Contemporary Issues in Nursing Essay Example for Free

Contemporary Issues in Nursing Essay In todays world of nursing, there are efforts to improve patient care at hospitals. Severalstates across America are considering implementing nursing ratio laws. This ratio law wouldrequire hospitals to have strict nurse-to-patient ratios enforced at all times. Only California hasimplemented nursing ratios so far and it has been the subject of mixed reviews. Steps the legislation went throughThroughout the 1990s, health care labor unions in California tried to implement nursestaffing laws through legislation and ballot initiatives. The California Nurses Association (CNA)campaigned for several years to constitute a mandated nurse-to-patient ratio system in California. The first endeavor was in 1993 when Assembly Bill (AB) 1445 was introduced into theAssembly. Unfortunately, the bill did not succeed. The nurse-to-patient ratios were also a part ofProposition 216, the health care reform initiative introduced by CNA in 1996. Governor PeteWilson vetoed another version of the ratio bill, AB 695, which was passed by the legislature in1997 (Institute for Health, 2001). The CNA organized a rally of nurses and patients throughoutCalifornia to win enactment of AB 394. More than 10,000 letters, post cards and phone callswere made to the governor in support of the bill. Registered nurses (RN) and senior citizens bythe thousands assembled on the Capitol Steps in support of the bill in September, 1999 (Dumpel,H. 2003). Description of issue and recently enacted legislationAB 394 was passed and signed by Governor Gray Davis in 1999. This bill directs theCalifornia Department of Health Services to establish minimum, specific, and numerical licensednurse-to-patient ratios by licensed nurse classification and by hospital unit in acute carehospitals. Although it passed in 1999, it was not implemented until January 1, 2004 due to thefact that the California Department of Health Services could not base deductive evidence onwhich to base the actual ratios (Coffman, J., et al, 2002). The implementation was frozen as anemergency by California Governor Schwarzenegger due to the severe nursing shortage and highcosts. California courts upheld the Governor  and enforced tougher standards (Anonymous,2007). Under the legislation enacted, acute care hospitals in California need to have a minimumof one licensed nurse for every two patients in intensive care units, one nurse for every operatingroom patient and one nurse for every five patients on a medical surgical floor. The legislationcalls for half of the licensed personnel working in intensive and coronary care units to belicensed as an RN. The consequence of the nurse ratio law on quality and access to patientcare is still a subject of debate in California (Coffman, J., et al, 2002). Impact of nursing practiceThe CNA claims that ratios have been successful in creating safer workingenvironments in hospitals. The CNA believes that having the ratio laws in effect will attractRNs that have left the field. Data obtained from the CNA shows that since the ratio law wassigned, the number of actively licensed RNs in California have grown by more than 60,000,with an additional 60% increase in RN new applications. Turnover vacancy rates in Californiasbiggest hospital systems have fallen below 5% as a result of this ratio law (CNA, 2005). Supporters of the ratio law believe that staffing ratios help improve working conditions andattract more young people to the nursing profession. Working conditions within acute carehospitals have an impact on the number of RNs that choose to practice there (Coffman, J, et al,2002). Impact on quality of health care delivery to the patientThere is a strong correlation between nurse-to-patient staffing ratios compared to lowrates of medication errors and patient deaths. Nurse staffing is key to influencing patientoutcomes. In a study of orthopedic and vascular surgery patients discharged from 168Pennsylvania hospitals, the risk of adverse outcomes were 31% higher in the hospitals thatstaffed 1 nurse to 8 patients, compared to 14% higher with hospitals that staffed 1 nurse to 4patients. Hospitals that staff 1 nurse to less than 5 patients also have a lower incidence of patientfalls, medication errors and nosocomial infections (MacPhee, M., et al, 2006). Improved RN topatient ratios also have a reduced rate of  pneumonia, urinary tract infections, shock, cardiacarrest, gastrointestinal bleeding, and other adverse outcomes in acute care settings. Recentresearch indicates that the cost of the RN to patient ratio law is considerably lower than the costof basic safety interventions commonly used in hospitals such as PAP tests for cervical cancerand clot-busting medications to treat stroke and heart attacks. Shorter lengths of stay have alsobeen reported since the ratio laws took place (Needleman, J., et al, 2002)HistoryCalifornia became the first state to mandate minimum nurse staffing ratios. Suggestionsfor nurse-to-patient ratios have been specified in union contracts at hospitals in several otherstates. Since California passed AB 394, related bills were introduced in many other states suchas Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York and Pennsylvania. The cause for staffing ratios was aresult of average patient acuity in the state of California rising and projected increases for acuitylevels to keep increasing through the next 20 years (Institute for Health, 2001). AB 394 mayhave a major impact on demand for nursing personnel, the adequacy of nursing supply and thequality of nursing care provided to consumers. Nursing unions in California representing nursessaw this bill as an aid for improving patient and employee safety. Hospitals throughoutCalifornia were concerned that AB 394 would incr ease the difficulties they face in recruiting andretaining nurses (Coffman, J., et al, 2002). Position of various health organizations on the issueThe topic of nursing ratios seem to be a convincing tool in protecting patient safety andimproving working conditions for nurses. However, realistic thought must be taken inestablishing attainable and pragmatical ratio standards. It is expensive and difficult to attract andretain enough qualified nurses to meet these ratios. Many proponents feel there are not enoughnurses available to meet these requirements. Difficulties in recruiting and retaining hard-to-findnurses costs an estimated $422 million and is a factor in the closure of several hospitals and aleading cause for shutdowns of 11 ERs and psychiatric units throughout California (Leighty, J.,2005). California ranks 49th across all states in the number of nurses per capita. The stateEconomic Development Department states, California will be short  more than 97,000 RNs bythe year 2010. When the ratio law began in California in 2004, 85 per cent of hospitals were notable to be compliant with the regulations. The main contributing factor was not having enoughnurses to cover meal breaks (Anonymous, 2004). Medical surgical nurses see understaffing as a problem that contributes to nurse burnout. Three out of five nurses state that low staffing levels have a negative impact on patient care. Three out of five nurses also state they have thought about leaving the hospital floor nursingsetting in the past two years. Nurses across the country feel that ratio regulations would improveworking conditions (AFT Healthcare, 2003). Impact of this legislationThe CNA believes that nursing ratios protect patients safety and eliminatesdangers associated with patient overload. CNA President Deborah Burger strongly feels that theratio laws have alleviated the nursing shortage by attracting 30,000 RNs to the state. She feelsthat burned -out or retired nurses are coming back into the profession because of betterconditions in the workplace (Leighty 2005). From a nurses point of view, the ratio regulations are what has been needed to improvepatient care and nurse satisfaction. For each extra patient above 4 added to a nurses assignment,there is a 23% increase in burnout and 15 % increase in job dissatisfaction. Research has shownthat better staffing for nurses in hospitals is reflected lower levels of absenteeism and higher jobsatisfaction (MacPhee, M., et al 2006). Legal responsibilities and Ethical dilemmasThe recent ratio regulations have caused problems throughout California. Hospitals areat times unable to receive patients, ambulances are diverted to more far away hospitals andpatients are now waiting longer in the emergency rooms. Before the regulation was made inplace in California, many nurses felt they made  decisions about patient care and were able toplan his or her workday to meet their patients needs. Many feel now, that the regulation is anumbers game. (Leighty, J., 2005). Some hospitals may look to cut costs to keep up with thecost of the ratio laws. They may look to decrease other personnel such as unlicensed caregivers,ward clerks, transporters and housekeepers. This could make nursing jobs in the hospital lessappealing to RNs. Higher personnel costs can also sway hospitals from ordering new medicalequipment with state of the art safety features (Coffman, J., et al 2002). Although the ratios are a subject of mixed reviews, many nurses in California are happywith the regulation. As a newer nurse who recently entered the profession, I am overwhelmed attimes with my patient load of five patients. I am thankful to work in a state where nurse ratiolaws are in place. Adding more patients to my daily assignment would more than likely makeme leave the hospital setting due to burn-out due to high levels of job dissatisfaction. References AFT Healthcare (2003, April) Patient- to- Nurse Staffing Ratios: Perspectives from HospitalNurses. Retrieved February, 10, 2004 from http://www.aft.org/pubs-reports/healthcare/HartStaffingReport2003.pdfAnonymous (2004). California Hospitals Express Disappointment Over Court Ruling on NurseStaffing Regulation: Ruling Jeopardizes Hospitals Ability to Guarantee Access to Care. Retrieved February 13, 2007 from http://www.calhealth.org/public/press/Article%5C103%5CCHA%20News%20Release%20on%20Nurse%20Ratio%20Lawsuit%205-26-04.pdfAnonymous (2007). Does Nurse-To-Patient Ratio Legislation Help Patients or Harm Hospitalsin the United States? Retrieved February 10, 2007 from http://www. Globalinsight.com/Perspective/PerspectiveDetail6099.htmCalifornia Nurses Association (2005) RN to patient Ratios. Retrieved February 10, 2007 fromhttp://www.calnurses.org/nursing-practice/ratios/ratios_index.htmlCoffman, J., Seago, J., Spetz, J., (2002) Minimum Nurse-to-Patient Ratios in Acute CareHospitals. Health Affairs, 21(5), 53-64. Retrieved February 13, 2007, from Research LibraryDatabase.

Seamus Heaney’s Storm on the Island and Walt Whitman’s Patrolling Essay

Seamus Heaney’s Storm on the Island and Walt Whitman’s Patrolling Barnegat which were written in 1966 and 1856 respectively are two classical poems describing vividly How the poems I have studied explored nature and its effect. Seamus Heaney’s Storm on the Island and Walt Whitman’s Patrolling Barnegat which were written in 1966 and 1856 respectively are two classical poems describing vividly the horror and insecurity experienced by human’s during a wild storm. Storm on the Island and Patrolling Barnegat have many similarities and differences, the similarities reside around each writer’s description of a storm but the differences are mainly due to the writer’s on personal attitude and approach to a storm and how they apply it to their writing. At the beginning of Heaney’s Storm on the Island he clearly highlights that they have prepared for a storm â€Å"We are prepared; we build our houses squat†, Heaney also makes it clear that there is no company or shelter on the island â€Å"Nor are there trees that might prove company when it blows full blast†. Throughout the poem Heaney is describing the elements that have to be faced during a storm, he describes the wind, the sea and the fear they produce. In contrast to Heaney, Whitman begins his poem with a prompt and vivid description of the storm and his dramatic account of a storm continues throughout the poem. Whitman’s portrayal of the storm is somewhat different to that of Heaney as it is more sophisticated and complex, â€Å"Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering†. The attitude of each poet towards the poem plays a prominent role in the style and rhythm of each poem. In brief it is quite clear that Heaney’s attitude to a ... ...ed the people experiencing it. My preference would have to be Patrolling Barnegat as I feel I was more engaged in the reading of it than I was in the reading of Storm on the Island and the way Whitman described the various components of a storm really impressed more so than anything else. On a final note I would like to acknowledge that these two poems I have been comparing are non-fiction but I do realise that storms do occur and their consequences can be catastrophic to say the least and you have to look no further than the recent hurricane disaster in New Orleans were over one thousand people lost their lives to the devastation caused by nature and that thousands of peoples lives have been permanently affected by this. We all should learn a valuable lesson from this disaster and in future hopefully this tragedy will not have to be experienced again.

Angels Demons Chapter 93-97

93 Langdon had no idea where he was going. Reflex was his only compass, driving him away from danger. His elbows and knees burned as he clambered beneath the pews. Still he clawed on. Somewhere a voice was telling him to move left. If you can get to the main aisle, you can dash for the exit. He knew it was impossible. There's a wall of flames blocking the main aisle! His mind hunting for options, Langdon scrambled blindly on. The footsteps closed faster now to his right. When it happened, Langdon was unprepared. He had guessed he had another ten feet of pews until he reached the front of the church. He had guessed wrong. Without warning, the cover above him ran out. He froze for an instant, half exposed at the front of the church. Rising in the recess to his left, gargantuan from this vantage point, was the very thing that had brought him here. He had entirely forgotten. Bernini's Ecstasy of St. Teresa rose up like some sort of pornographic still life†¦ the saint on her back, arched in pleasure, mouth open in a moan, and over her, an angel pointing his spear of fire. A bullet exploded in the pew over Langdon's head. He felt his body rise like a sprinter out of a gate. Fueled only by adrenaline, and barely conscious of his actions, he was suddenly running, hunched, head down, pounding across the front of the church to his right. As the bullets erupted behind him, Langdon dove yet again, sliding out of control across the marble floor before crashing in a heap against the railing of a niche on the right-hand wall. It was then that he saw her. A crumpled heap near the back of the church. Vittoria! Her bare legs were twisted beneath her, but Langdon sensed somehow that she was breathing. He had no time to help her. Immediately, the killer rounded the pews on the far left of the church and bore relentlessly down. Langdon knew in a heartbeat it was over. The killer raised the weapon, and Langdon did the only thing he could do. He rolled his body over the banister into the niche. As he hit the floor on the other side, the marble columns of the balustrade exploded in a storm of bullets. Langdon felt like a cornered animal as he scrambled deeper into the semicircular niche. Rising before him, the niche's sole contents seemed ironically apropos – a single sarcophagus. Mine perhaps, Langdon thought. Even the casket itself seemed fitting. It was a sctola – a small, unadorned, marble box. Burial on a budget. The casket was raised off the floor on two marble blocks, and Langdon eyed the opening beneath it, wondering if he could slide through. Footsteps echoed behind him. With no other option in sight, Langdon pressed himself to the floor and slithered toward the casket. Grabbing the two marble supports, one with each hand, he pulled like a breaststroker, dragging his torso into the opening beneath the tomb. The gun went off. Accompanying the roar of the gun, Langdon felt a sensation he had never felt in his life†¦ a bullet sailing past his flesh. There was a hiss of wind, like the backlash of a whip, as the bullet just missed him and exploded in the marble with a puff of dust. Blood surging, Langdon heaved his body the rest of the way beneath the casket. Scrambling across the marble floor, he pulled himself out from beneath the casket and to the other side. Dead end. Langdon was now face to face with the rear wall of the niche. He had no doubt that this tiny space behind the tomb would become his grave. And soon, he realized, as he saw the barrel of the gun appear in the opening beneath the sarcophagus. The Hassassin held the weapon parallel with the floor, pointing directly at Langdon's midsection. Impossible to miss. Langdon felt a trace of self-preservation grip his unconscious mind. He twisted his body onto his stomach, parallel with the casket. Facedown, he planted his hands flat on the floor, the glass cut from the archives pinching open with a stab. Ignoring the pain, he pushed. Driving his body upward in an awkward push-up, Langdon arched his stomach off the floor just as the gun went off. He could feel the shock wave of the bullets as they sailed beneath him and pulverized the porous travertine behind. Closing his eyes and straining against exhaustion, Langdon prayed for the thunder to stop. And then it did. The roar of gunfire was replaced with the cold click of an empty chamber. Langdon opened his eyes slowly, almost fearful his eyelids would make a sound. Fighting the trembling pain, he held his position, arched like a cat. He didn't even dare breathe. His eardrums numbed by gunfire, Langdon listened for any hint of the killer's departure. Silence. He thought of Vittoria and ached to help her. The sound that followed was deafening. Barely human. A guttural bellow of exertion. The sarcophagus over Langdon's head suddenly seemed to rise on its side. Langdon collapsed on the floor as hundreds of pounds teetered toward him. Gravity overcame friction, and the lid was the first to go, sliding off the tomb and crashing to the floor beside him. The casket came next, rolling off its supports and toppling upside down toward Langdon. As the box rolled, Langdon knew he would either be entombed in the hollow beneath it or crushed by one of the edges. Pulling in his legs and head, Langdon compacted his body and yanked his arms to his sides. Then he closed his eyes and awaited the sickening crush. When it came, the entire floor shook beneath him. The upper rim landed only millimeters from the top of his head, rattling his teeth in their sockets. His right arm, which Langdon had been certain would be crushed, miraculously still felt intact. He opened his eyes to see a shaft of light. The right rim of the casket had not fallen all the way to the floor and was still propped partially on its supports. Directly overhead, though, Langdon found himself staring quite literally into the face of death. The original occupant of the tomb was suspended above him, having adhered, as decaying bodies often did, to the bottom of the casket. The skeleton hovered a moment, like a tentative lover, and then with a sticky crackling, it succumbed to gravity and peeled away. The carcass rushed down to embrace him, raining putrid bones and dust into Langdon's eyes and mouth. Before Langdon could react, a blind arm was slithering through the opening beneath the casket, sifting through the carcass like a hungry python. It groped until it found Langdon's neck and clamped down. Langdon tried to fight back against the iron fist now crushing his larynx, but he found his left sleeve pinched beneath the edge of the coffin. He had only one arm free, and the fight was a losing battle. Langdon's legs bent in the only open space he had, his feet searching for the casket floor above him. He found it. Coiling, he planted his feet. Then, as the hand around his neck squeezed tighter, Langdon closed his eyes and extended his legs like a ram. The casket shifted, ever so slightly, but enough. With a raw grinding, the sarcophagus slid off the supports and landed on the floor. The casket rim crashed onto the killer's arm, and there was a muffled scream of pain. The hand released Langdon's neck, twisting and jerking away into the dark. When the killer finally pulled his arm free, the casket fell with a conclusive thud against the flat marble floor. Complete darkness. Again. And silence. There was no frustrated pounding outside the overturned sarcophagus. No prying to get in. Nothing. As Langdon lay in the dark amidst a pile of bones, he fought the closing darkness and turned his thoughts to her. Vittoria. Are you alive? If Langdon had known the truth – the horror to which Vittoria would soon awake – he would have wished for her sake that she were dead. 94 Sitting in the Sistine Chapel among his stunned colleagues, Cardinal Mortati tried to comprehend the words he was hearing. Before him, lit only by the candlelight, the camerlegno had just told a tale of such hatred and treachery that Mortati found himself trembling. The camerlegno spoke of kidnapped cardinals, branded cardinals, murdered cardinals. He spoke of the ancient Illuminati – a name that dredged up forgotten fears – and of their resurgence and vow of revenge against the church. With pain in his voice, the camerlegno spoke of his late Pope†¦ the victim of an Illuminati poisoning. And finally, his words almost a whisper, he spoke of a deadly new technology, antimatter, which in less than two hours threatened to destroy all of Vatican City. When he was through, it was as if Satan himself had sucked the air from the room. Nobody could move. The camerlegno's words hung in the darkness. The only sound Mortati could now hear was the anomalous hum of a television camera in back – an electronic presence no conclave in history had ever endured – but a presence demanded by the camerlegno. To the utter astonishment of the cardinals, the camerlegno had entered the Sistine Chapel with two BBC reporters – a man and a woman – and announced that they would be transmitting his solemn statement, live to the world. Now, speaking directly to the camera, the camerlegno stepped forward. â€Å"To the Illuminati,† he said, his voice deepening, â€Å"and to those of science, let me say this.† He paused. â€Å"You have won the war.† The silence spread now to the deepest corners of the chapel. Mortati could hear the desperate thumping of his own heart. â€Å"The wheels have been in motion for a long time,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"Your victory has been inevitable. Never before has it been as obvious as it is at this moment. Science is the new God.† What is he saying? Mortati thought. Has he gone mad? The entire world is hearing this! â€Å"Medicine, electronic communications, space travel, genetic manipulation†¦ these are the miracles about which we now tell our children. These are the miracles we herald as proof that science will bring us the answers. The ancient stories of immaculate conceptions, burning bushes, and parting seas are no longer relevant. God has become obsolete. Science has won the battle. We concede.† A rustle of confusion and bewilderment swept through the chapel. â€Å"But science's victory,† the camerlegno added, his voice intensifying, â€Å"has cost every one of us. And it has cost us deeply.† Silence. â€Å"Science may have alleviated the miseries of disease and drudgery and provided an array of gadgetry for our entertainment and convenience, but it has left us in a world without wonder. Our sunsets have been reduced to wavelengths and frequencies. The complexities of the universe have been shredded into mathematical equations. Even our self-worth as human beings has been destroyed. Science proclaims that Planet Earth and its inhabitants are a meaningless speck in the grand scheme. A cosmic accident.† He paused. â€Å"Even the technology that promises to unite us, divides us. Each of us is now electronically connected to the globe, and yet we feel utterly alone. We are bombarded with violence, division, fracture, and betrayal. Skepticism has become a virtue. Cynicism and demand for proof has become enlightened thought. Is it any wonder that humans now feel more depressed and defeated than they have at any point in human history? Does science hold anything sacred? Science l ooks for answers by probing our unborn fetuses. Science even presumes to rearrange our own DNA. It shatters God's world into smaller and smaller pieces in quest of meaning†¦ and all it finds is more questions.† Mortati watched in awe. The camerlegno was almost hypnotic now. He had a physical strength in his movements and voice that Mortati had never witnessed on a Vatican altar. The man's voice was wrought with conviction and sadness. â€Å"The ancient war between science and religion is over,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"You have won. But you have not won fairly. You have not won by providing answers. You have won by so radically reorienting our society that the truths we once saw as signposts now seem inapplicable. Religion cannot keep up. Scientific growth is exponential. It feeds on itself like a virus. Every new breakthrough opens doors for new breakthroughs. Mankind took thousands of years to progress from the wheel to the car. Yet only decades from the car into space. Now we measure scientific progress in weeks. We are spinning out of control. The rift between us grows deeper and deeper, and as religion is left behind, people find themselves in a spiritual void. We cry out for meaning. And believe me, we do cry out. We see UFOs, engage in channeling, spirit contact, out-of-body experiences, mindquests – all these eccentric ideas have a scientific veneer, but they are unashamedly irrational. Th ey are the desperate cry of the modern soul, lonely and tormented, crippled by its own enlightenment and its inability to accept meaning in anything removed from technology.† Mortati could feel himself leaning forward in his seat. He and the other cardinals and people around the world were hanging on this priest's every utterance. The camerlegno spoke with no rhetoric or vitriol. No references to scripture or Jesus Christ. He spoke in modern terms, unadorned and pure. Somehow, as though the words were flowing from God himself, he spoke the modern language†¦ delivering the ancient message. In that moment, Mortati saw one of the reasons the late Pope held this young man so dear. In a world of apathy, cynicism, and technological deification, men like the camerlegno, realists who could speak to our souls like this man just had, were the church's only hope. The camerlegno was talking more forcefully now. â€Å"Science, you say, will save us. Science, I say, has destroyed us. Since the days of Galileo, the church has tried to slow the relentless march of science, sometimes with misguided means, but always with benevolent intention. Even so, the temptations are too great for man to resist. I warn you, look around yourselves. The promises of science have not been kept. Promises of efficiency and simplicity have bred nothing but pollution and chaos. We are a fractured and frantic species†¦ moving down a path of destruction.† The camerlegno paused a long moment and then sharpened his eyes on the camera. â€Å"Who is this God science? Who is the God who offers his people power but no moral framework to tell you how to use that power? What kind of God gives a child fire but does not warn the child of its dangers? The language of science comes with no signposts about good and bad. Science textbooks tell us how to create a nuclear reaction, and yet they contain no chapter asking us if it is a good or a bad idea. â€Å"To science, I say this. The church is tired. We are exhausted from trying to be your signposts. Our resources are drying up from our campaign to be the voice of balance as you plow blindly on in your quest for smaller chips and larger profits. We ask not why you will not govern yourselves, but how can you? Your world moves so fast that if you stop even for an instant to consider the implications of your actions, someone more efficient will whip past you in a blur. So you move on. You proliferate weapons of mass destruction, but it is the Pope who travels the world beseeching leaders to use restraint. You clone living creatures, but it is the church reminding us to consider the moral implications of our actions. You encourage people to interact on phones, video screens, and computers, but it is the church who opens its doors and reminds us to commune in person as we were meant to do. You even murder unborn babies in the name of research that will save lives. Again, it is the ch urch who points out the fallacy of this reasoning. â€Å"And all the while, you proclaim the church is ignorant. But who is more ignorant? The man who cannot define lightning, or the man who does not respect its awesome power? This church is reaching out to you. Reaching out to everyone. And yet the more we reach, the more you push us away. Show me proof there is a God, you say. I say use your telescopes to look to the heavens, and tell me how there could not be a God!† The camerlegno had tears in his eyes now. â€Å"You ask what does God look like. I say, where did that question come from? The answers are one and the same. Do you not see God in your science? How can you miss Him! You proclaim that even the slightest change in the force of gravity or the weight of an atom would have rendered our universe a lifeless mist rather than our magnificent sea of heavenly bodies, and yet you fail to see God's hand in this? Is it really so much easier to believe that we simply chose the right card from a deck of billions? Have we becom e so spiritually bankrupt that we would rather believe in mathematical impossibility than in a power greater than us? â€Å"Whether or not you believe in God,† the camerlegno said, his voice deepening with deliberation, â€Å"you must believe this. When we as a species abandon our trust in the power greater than us, we abandon our sense of accountability. Faith†¦ all faiths†¦ are admonitions that there is something we cannot understand, something to which we are accountable†¦ With faith we are accountable to each other, to ourselves, and to a higher truth. Religion is flawed, but only because man is flawed. If the outside world could see this church as I do†¦ looking beyond the ritual of these walls†¦ they would see a modern miracle†¦ a brotherhood of imperfect, simple souls wanting only to be a voice of compassion in a world spinning out of control.† The camerlegno motioned out over the College of Cardinals, and the BBC camerawoman instinctively followed, panning the crowd. â€Å"Are we obsolete?† the camerlegno asked. â€Å"Are these men dino-saurs? Am I? Does the world really need a voice for the poor, the weak, the oppressed, the unborn child? Do we really need souls like these who, though imperfect, spend their lives imploring each of us to read the signposts of morality and not lose our way?† Mortati now realized that the camerlegno, whether consciously or not, was making a brilliant move. By showing the cardinals, he was personalizing the church. Vatican City was no longer a building, it was people – people like the camerlegno who had spent their lives in the service of goodness. â€Å"Tonight we are perched on a precipice,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"None of us can afford to be apathetic. Whether you see this evil as Satan, corruption, or immorality†¦ the dark force is alive and growing every day. Do not ignore it.† The camerlegno lowered his voice to a whisper, and the camera moved in. â€Å"The force, though mighty, is not invincible. Goodness can prevail. Listen to your hearts. Listen to God. Together we can step back from this abyss.† Now Mortati understood. This was the reason. Conclave had been violated, but this was the only way. It was a dramatic and desperate plea for help. The camerlegno was speaking to both his enemy and his friends now. He was entreating anyone, friend or foe, to see the light and stop this madness. Certainly someone listening would realize the insanity of this plot and come forward. The camerlegno knelt at the altar. â€Å"Pray with me.† The College of Cardinals dropped to their knees to join him in prayer. Outside in St. Peter's Square and around the globe†¦ a stunned world knelt with them. 95 The Hassassin lay his unconscious trophy in the rear of the van and took a moment to admire her sprawled body. She was not as beautiful as the women he bought, and yet she had an animal strength that excited him. Her body was radiant, dewy with perspiration. She smelled of musk. As the Hassasin stood there savoring his prize, he ignored the throb in his arm. The bruise from the falling sarcophagus, although painful, was insignificant†¦ well worth the compensation that lay before him. He took consolation in knowing the American who had done this to him was probably dead by now. Gazing down at his incapacitated prisoner, the Hassassin visualized what lay ahead. He ran a palm up beneath her shirt. Her breasts felt perfect beneath her bra. Yes, he smiled. You are more than worthy. Fighting the urge to take her right there, he closed the door and drove off into the night. There was no need to alert the press about this killing†¦ the flames would do that for him. At CERN, Sylvie sat stunned by the camerlegno's address. Never before had she felt so proud to be a Catholic and so ashamed to work at CERN. As she left the recreational wing, the mood in every single viewing room was dazed and somber. When she got back to Kohler's office, all seven phone lines were ringing. Media inquiries were never routed to Kohler's office, so the incoming calls could only be one thing. Geld. Money calls. Antimatter technology already had some takers. Inside the Vatican, Gunther Glick was walking on air as he followed the camerlegno from the Sistine Chapel. Glick and Macri had just made the live transmission of the decade. And what a transmission it had been. The camerlegno had been spellbinding. Now out in the hallway, the camerlegno turned to Glick and Macri. â€Å"I have asked the Swiss Guard to assemble photos for you – photos of the branded cardinals as well as one of His late Holiness. I must warn you, these are not pleasant pictures. Ghastly burns. Blackened tongues. But I would like you to broadcast them to the world.† Glick decided it must be perpetual Christmas inside Vatican City. He wants me to broadcast an exclusive photo of the dead Pope? â€Å"Are you sure?† Glick asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. The camerlegno nodded. â€Å"The Swiss Guard will also provide you a live video feed of the antimatter canister as it counts down.† Glick stared. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas! â€Å"The Illuminati are about to find out,† the camerlegno declared, â€Å"that they have grossly overplayed their hand.† 96 Like a recurring theme in some demonic symphony, the suffocating darkness had returned. No light. No air. No exit. Langdon lay trapped beneath the overturned sarcophagus and felt his mind careening dangerously close to the brink. Trying to drive his thoughts in any direction other than the crushing space around him, Langdon urged his mind toward some logical process†¦ mathematics, music, anything. But there was no room for calming thoughts. I can't move! I can't breathe! The pinched sleeve of his jacket had thankfully come free when the casket fell, leaving Langdon now with two mobile arms. Even so, as he pressed upward on the ceiling of his tiny cell, he found it immovable. Oddly, he wished his sleeve were still caught. At least it might create a crack for some air. As Langdon pushed against the roof above, his sleeve fell back to reveal the faint glow of an old friend. Mickey. The greenish cartoon face seemed mocking now. Langdon probed the blackness for any other sign of light, but the casket rim was flush against the floor. Goddamn Italian perfectionists, he cursed, now imperiled by the same artistic excellence he taught his students to revere†¦ impeccable edges, faultless parallels, and of course, use only of the most seamless and resilient Carrara marble. Precision can be suffocating. â€Å"Lift the damn thing,† he said aloud, pressing harder through the tangle of bones. The box shifted slightly. Setting his jaw, he heaved again. The box felt like a boulder, but this time it raised a quarter of an inch. A fleeting glimmer of light surrounded him, and then the casket thudded back down. Langdon lay panting in the dark. He tried to use his legs to lift as he had before, but now that the sarcophagus had fallen flat, there was no room even to straighten his knees. As the claustrophobic panic closed in, Langdon was overcome by images of the sarcophagus shrinking around him. Squeezed by delirium, he fought the illusion with every logical shred of intellect he had. â€Å"Sarcophagus,† he stated aloud, with as much academic sterility as he could muster. But even erudition seemed to be his enemy today. Sarcophagus is from the Greek â€Å"sarx† meaning â€Å"flesh,† and â€Å"phagein† meaning â€Å"to eat.† I'm trapped in a box literally designed to â€Å"eat flesh.† Images of flesh eaten from bone only served as a grim reminder that Langdon lay covered in human remains. The notion brought nausea and chills. But it also brought an idea. Fumbling blindly around the coffin, Langdon found a shard of bone. A rib maybe? He didn't care. All he wanted was a wedge. If he could lift the box, even a crack, and slide the bone fragment beneath the rim, then maybe enough air could†¦ Reaching across his body and wedging the tapered end of the bone into the crack between the floor and the coffin, Langdon reached up with his other hand and heaved skyward. The box did not move. Not even slightly. He tried again. For a moment, it seemed to tremble slightly, but that was all. With the fetid stench and lack of oxygen choking the strength from his body, Langdon realized he only had time for one more effort. He also knew he would need both arms. Regrouping, he placed the tapered edge of the bone against the crack, and shifting his body, he wedged the bone against his shoulder, pinning it in place. Careful not to dislodge it, he raised both hands above him. As the stifling confine began to smother him, he felt a welling of intensified panic. It was the second time today he had been trapped with no air. Hollering aloud, Langdon thrust upward in one explosive motion. The casket jostled off the floor for an instant. But long enough. The bone shard he had braced against his shoulder slipped outward into the widening crack. When the casket fell again, the bone shattered. But this time Langdon could see the casket was propped up. A tiny slit of light showed beneath the rim. Exhausted, Langdon collapsed. Hoping the strangling sensation in his throat would pass, he waited. But it only worsened as the seconds passed. Whatever air was coming through the slit seemed imperceptible. Langdon wondered if it would be enough to keep him alive. And if so, for how long? If he passed out, who would know he was even in there? With arms like lead, Langdon raised his watch again: 10:12 P.M. Fighting trembling fingers, he fumbled with the watch and made his final play. He twisted one of the tiny dials and pressed a button. As consciousness faded, and the walls squeezed closer, Langdon felt the old fears sweep over him. He tried to imagine, as he had so many times, that he was in an open field. The image he conjured, however, was no help. The nightmare that had haunted him since his youth came crashing back†¦ The flowers here are like paintings, the child thought, laughing as he ran across the meadow. He wished his parents had come along. But his parents were busy pitching camp. â€Å"Don't explore too far,† his mother had said. He had pretended not to hear as he bounded off into the woods. Now, traversing this glorious field, the boy came across a pile of fieldstones. He figured it must be the foundation of an old homestead. He would not go near it. He knew better. Besides, his eyes had been drawn to something else – a brilliant lady's slipper – the rarest and most beautiful flower in New Hampshire. He had only ever seen them in books. Excited, the boy moved toward the flower. He knelt down. The ground beneath him felt mulchy and hollow. He realized his flower had found an extra-fertile spot. It was growing from a patch of rotting wood. Thrilled by the thought of taking home his prize, the boy reached out†¦ fingers extending toward the stem. He never reached it. With a sickening crack, the earth gave way. In the three seconds of dizzying terror as he fell, the boy knew he would die. Plummeting downward, he braced for the bone-crushing collision. When it came, there was no pain. Only softness. And cold. He hit the deep liquid face first, plunging into a narrow blackness. Spinning disoriented somersaults, he groped the sheer walls thatenclosed him on all sides. Somehow, as if by instinct, he sputtered to the surface. Light. Faint. Above him. Miles above him, it seemed. His arms clawed at the water, searching the walls of the hollow for something to grab onto. Only smooth stone. He had fallen through an abandoned well covering. He screamed for help, but his cries reverberated in the tight shaft. He called out again and again. Above him, the tattered hole grew dim. Night fell. Time seemed to contort in the darkness. Numbness set in as he treaded water in the depths of the chasm, calling, crying out. He was tormented by visions of the walls collapsing in, burying him alive. His arms ached with fatigue. A few times he thought he heard voices. He shouted out, but his own voice was muted†¦ like a dream. As the night wore on, the shaft deepened. The walls inched quietly inward. The boy pressed out against the enclosure, pushing it away. Exhausted, he wanted to give up. And yet he felt the water buoy him, cooling his burning fears until he was numb. When the rescue team arrived, they found the boy barely conscious. He had been treading water for five hours. Two days later, the Boston Globe ran a front-page story called â€Å"The Little Swimmer That Could.† 97 The Hassassin smiled as he pulled his van into the mammoth stone structure overlooking the Tiber River. He carried his prize up and up†¦ spiraling higher in the stone tunnel, grateful his load was slender. He arrived at the door. The Church of Illumination, he gloated. The ancient Illuminati meeting room. Who would have imagined it to be here? Inside, he lay her on a plush divan. Then he expertly bound her arms behind her back and tied her feet. He knew that what he longed for would have to wait until his final task was finished. Water. Still, he thought, he had a moment for indulgence. Kneeling beside her, he ran his hand along her thigh. It was smooth. Higher. His dark fingers snaked beneath the cuff of her shorts. Higher. He stopped. Patience, he told himself, feeling aroused. There is work to be done. He walked for a moment out onto the chamber's high stone balcony. The evening breeze slowly cooled his ardor. Far below the Tiber raged. He raised his eyes to the dome of St. Peter's, three quarters of a mile away, naked under the glare of hundreds of press lights. â€Å"Your final hour,† he said aloud, picturing the thousands of Muslims slaughtered during the Crusades. â€Å"At midnight you will meet your God.† Behind him, the woman stirred. The Hassassin turned. He considered letting her wake up. Seeing terror in a woman's eyes was his ultimate aphrodisiac. He opted for prudence. It would be better if she remained unconscious while he was gone. Although she was tied and would never escape, the Hassassin did not want to return and find her exhausted from struggling. I want your strength preserved†¦ for me. Lifting her head slightly, he placed his palm beneath her neck and found the hollow directly beneath her skull. The crown/meridian pressure point was one he had used countless times. With crushing force, he drove his thumb into the soft cartilage and felt it depress. The woman slumped instantly. Twenty minutes, he thought. She would be a tantalizing end to a perfect day. After she had served him and died doing it, he would stand on the balcony and watch the midnight Vatican fireworks. Leaving his prize unconscious on the couch, the Hassassin went downstairs into a torchlit dungeon. The final task. He walked to the table and revered the sacred, metal forms that had been left there for him. Water. It was his last. Removing a torch from the wall as he had done three times already, he began heating the end. When the end of the object was white hot, he carried it to the cell. Inside, a single man stood in silence. Old and alone. â€Å"Cardinal Baggia,† the killer hissed. â€Å"Have you prayed yet?† The Italian's eyes were fearless. â€Å"Only for your soul.†

Annotated Bibliography Of The Yellow Wallpaper - 1086 Words

Annotated Bibliography Berenji, Fahimeh Q. Time and Gender in Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s â€Å"The Yellow Wall-Paper† and Kate Chopin’s â€Å"The Story of an Hour†. Journal of History Culture and Art Research, vol. 2, no. 2, 1 Jan. 2013, pp. 221-234, Database: MLA International Bibliography -- Publications. kutaksam.karabuk.edu.tr/index.php. Accessed 18 Nov. 2017. The short story written by Fahimeh Q. Basenji, he shares in his writings about â€Å"The Yellow Wall-Paper and Story of an Hour†. In the journal, he discusses how the two stories are similar but have different narrator experiences. He tells how â€Å"female characters oppressed by the patriarchal authority in the marriage and their oppression† (1). The author writes about how a female author can†¦show more content†¦In my beliefs, she is not selfish, she is happy about the captive life she was given. Now her freedom would end as quickly as she received it. Her husband walks in unharmed. She could not bear the confinement of his love, and it took a toll on her weak heart. The point of the authors journal was to get us to understand the mad method of Mrs. Mallards ways. Deneau, Daniel. Chopins The Story of an Hour. Explicator, vol. 61, no. 4, Summer 2003, pp. 210-13, eds.a.ebscohost.com.libproxy.lamar.ed. doi:10.1080/00144940309597815. Accessed 19 Nov. 2017. Chopin’s â€Å"Story of an Hour†, the author goes through the story explaining how Mrs. Mallard was feeling about her husband’s death. The author states, how Mrs. Mallard at one point you could hear her whisper â€Å"free, free, free† (353). He states the point of how some people would perceive that she is a cold, calculating hard woman. The readers could be led to believe that she doesn’t love her husband. Mrs. Mallard has several different emotions about the news, she is heartfelt, but at the same time relieved from the confinement that she experiences with Mr. Mallard. The author chose to describe in his writings, how the emotions that Mrs. Mallard was feeling was close to rape. She had no self-dignity or self-esteem regarding the events in her life. She doesn’t disclose how he treated her nor does she name him specifically. But in her words and feeling’s that are expressedShow MoreRelatedAnalysis of Charlotte Gilmans The Yellow Wal lpaper969 Words   |  4 PagesYellow Wallpaper Annotated Bibliography Frye, C.B. Using Literature in Health Care: Reflections on The Yellow Wallpaper. The Annals of Pharmacotherapy. (32: 7). 1998. 829.33. Print. Most people who wrote about The Yellow Wallpaper do so from the perspective of a literary scholar. This however is written by someone in the health care field. C.B. Frye says that fiction can impact the larger world; in this case it impacted mental health and the work of Gillmans doctor, S Weir Mitchell. AlthoughRead MoreThe Yellow Wallpaper2088 Words   |  9 PagesCritical Analysis of Formal Elements in the Short Story â€Å"The Yellow Wallpaper† by Charlotte Perkins Gilman Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s, â€Å"The Yellow Wallpaper†, published in 1899, is a semi-autobiographical short story depicting a young woman’s struggle with depression that is virtually untreated and her subsequent descent into madness. Although the story is centered on the protagonist’s obsessive description of the yellow wallpaper and her neurosis, the story serves a higher purpose as a testamentRead More The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman2333 Words   |  10 Pagesâ€Å"The Yellow Wallpaper† by Charlotte Perkins Gilman Many intellectual artists, who are widely acclaimed for their literary work, live in a world characterized by â€Å"progressive insanity† (Gilman 20). Charlotte Perkins Gilman was one such individual. A writer during the early 20th century, Gilman suffered from bouts of deep depression, due part to her dissatisfaction with the limitations of her role as wife and mother. Her writing, particularly her famous story â€Å"The Yellow Wallpaper† reflects experiences