today the spotlight is on Angel of Mercy, a Disturbing/Dark Contemporary Romance with a Happy Ending
In this story, when trying to save a policeman from dying from hypothermia, Carla does two things. She slides him onto a thermos blanket and upon recalling someone had once told her that 80% of the body heat leaves from the head, she wrapped his head with her sweater.
But is it true that most of your body heat escapes from the head?
COMPLETE FABRICATION. TOTALLY UNTRUE.
I first heard of this claim when I lived in cold Minnesota. I was told 80% of heat left from the head.
It originally came from some heat-loss experiments in the 1950’s which were poorly done and not reliable. None the less, the US Army Field Manual used to claim 40-45% of body heat is lost through the head. But that’s also false.
All parts of your body dissipate heat equally. However, pulling him on a thermal blanket, wrapping his head with a sweater, and then lying on top of him probably helped to keep him alive.
And since he does recover, it was a good call.
As David advised Steve early on: The medics said you would have died of hypothermia had not Carla intervened. Your paralysis may be temporary, but dead is dead.
Carla Jones accidentally runs over and paralyzes a policeman. She ignores her lawyer’s advice and pleads guilty to the charges, and accepts the judge’s ruling ‘that she broke him, now she has to fix him.’ Trying very hard to ignore his outrageous and frequently hateful behavior, she takes the handsome officer into her home and dedicates her life to one goal: making him walk again. She never imagines the twists and turns her life and heart will take the day she brings him home.
She looked down at the policeman. “Don’t you die on me,” she warned him as she removed her full-length faux fur coat and laid it over him. Instantly the bitter wind bit through her sweater and wool pants. She recalled the DJ saying the wind-chill was -15 degrees tonight. It hadn’t meant much when she was in her nice warm car, but it meant a hell of a lot now.
Shivering uncontrollably, she hurried to her car and extracted a thin silver sheet that claimed to be an emergency weather protector. She wrapped it around her and returned to the policeman.
“Help is coming,” she assured him, wondering why help was taking so damn long. Realizing that an ambulance might run over them both if it came from the North, she ignited and tossed her last flare ten feet in front of them.
“I wish I could move you,” she said through chattering teeth. “We’re both going to freeze to death if they don’t come soon.”
As she sat down beside him, the freezing bite of the ground penetrated her wool pants and chilled her legs until they ached. If she were this miserable from just a second on the road, she could only imagine how frigid the man would be after lying fifteen minutes on the road.
“I know I’m not supposed to move you, but if I don’t do something, you’re going to die of hypothermia.” She laid the silver lining on the road beside him and then gently tugged his shoulders onto the blanket. She then lifted his legs and edged him further onto the protective barrier.
Angel of Mercy
About the Author
Liza O’Connor lives in Denville, NJ with her dog Jess. They hike in fabulous woods every day, rain or shine, sleet or snow. Having an adventurous nature, she learned to fly small Cessnas in NJ, hang-glide in New Zealand, kayak in Pennsylvania, ski in New York, scuba dive with great white sharks in Australia, dig up dinosaur bones in Montana, sky dive in Indiana, and raft a class four river in Tasmania. She’s an avid gardener, amateur photographer, and dabbler in watercolors and graphic arts. Yet through her entire life, her first love has and always will be writing novels.
(There’s over 30 now)