The last week in June in Seattle was dangerously hot.  108 degrees outside my kitchen window and no AC inside.  Because so many don’t have AC here, our city opened up the Community Center as a respite place to escape the heat.  For most people I knew, this three day temperature spike was uncomfortable, but not deadly.   The damage was to our plants, unable to hide from the scorching rays.  The normally large leaves of my hydrangea plants turned a toasted brown and shriveled like an old seaman’s face.  

In six months, during the cold of January and February, I will crave warmth.  I can only ski a few runs before twinges of painful numbness start in my fingers and toes and increase in frequency and duration until  I am no longer enjoying anything and am focused on getting near burning logs by the fireplace.  

Although we depend on heat to protect us from the cold of winter, many in Seattle are now realizing we increasingly feel the need for the cold to protect us from the heat of summer.  As we all benefit from human made solutions to offer heat and warmth, there are often risks, sometimes dangerous.   

In Seattle, there are a few restaurants built onto the piers jutting out into the Puget Sound to provide the best views and enjoy the breeze during the warm summers. Two and a half decades ago, on a cool summer's day, one of my best friends, Julie, was in town and she and I went to Ivar’s waterfront restaurant on the water in Seattle. We stayed inside as I had my 18 month old son with me in a stroller and he was asleep.  It was mid-afternoon and the restaurant was quiet, with few diners. We talked about the usual childhood girlfriend catch-up topics; the family run-down from Mom, Dad, siblings, then onto gossip about friends from high school, to the deeper debrief on our partners.  As we chatted, my son woke up, ate some chowder, and then sat on the floor playing with his toys next to us.  Or so I thought.

I recognized his voice, but not the outer body shrill that bounced off every window pane, ceiling and surface striking anyone in the restaurant.  You knew it was a pain-induced shriek.  Connor was still under the table, but had wedged his fingers between the accordion metal slats of a baseboard heater next to our table.

I grabbed his hand free and gathered him as he continued to wail with the speed and force of an unknotted inflated balloon.  I thought he’d lessen as I held him, but he didn’t and tears spurted from my eyes as I moved through the restaurant trying to find the bathroom.  I turned on the cold water and held his little pudgy hand with white marks under the water.  He was heaving air and only sparks of sound remained.  Julie came to me, and I told her to get an ambulance.  After a few minutes, I came out - Connor making no sound but his belly heaving and his eyes closed as if asleep.  The manager asked if we were sure we wanted an ambulance.  “Yes, please, hurry.” 

Fortunately,  Connor did not require grafting and my maternal concerns for his dexterity and ability to fully use his hand as he needed were met with reassurance from the doctors on our follow up visits over the next months.  

I need and am grateful to have heat in my house in winter and am getting estimates for putting in air conditioning to provide support during summer.  As a mother, though, my heart still hurts when I think back to Connor’s burn injury. I do not take for granted the awareness that human solutions while providing comfort and ease may have risks and challenges.