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A ventilated COVID-19 patient in Utah couldn't use his voice to thank his nurses for caring for him, so he thanked them the only other way he knew how — with his violin.According to a press release from Intermountain Healthcare, Grover Wilhelmsen contracted COVID-19 and was placed on an invasive ventilator after arriving at McKay-Dee Hospital in Ogden. Because the ventilator prevented him from speaking, he communicated with nurses and doctors with paper and pen.Wilhelmsen is a retired orchestra teacher and has been playing music his entire life. At one point during his ICU stay, he asked one of his nurses if she'd like to hear him play."Toward the middle of my shift he wrote, 'You know, I really want to play here at the hospital. What do you think about my wife bringing in my violin and viola?'" his nurse, Ciara Sase, said. "I said to him, 'We'd love to hear you play, it would bring so much brightness and positivity into our environment.'"It took some planning, but eventually, the team at McKay-Dee decided it would be safe for Wilhelmsen to play as long as Sase were in the room to make sure he didn't disturb any of the equipment that was allowing him to breathe.Wilhelmsen's wife, Diana, eventually brought both his violin and viola to the hospital. Soon, he was filling the ICU with the comforting sounds of his music."It brought tears to my eyes. For all the staff to see a patient doing this while intubated was unbelievable," Sase saod. "Even though he was so sick, he was still able to push through. You could see how much it meant to him. Playing kind of helped to soothe his nerves and brought him back to the moment."And he didn't play just once — Intermountain Healthcare says he played for several hours on back-to-back days. Sase added that Wilhelmsen would play for up to two-and-a-half hours before he became ill and required sedation."It was honestly shocking to be there when he picked up the violin. It felt like I was in a dream," said Matt Harper, another nurse at McKay-Dee. "I'm used to patients being miserable or sedated while being intubated, but Grover made an unfortunate situation into something positive. This was by far one of my favorite memories in the ICU that I've had. It was a small light in the darkness of COVID.""He truly is special and made a mark on all of us," Sase said. "When I started to cry in the room after he was done playing, he wrote to me, 'Quit crying. Just smile,' and he smiled at me."Wilhelmsen ultimately spent more than a month in the ICU. However, he's since been moved to a long-term care facility and is expected to recover. His wife says he's currently too weak to play but hopes to resume his musical talents as soon as he gathers his strength. 2731

A steady gust of an early winter’s wind was whipping through the last few pieces of corn still left standing on Paul Hamilton’s Northern Kentucky farm, their golden kernels exposed to the elements, naked wilted stalks all but dead. The corn here will soon be gone from this rolling farmland and so too will Paul Hamilton’s prized herd of dairy cows. Paul’s family has been on this 80 acres for three generations. His grandfather first purchased the land in the 1950’s before handing it over to Paul’s father, who ultimately sold it to Paul when he was in his 20’s.A legacy of family farming though will end with Paul Hamilton by the end of the year. He refuses to subject his 16-year-old son John to the uncertain life of farming. “If I had to do it all over again, 29 years ago when my dad offered me the land, I would have turned it down,” Paul admits as he struggles to cut a piece of plastic rope holding together a 100 pound barrel of hay. Paul has taken one vacation day in the last four years. There are no sick days for dairy farmers, no holidays and no weekends. Every day his 35 Holstein cows must be milked at 5 a.m. and then again at 5 p.m. to keep them producing. This 56-year-old hasn’t shaven in days; the bags under his eyes are so heavy they seem to stretch halfway down his face. His boots are caked with a thick layer of mud and manure that refuses to come off no matter how much he washes them. And yet he loves it here, if for no other reason than the fact that he knows no other way of living. “When you’ve done it your entire life, it gets to be where it’s a part of you,” he says leaning against the tire of a 1971 John Deere tractor that he repairs almost daily. Paul admits though that the end is near,“We’re hemorrhaging money. We’ve run through a pretty rough time right now and next year doesn’t look better either.” Last month, the Hamilton family farm lost ,500. The price of milk is playing a large role in the struggle dairy farmers are facing. While most consumers pay an average for a gallon of milk at the grocery store, most farmers only get about from that sale. Nearly 60 dairy farms have shut down across Indiana, Kentucky and Tennessee since the start of the year. Paul’s wife Paula Hamilton has run out of hope. “Always before it was maybe next year we’ll have a better crop, maybe next year prices will go up. And now we’re looking at it and we’re no longer saying next year and that’s really sad,” she said. Sitting in the front yard of the family’s century-old white farmhouse, beneath a bright orange maple tree, a small tear falls down her face.“We no longer have hope it’s going to keep going.” And that is a reality facing hundreds of farmers across the United States right now. A prospect so grim, that some are choosing to take their own lives instead of letting go of farms that have been in their families for decades. “You know I worry about him a lot. He’s working so hard and getting so tired and I wonder if he’s gotten to a point that he can’t come back from emotionally,” Paula says holding her husband’s hand. Farmers are notoriously reserved with their feelings and thoughts. The solitary occupation often leaves some feeling as though they have nowhere to turn as they are facing financial and emotional ruin.According to the University of Kentucky’s Vital Statistics Office, 15 farmers died by suicide in 2015. The number was even higher the year before as 21 farmers took their own lives. Since 2005, 142 farmers died by suicide in the Bluegrass State leaving behind countless broken families and prompting some public health officials to label this a “crisis.” That includes Debbie Reed who has worked as a nurse and professor at the University of Kentucky for nearly three decades. “When someone dies in the farming community people always bring over casseroles, but when someone commits suicide, it’s known as the ‘no casserole death’ because no one wants to bring a casserole over when a person has taken their own life,” Dr. Reed said. Dr. Reed believes suicide in farming communities are vastly underreported mainly because of the stigma associated with suicide, “These people are living in communities where they don’t interact with each other daily, so it’s hard for people to reach out for help.” The prospect of having to give up on his farm by the end of the year has left Paul Hamilton dealing with a severe case of depression. He’s never thought about taking his own life, but his wife Paula says the likelihood of facing financial ruin often leaves her feeling hopeless, “Sometimes I just feel overwhelmed. Sometimes you’re by yourself and at night you’re thinking, ‘God, how could I do it where he gets the insurance,’ but then you think, ‘I don’t need to be thinking this way.” Paula’s hope is that farmers start opening up about their feelings, especially when so many are facing such uncertain futures. Her eyes turn to a grazing herd of cattle nearby, “No one is telling the farmers about it, no one is saying, ‘Hey there’s other people that feel like you feel and it’s okay to feel like that.”’ But even with everything they are facing, both Paula and Paul aren’t ready to give up until they’ve exhausted every option. Their family’s legacy is all they have left.“You’re connected to the land, but the land is killing you.”   If you or someone you know is struggling and in need of help there are number of resources available:National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ 5626

A Marine lance corporal who marched at a white supremacist rally in Charlottesville, Virginia last year has been kicked out of the service after he spent nearly a month jail.According to the Jacksonville Daily News in Jacksonville, North Carolina, Vasillios Pistolis, 19, was discharged from duty and kicked out of the Marine Corps on July 11. Pistolis was court-martialed on June 18 for an investigation into violations of Articles 92 and 107 of the Uniform of Military Justice.Among the violations covered in those articles are making "false statements," "failure to obey orders or regulations" and "dereliction of duty."Pistolis was sentenced to 28 days in confinement in the brig, a forfeiture of some of his paycheck and a reduction of rank.ProPublica and Frontline reported in June that Pistolis marched at the "Unite The Right" rally in Charlottesville, Virginia. At that rally, one counter-protester was killed when James Alex Fields drove his car into a crowd.ProPublica and Frontline's report also alleged that Pistolis was a member of a known white supremacist and neo-Nazi group.   1156

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A non-profit organization announced its come up with a way to feed voters at several polling places across the nation for free on Election Day.World Central Kitchen kicked off their initiative last week with the announcement of its #ChefsforthePolls.They say people often cast their vote before work, during their lunch break, or after work, and those are the same time's people typically grab something to eat.And with long lines at polling stations, that could be the difference between voting and not voting, so they want to help make it a convenient experience for voters."WCK and our partners are activating #ChefsForThePolls to serve nourishing meals on early voting days and Election Day," the organization said on its website. "We'll be stationed by polling locations around the country, targeting those with historically long lines, predicted massive turnouts, or limited facilities, sharing meals with anyone – no questions asked. If we can help alleviate the challenges of Election Day, we will be there."The organization said it'll pair up with local food trucks and restaurants for the meals.WCF said their effort has nothing to do with politics, and they "will feed people of all political parties and beliefs."They would serve food in Miami, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Detroit, Phoenix, Chicago, Portland, and other major cities.You can see the rest of the locations by clicking here. 1402