On Tuesday, I spent the day with several SWAT teams as they went through medic training with the FBI.

SWAT–Special Weapons and Tactics- operatives specialize in hostage situations, high-risk warrant service operations, search-and-rescue operations, covert and undercover tactical operations and crowd control. Team members must complete advanced training and, while it is different from department to department, it’s rigorous and they must re-qualify continually. In the FBI, SWAT members must qualify monthly at the gun range, for example. But it’s not only firearms training–the physical training is just as demanding.

SWAT teams know how to be cops–they can take out the bad guys and secure a scene–but what about the victims? Until the paramedics arrive, SWAT is in charge–after they neutralize the danger, they need to assess injuries, give first aid, and maintain control. The victims are their patients. These guys already have experience with advanced first aid. Many are former military, and all have extensive experience–as Toni can explain better than I, to make a SWAT team requires not only a wide-range of abilities, but being the BEST at it. You can’t just make the SWAT team and coast–you are constantly tested and need to re-qualify every month.

This was the third role playing day I’ve done with the FBI, and the second that focused on triage. There were six stations the teams rotated through, including a hostage situation, a domestic situation, traffic stop gone bad, and an active shooter in a school environment. However, this time trauma surgeons and paramedics volunteered their time and expertise–at their own expense–traveling from as far as Virginia and San Diego because they are so passionate about their job and believe fully in these types of training programs.

The training sessions, which are put on by the FBI and offered to local law enforcement throughout the area, are multi-day events. On Monday, the SWAT teams–some which traveled over 150 miles to participate–took classes from the medical personnel. And on Tuesday, they put what they learned to the test.

They all know it’s not real, but a team of UC Davis trauma nurses came out to make it as real as possible, with “moulage.” Moulage is the art of applying mock injuries in training ERT’s and other medical or military personnel. Moulage is applying pre-made rubber or latex “wounds” and often uses makeup for realism (such as blood, open fractures, gunshot wounds, etc.)

The injuries could be minor:

Skinned Knees

Or life-threatening:

Stabbing

Heather above had a deep stab wound in her thigh. The medic set her up with an IV of blood attached to the rubber wound so that she could make it bleed when the SWAT team arrived. It was kind of cool Her wound was used to teach a technique about packing with a tourniquet would be difficult or impossible to place–packing gauze deep into a gaping wound to cover as much surface area as possible to help with the clotting process.

Some of the wounds looked incredibly realistic. Such as Tom’s blunt force trauma:

Hamming it up

or this re-barb injury:

or Stan’s gunshot wound:

or my own “injury” — a protruding bone that I got from running and falling down the stairs when the shooting started.

In my scenario, there were two shooters in a school or workplace situation. SWAT came in, neutralized the suspects quickly, then tended to the victims while waiting for the helicopter and EMTs to arrive. The purpose is to, essentially, secure the scene and triage the victims–assess their injuries, perform emergency first aid (i.e. applying tourniquets, giving CPR, etc.) and prioritize for transport. Easy? Not really. As role players, we acted like victims. Once we were on–and there was simulated gun fire using paint pellets with a primer so it sounds close to a real gun–your heart races. The SWAT team comes through–and each team does it differently–to secure the site and take out the shooters. In a real situation, they’d have people running at them, or reaching for them to help, or calling over to them. There are screams and cries and they don’t know who the shooter is, often where he is, if there is a partner, how many–they have to go in assuming that everyone is a suspect. We’re not supposed to make it easy for them, because in the real world they’re going to encounter a wide variety of victims. Screaming. Hysterical. Crying. Helpful. Calm. Shock.

They need to ignore the victims while they take care of the shooters, secure the building, then tend to the victims. One thing the paramedic in my scenario suggested (and praised) was bring the victims together to share limited supplies, keep them in sight, and make them easier to treat and transport. Another point driven home: SWAT was in charge of the victims, not just the crime scene, until medical help arrived. They needed to treat us victims, talk to us, calm us down. Some of the teams were better than the others at small talk. Others were straight business.

For my part, I had a non-life threatening but extremely painful broken leg with a protruding bone. And it was bleeding pretty darn good as well. I screamed when the gunfire started, then cried, sobbing, and depending on my mood during that drill, I would either beg for someone to help me or demand to know what happened to my friend Heather (the stabbing victim.) Kathy was part of the “walking wounded” — scrapped knees and a gunshot to the arm. She was great that when she saw the SWAT guys she’d stagger over to them. I could totally see that happening in real life. (I mean, if there WAS a shooter, I would definitely want to be as close to the cops as possible! Or I’d hide. )

We’re supposed to stay in role until the instructor calls for the team to come together. One SWAT team–which was tactically the most aggressive–quickly assessed everyone, applied the tourniquet to my leg, and then left me (as well as the other victims.) I couldn’t see what they were doing, but if I were being left without comment, I would probably want to know what the heck they were doing leaving me alone with a dead body as company. So they walk off and I called out, “Wait! Don’t leave me! I want to go home! Where are you? Please come back!” The head paramedic liked my improv

Near the end, the “helicopter” arrives and the SWAT leader is required to give a rundown of victims and injuries quickly and accurately. Then, the medic asks, “I have room for three. Who goes now?” And they need to know. If they don’t, the medic loses confidence that they’ve done the proper triage.

One of my favorite parts of the role playing drills is when the instructor walks through the scene and assesses the teams strengths and identifies areas of improvement. I say it that way because none of these SWAT teams were weak. This is where I learn the most–the little details that help me understand my characters and what they may face–both as a victim and as a hero. The facts and stats are always good to know, but it’s the reasoning behind decisions, the human factor of being a cop or a victim, that makes my books real to me, and I hope to my readers.

I talked to some of the guys afterward. Because everyone knows this isn’t real, I wanted to get their impression of the effectiveness of these types of drills. Of the three cops I spoke with, they were all enthusiastic about the program. One guy said that even though they know it’s not real, as soon as they’re geared up begin, the adrenaline starts pumping. Having role players with realistic injuries and playing a part makes it more real, and helps them focus on the situation. Everyone had praise for the medical experts who came out–on their own dime–to run the SWAT/medic training program. Some had never been in a program like this; others had participated before.

And all of them–from the SWAT operatives to the trauma surgeons to the paramedics to the FBI instructors who ran the program and assisted in the drills–are truly the everyday heroes I like to write about.

I can’t wait to do another drill. This was my third role-playing scenario. I’ve also toured Quantico (and plan to go back later this year), toured the morgue and observed an autopsy, and toured Folsom prison (and was warned that they don’t negotiate–so please don’t be taken hostage.) And more–I have been both lucky and blessed to be able to do a lot of these research “trips”–because while I love reading and learning from books, there’s nothing like going on-scene. I haven’t done a ride-along yet, but it’s high up on my list.

One of the other drills was a barroom hostage situation–the suspect stabbed his girlfriend and had a gun on her. He shoots at the cops when they come in, then is gunned down. So the scenario is designed to deal with both an officer down and life-threatening injuries to a hostage. Here’s a shot from the catwalk of that scenario:

And here is me with Joe Getty, from the morning radio program Armstrong and Getty. I did another scenario with Joe–when he was a bad guy and I was the wife of a wanted sex offender. On that day, we were both handcuffed and decided that being cuffed wasn’t fun!

Joe Getty & Me

My question for you all whether or not you’re a writer, what’s the one “research trip” you’d be excited about? Role playing with SWAT? A ride-along with local cops? Firefighters? A tour of the morgue? A prison? A military base? What about flying a plane with a fighter pilot, learning to parachute, or touring the underground tunnels in Sacramento? Shadowing a judge? A prosecutor? It can be anything, just something you’ve always wanted to learn about outside of your normal profession or hobbies. Comment for a chance to win a $25 gift certificate to the online bookstore of your choice!

On a more personal note, thank you to everyone who helped put KISS ME, KILL ME on the NYT list (#16) and the USAT list (#32)! I’m now deep into writing IF I SHOULD DIE, which is scheduled to be released on 11.22.11. And I’m giving you all a sneak peak at the new cover . . . which looks so good with the first two Lucy books.

Today at my job, I was given an assignment that no one else wanted to do. Being the newest staff member in my department, I had to do it. It wasn’t a HORRIBLE job, mind you, like say, shoveling elephant poop, cleaning out sewers, or keeping the world safe from arachnids, but it wasn’t fun.

I am putting old employment announcements into boxes, numerically by announcement number, logging them, stacking them, and then, when finished, I will ship them off to storage. Dealing with all those files, and papers, and boxes, the inevitable happened. I got three NASTY papercuts. The worst one, by far, is under my left pinky nail, and it hurts to type. Especially when I press the shift key. Everytime I hit shift, I am reminded about the job I did today, and what awaits me tomorrow. It’s not a “go to the emergency room STAT” kind of pain, of course. Can you just see that? Excuse me, but please let me in ahead of that man whose arm is six feet behind him, because I have a BAD papercut.

But it hurts. It hurts pretty bad.

They say that the reasons hangnails, papercuts, and other finger injuries are so painful–and also the reason why getting your finger poked for blood is ten thousand times worse than having it taken out of your arm with a much bigger needle–is because of all the nerves we have in our fingers.

I would rather give six quarts of blood than two drops, because I do NOT like having my fingers poked. I always want to poke back, and that can lead to assault charges.

As long as I turn my head and don’t watch the actual process, drawing blood out of my arm is usually pretty-much pain free. It just looks worse.

So, back to my subject at hand, it seems that paper cuts, while minor and small, are more painful and irritating than often larger wounds. I heard a horror story once about a woman who got a paper cut, then got a dreadful septic infection and died. Death by papercut. How unglamorous is that?

But the truth is, it can happen. Not only do papercuts hurt like hell, but they have the potential to become deadly. If not tended to, the smallest papercut can become a huge abcess.

Life is pretty good at handing out papercuts. Since we use paper every day, they are pretty hard to avoid. In fact, I would like to find even ONE person who hasn’t had at least one papercut this year. People without hands do not count. Even the unemployed must deal with paper–and often paperwork. And the homeless use paper as bedding and insulating material. The extremely wealthy probably get papercuts from counting all their money. Heh.

And those of us who are decidedly middle-class, possibly frumpy, definitely hard-working and trying to get by in a difficult world? I guess those of us who don’t live on the street, have jobs, and not a lot of money to count–well, we probably get more papercuts than your average Joe.

Even though no one knows you are feeling it, because papercuts are hard to see. The fact someone else can’t see it doesn’t make it less real. Or less painful.

The key to dealing with those nasty papercuts–almost invisible wounds–is to keep them clean. Cover them up when you are working with dirty materials, but give them air to breathe when the environment is safe. Whatever you do, don’t let them fester and abcess. The pain will eventually ease. The wound will close. No visible signs will remain. And no one will ever even know you were hurt.

Today, as you are reading this, I am most likely sitting in the waiting room of the oral surgeon, waiting for my older daughter to recover from the procedure to remove her wisdom teeth. She isn’t the first, and she sure isn’t going to be the last, but I’m still not really looking forward to it.

But as usual, talking about something common, “wisdom teeth,” makes me wonder about our language, and all the silly idioms we use. Where do these things come from? Here are some of the things I sometimes ponder.

1. If these are “wisdom teeth,” why on earth are we taking them out? With all the brain cells we kill, don’t we need all the help we can get? One would think these excess teeth should be called something else, like PITAs. “Yes, I am having my PITAs out tomorrow.” That makes more sense, don’t you think?

2. Does a “gut stuck pig” really bleed like no other bleeding thing alive?

3. Even kindergartners knows that with the exception of Disney movies, birds do NOT talk. Well, for the most part. Parrots and some parakeets REPEAT. But they don’t talk. They mimic. So who is this “little bird” that keeps ratting on everyone? Shouldn’t someone find a big cat to take out this little bird? Just saying….

4. A “month of Sundays” indicates a long period of time, and yet, if it were really a month of Sundays, it would be a four-day MONTH–five days max. That’s not a long time. Well, if you are waiting for something it might SEEM like a long time, but the older you get, the faster life goes. That’s why old people drive so slow. They have figured it out. SLOW DOWN. You will get there quick enough. Sorry, I digressed a little there.

5. “A penny saved is a penny earned.” Huh? Yeah, that’s pretty much all I have to say about that one.

6. “A picture is worth a thousand words.” Well, see, here’s the thing. I’m a writer. I do that better than I take pictures, although I enjoy both. But I’d like to see someone tell a story like any of the ladies here at MSW using JUST a picture. Go ahead. Try. I dare you. Yes, I know that sometimes just showing someone a picture is easier than explaining or describing. But that only means you are FAILING TO COMMUNICATE. Maybe rethink what you are saying.

7. “About as useful as a chocolate teapot.” I can think of many uses for a chocolate teapot. Many. Would it be milk chocolate? Are there nuts involved? I would say this little idiom is just ridiculous. Any wise woman recognizes the usefulness of ANYTHING chocolate.

8. “When life gives you lemons, make lemonaide.” Yeah, well what about the sugar? I don’t see anyone mentioning the SUGAR here. Do you KNOW how much sugar is necessary to make lemonaide drinkable? The lemons alone are pretty useless, unless, say, you were using them to squirt over fish. Then it might make some sense. But I guess “When life gives you lemons, squirt it over fish,” doesn’t have the same ring. But that would not require another ingredient, like SUGAR. See my point?

9. “Add fuel to the fire.” Okay, I see the point here, but IF you don’t add FUEL to the fire, it won’t burn. So if you started the fire on purpose, and don’t add fuel, then you are wasting your time!

10. “Ants in your pants.” What I want to know here is, who is the first person caught with ants in their pants? How did this happen? A practical joke gone awry? Is there someone who has actually experienced ants in their pants, and if so, WHAT was it like? A kindergartner on crack? We all want to know.

Idioms are one of the things that makes English such a difficult language to learn, and we use them all the time. The question I wonder, though, is should a WRITER be using them in a novel of fiction?

My personal thought on this is no. They are very much a part of personality, or “voice.” Unless your book is first person, an idiom is jarring to the reader, and makes them stop and think, “Huh? Why did this book just stop me and tell me that? Oh wait, this book was written by a real person who must talk like that.”

Now putting an idiom in dialogue in a different thing. We DO speak like that. In fact, I have a friend who uses them every other sentence, and sometimes I just want to shake her and beg her to STOP. If I had a nickel for all the times she has told me that….. AUGH. Stop me now.

TGIF! Ack! Ahem. So what do you think? Do idioms bother you? Do you use them often? Should writers use them?

After emerging from a difficult divorce and some other situations that are less than ideal, I am finally getting back to real life. It’s slow going. I’m still not “Johnny-on-the-spot.” I’m trying to work two full-time jobs, do Web sites and design on the side, finish this book, raise two kids, and EXERCISE. That takes up a lot of time. For example, last night I thought I would go for a hike, instead of my customary hour-long walk. (I started at 30 minutes, and worked my way up to an hour.)

I’ve always wondered what was at the top of that canyon trail I could see from Highway 89, in Utah, so I talked my youngest into going hiking with me. Wonder no more; I was going to find out.

I started about 6:30 p.m., when the sun was still hot, and the first part of the hike was a tiered, but completely uphill climb. The pathway was sandy, and hard to navigate, and I immediately regretted my curiosity and desire to get fit. If the whole hike was this way, I was in trouble.

Luckily, once you get to the top of this particular leg it turns to regular dirt and rocks. I was very proud of myself as we quickly passed the Boy Scout troop and leaders. Of course, they caught up with us as we headed into the canyon, because pre-teen boys are monkeys and the leaders were running on pure adrenaline, terrified of losing one of them and having to explain to Timmy’s parents why they came back with seven boys instead of eight.

I really grew to appreciate those Scouts, especially as they warned us to look out for the rattlesnake they had spotted on the way up. Yesiree, thanks for THAT warning. I knew Adams Canyon had rattlesnakes, but generally if you don’t bug them, they won’t bug you. I sure as hell wasn’t searching them out.

After a rollercoaster of a climb, we finally got to the final leg, which basically involved scaling large rocks and wading through water. THAT was great. Really. I love rock climbing. Not. But I wasn’t about to turn around. I am nothing if not stubborn, and I was going to get to the top and see the waterfall.

We rounded a bend, and saw this tiny waterfall, and I about beat my daughter’s friend to death with my EMPTY water bottle, because it was very, very disappointing. Luckily for her, it was not THE waterfall, but rather A waterfall, and a rather puny one at that.

Then she started in with the “It’s just around the corner.” That girl is lucky she doesn’t have dents from that EMPTY plastic water bottle, I am telling you.

But with not even one fall, we FINALLY got to the top, and froze our feet off in the water, because you really couldn’t see it without getting into the water. And then, of course, I got to hike back down in my completely soggy workout shoes. They are a muddy mess. Glad I got them for half-price, because I am going to attempt to wash them, but am not sure of the outcome.

It really was beautiful, I only fell once coming down, I was a muddy, sappy, dusty mess when we reached the parking lot, and I was pretty damn glad to see my car. But I did it! I made it to the top of Adam’s Canyon, which is a pretty tough hike.

I’m proud. And sore. I also need new shoes.

My next goal is parasailing in Cabo. Yes, I am afraid of heights. But I don’t care. This is a new phase of my life, and I’m going to conquer those fears. Except for my fear of spiders. Don’t expect that one to EVER happen.

Sorry for the rather profane, if censored, heading, but I really don’t much like television. And the whole TV world has given me yet ANOTHER reason NOT to like it with the new reality show, More to Love.

Ah, Fox television. I have a love/hate relationship going on with them. Everybody loves American Idol, and even though I haven’t watched since the third season, I think it’s still a fun premise. And a great way to discover untapped talent. And being a dance aficionado, I LOVE that they have the hit show, So You Think You Can Dance, on their network. It’s proved a huge hit, and the dancing is incredible every week. I adore it.

P.S. Vote Jeanine. She is DA BOMB. She’s fighting short legs and no natural turnout, and still LOOK at her dance. Beautiful.

But back to the topic at hand. More to Love is built on the premise that the average American woman is a size 14, and the average female reality television contestant is a size 2. Okay, they still have me. Except… They are making a HUGE deal of these women being “big.” They post their weights! They have them cry on television about how they just want love even though they are “big.” In short, they are not treating them as if they are average. They are treating them as if they are HUGE.

Average is not normal in LaLa Land, so surely it’s not average in the rest of America, right? Puhleeze.

I suppose I can’t expect TOO much from a network that, a few years back, did a search to find overweight, frumpy, plain women, then spent a few months torturing them with plastic surgery, extreme exercise, major dental procedures and isolation from friends and family, all so they could turn them into a swan. A swan with a serious need to get out an AK-47 and mow down some doctors, television producers, and health trainers. Thank God that show didn’t last too long. I think ONE season….

Sadly, maybe that show, The Swan, really WAS reality. When we see larger-sized women in a show like More to Love, we call them big. We think they have not had any luck getting a date, let alone a date, because they are “big.” How many times have you heard “she has such a pretty face, but…” If we don’t all look like a SWAN–Size 2, Winsome, Attractive, Naughty/Nice–then we are not, what, real?

Does being a size 12 make you any less real than someone who is a size 6? I would say it makes you a little more real, but then someone would think I was making a joke at their expense. I suppose in some ways I am.

My own.

My battle with weight did not start until I was in my thirties, and then it became a constant fight. I had some health problems, was given some controversial medication, gained too much weight, and I have fought it ever since. I am not HUGE, nor I am considered morbidly obese, but I am a size 12, just down from a size 14. I am exercising daily, eating a high-protein, low-fat, low-carb, low-calorie diet, and my goal is a size six. I have been a size 2, and I liked it.

I don’t really like me the size I am.

Is that because the world has spent so much time convincing me that something is WRONG with the size I am?

Maybe. But with More to Love, I feel lied to and cheated, and manipulated. Don’t go to these HUGE lengths to show me I am average, just to tell me that you were KIDDING. You’re not average.

YOU ARE BIG. I guess that’s a nice way of saying fat.

What a stupid show.

Anyone else bothered by this?