After two hours in the Hospital’s Emergency Room lobby, I was transported into a room on the 4th floor. I clicked through the stations on the television until the monitor displayed the one I wanted. On the screen was the repeated pattern spreading out in shades of green, pink and blue representing the local weather. The commentator chatted about the recent extreme drought. Today, however, the problem would be flood damage. I turned to the window and watched sheets of rain descending from the sky.

The map on the television switched to national weather patterns. A second talking head on the western side of the map explained, “This is just storm number two. The third storm will be here by this weekend.” The U.S. Doppler radar swirled images depicting the intensity of rain and snow. Like the bell-shaped curve on a cardiogram chart, the precipitation moved downward from Northwest to Southeast and then up again to the Northeast. One of the nurses entered the room with a flip chart in hand. I muted the television to answer her questions.

Tornadoes and flood warnings flashed on the television screen. Brilliant dots of yellow and red symbolized dangerous conditions as the nurse entered my medical data into the hospital system. Even in the shelter of the hospital room I could hear thunder booming and see the wind splashing rain and broken leaves onto the window. My mind went back to the cryoprecitate thawing in the Blood Bank.

Most days I consciously avoid weather reports. I find the forecasts less reliable than looking at the sky or sniffing the wind. The I.V. Therapist entered the room. The task now was to find a viable vein on my body, one without too many scars or connecting valves. I turned the drama of the Weather Channel off. It was in my best interest to actively participate. I offered suggestions. “Teamwork,” the nurse commented, “always helps.”

The first stick was successful. In an hour I was free to go home. The second storm was ending and the third… well, I would prefer not to speculate.