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Some first responders worry if current COVID-19 hospitalization numbers do not start falling, the general population looking for care might get turned away.Bed space in intensive care units is not available in several major metropolitan areas around the country, as more COVID-19 patients come in.Last week, 224 ICU beds in the Albuquerque, New Mexico were reported as occupied despite the availability of only 192 within hospitals that reported data to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.According to data from HHS, 1 in 3 Americans is living in an area where hospitals have less than 15 percent of available intensive care beds, and 1 in 10 Americans are in an area with less than 5 percent capacity.“It’s scary,” said Maria Pais, an RN Supervisor at University of New Mexico Health. “We’re scared.”Since March, Pais has been helping the hospital convert areas into ICU chambers so it can handle the influx of patients.“Social distance so we can get through this and so we can have the beds we need in this hospital to care for you and your family,” she said.“It takes a toll on everybody, because daily, as we come into work, we never know what we’re going to be doing,” added Patrick Baker, director of the hospital’s Rapid Response Team.“I don’t envy the providers who have to sit there and make the plans for if and when we have to determine who gets care and who doesn’t,” he said.Baker says surgery units have been converted into ICUs as UNMH has reached a point where emergency rooms are now seeing effects as well.“It’s not just affecting COVID patients,” said Baker. “COVID patients coming in is a big deal, but how would you feel if you had to go to the emergency room because you got in a car accident and you weren’t able to be seen?”And the issue is not just affecting people coming into these hospitals but the men and women tasked with keeping them running.“Staff to take care of the patients in the beds is more likely the limiting resource that we have,” said Barclay Berdan, CEO of Texas Health Resources, which oversees the Dallas-Fort Worth area. According to the newest numbers from the Department of Health and Human Services, 93 percent of ICU beds are occupied in the Dallas region, straining the limited number of nurses, doctors, and pharmacists who tend to them.Berdan says it means the need for more trained staff as well as the possibility of transferring patients to hospitals that might have more room, but might be out of the patient’s network.“Wear a mask, wash your hands frequently, stay out of crowds,” he said.It has led these first responders to repeat what we have heard so many times before in an effort to avoid a situation that is worse than the one we are currently in.“There’s a real possibility that you show up somewhere to get care if you get in that car accident, and they say, 'Sorry, we can’t help you,'” said Baker. 2890

Since the controversy surrounding "Baby, It's Cold Outside,” sales of the iconic Christmas song have been soaring.Billboard reports three different versions of the song from different performers have seen a bump and streaming for the song is up 54 percent for at least versions of the song.The song—written in 1944 by Frank Loesser—was criticized this year for its lyrics.Loesser’s daughter, Susan, is also defending the song, saying listeners need to examine the context.“It’s this flirty, funny, charming song,” Susan says. “I’ve always loved it.”Susan Loesser says she can’t help but smile every time she hears it."My mother considered it their song,” Susan recalls. “That's why she was crushed when he sold it to MGM for ‘Neptune's Daughter.’"The movie is a romantic comedy from 1949."But it won the Academy Award and she got over it,” Susan says.Now, fast forward 70 years, the song is getting attention for a very different reason.Radio stations began pulling the song, as critics argued the lyrics promotes rape culture.The uproar centers on the particular lyric, “Say, what’s in this drink?”It's a line that stands out, especially in the context of the #MeToo movement.But Susan says the movement, "doesn't get it.""I just think it's a mistake to attack this particular song,” she says. “It's not a date rape song. It's a flirt song, and they're both into it.”New York University songwriting professor Phil Galdston says that although we can't ask the song's composer about the now infamous line, we should consider the time period when the song was composed.“Social history suggests that particular line had the meaning of, Wow, I don't know how this is affecting me, so what's in it?’ That's a different context than it has today,” he explains.Some radio stations are now reversing the ban.As to whether generations to come will still be learning the tune, Susan says she believes they will.“I guess it depends on how politically correct we get,” she says. 1974

SPRING VALLEY (CNS) - A 22-year-old man was behind bars Friday on suspicion of fatally shooting a 27-year-old man in an alley in the La Presa area south of Spring Valley, authorities said.Deputies responding to a report of gunfire shortly after 1:20 a.m. Thursday near the intersection of Delrose Avenue and Elkelton Boulevard found 27-year-old Carlo Avila of Santee in an alley with at least one gunshot wound, according to sheriff's officials.Paramedics responded, but Avila was pronounced dead at the scene, Lt. Rich Williams said.The circumstances leading up to the shooting were under investigation.On Thursday night, 22-year-old Carlos Deandre Davis of La Mesa was arrested on suspicion of murder, Williams said.Davis was booked into San Diego Central Jail about 1:20 a.m. Friday and he is being held without bail pending arraignment, scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, according to jail records.Anyone with information about the shooting was asked to call sheriff's homicide investigators at (858) 285-6330 or (858) 565-5200 after-hours or on weekends.Tipsters who wish to remain anonymous can contact San Diego Crime Stoppers at (888) 580-8477, or online at sdcrimestoppers.org. 1192

SOUTHPORT, Ind. -- The health department is investigating, and an employee has been fired after a customer received raw chicken from a Dairy Queen in Southport, Indiana.Zach Cruse said he picked up some food at the drive-thru at the Dairy Queen off Southport Road just before the restaurant closed around 10 p.m. Friday night.When he got home, he realized he didn’t exactly get what he had ordered.“I got a couple bites in and was like, this doesn’t taste right,” said Cruse. “I looked at it – ripped it open and realized it was completely raw.”Dairy Queen says after receiving the complaint from Cruse they immediately contacted the Marion County Health Department. They also fired the employee involved because they say they failed to check the temperature of the cooking chicken before serving it.The Marion County Health Department said they investigate every complaint they receive, and they plan to go out and check the restaurant’s procedures to see if there are any issues with their food preparation process.“I just don’t want somebody else to eat raw chicken and I don’t want to eat raw chicken,” said Cruse. “If it happened at Dairy Queen, how much gross food have I eaten that I’m not aware of because I just have trusted that the food I’m going to get is going to be safe?” 1304

Shannon Chaney is as familiar with uncertainty as most Vermonters are to changing leaves each fall."We sort of white knuckle our way through life until bedtime," said Chaney.She moved to Vermont from Louisiana after surviving Hurricane Katrina.“COVID is different from a natural disaster, but you still kind of have to get out of bed in the morning and just get on with it," she said.Her uncertainty now, like millions of Americans, is at the dinner table.“We have two kids who go through a lot of groceries," said Chaney.Chaney's husband works full-time, but her job has been on hold through much of the pandemic.“My pride doesn’t feed my kids,” she said.Multiple nights a week across Vermont, there’s proof that in uncertain times, communities stand strong to help people who are food insecure like Chaney.“Food for me is such a source of comfort,” said Stephanie Bonin.Bonin helped start “Everyone Eats” with some of Vermont’s federal coronavirus relief money. The program provides help for those in need of a meal and those who need to make them.“For me, it was a dream to open up the restaurant," said Nash Patel.Patel and his wife, Leda Scheintub, opened Dosa Kitchen in February. Weeks later, the pandemic forced them to close.“You want to be realistic. None of us have lived through a pandemic before," Scheintub said.They say there were times they worried if the restaurant would have to close forever, but they are open again.Everyone Eats pays for 350 meals a week to be handed out.Right now, it's most of Dosa Kitchen’s business.“About 75%," said Scheintub.To use federal money, the meals must have some local ingredients, helping farmers get their crops into kitchens.Groups like Food Connects bring crops from nearby farms to restaurants that make hundreds of meals that are handed out each week."Restaurants know how to feed people and the community loves and appreciates our local restaurants. And our restaurants know how to buy from farmers," Bonin said.Everyone Eats has created a balance, but one that’s at risk.“We’re worried about the CARES Act money drying up," said Bonin.Bonin is working on a path forward for the program if Congress doesn’t pass another stimulus bill. There is enough money for it to run through the end of the year.After that, Everyone Eats faces the same problem of uncertainty as so many of the people it helps.“At the end of the day, you have two or three, however many you have, of mouths, looking at you, saying ‘I'm hungry,’" said Chaney. 2496