mother’s Day, was a single human footprint. â€Å"That’s not good at all,† he said. From outside the window Marvin barked three times quickly, which Rivera thought was a warning, but translated from dog to: â€Å"Hey, can I get a friggin’ biscuit out here, or what?† How to cite Bite Me: A Love Story Chapter 14, Essay examples