Unwanted Power

Appointment

Bill came into the kitchen and hung the Mercedes keys back on the hook by the door. He looked at Heather, who was eating her eggs and looking around at her kitchen trying to figure out why everything seems different to her.

"Won't start. Stone dead." Bill announced.

"Told you." Heather said. It was not in triumph. More distracted than anything else, as the refrigerator had her attention.

"How did you know?" Bill asked.

Heather came back to herself, and looked at Bill, sensing concern.

"Yesterday. When we left, it barely started. After we spent the day at Moody Gardens, it didn't want to start then either. Once it was running, it was fine. Radio, dash lights, Air Conditioner, all that worked. The alternator was fine, once the car was running. But the battery was on its last legs, clearly. Making it 'go' one more time was all it could take." Heather said.

"It sure gave a solid last performance. Whirred to life like it was brand new down in Galveston." Bill said.

Heather shrugged. "You know that batteries are chemical. They don't directly store energy. They change chemistry. That one just couldn't do it anymore. It's worn out. Needs to be recycled, and the chemistry renewed. I don't remember the exact way lead-acid batteries do that, but that's what the deal is. It can't convert the chemicals back and forth anymore. The plates are sulfated or something. However it is that works..."

"Fine. Well. I'll pick up a new battery on the way home then. I loaded that one into the truck. See you after work..." Bill kissed his wife goodbye and headed out for the day.

The school bus already collected Cristine.

Heather sipped at her coffee in the sudden emptiness of the house and looked over as she felt the compressor come on in her refrigerator again.

Weird.

Heather's day only got stranger. As she approached her Tesla, she felt it. It tingled. She unplugged the charger and hung that cord and gun-looking assembly in the wall receptacle. She felt the way the cord quit 'humming' to her, all along her hand and arm.

Heather spent a lot of extra money to get the longest-range version of this car because they live away from the city, and there are no rechargers at her office. She had to get to and from work on a charge. Her home charger had to be of enough capacity to recharge the car completely overnight.

As she sat down in the driver's seat and powered up, the car made her feel weird. More tingles. The battery under her is not 'hungry'. The motors front and rear are.

The big computer screen in the center console flickered a little, then settled.

'Great' Heather thought. 'Going to have to get that fixed.'

It was an unpleasant drive, the car tickling at her senses. When she got to a part of the trip where the car could auto-drive, Heather had her phone look up people being overly sensitive to electricity.

Her phone told her she is full of it. Electromagnetic hypersensitivity or EHS is 'claimed sensitivity to electromagnetic fields'. Heather could tell by the way the word 'claimed' was used that the writer of the medical article the phone was reading to her thought it was garbage. It went on to say that EHS has no medical or scientifically measurable aspect and that it is not recognized as a medical diagnosis. Therapy for people claiming to have it is psychiatric in nature.

"Hell." Heather said out loud to no one but her irritating car.

As she settled into her desk at the office, she was glad she long ago took out the overhead fluorescent tubes. They have always bothered her eyes, and today they are especially irritating in the office. Her workspace is darker than average, and she likes it that way. The people around her did not complain she undid the bulbs over her cubical, and the maintenance people quit trying to put them back because they would be undone the very next day. In the battle of the light bulb, it is far easier to twist to disable than to always be carrying a ladder around and putting them back. Heather can just stand on her desk. No ladder required.

Heathers' boss mentioned it to her once. That she had 'received a complaint' from maintenance. Heather knew her boss was telling her this proforma. Heather shrugged and replied, "OK. They should stop trying to break it then, by putting them back in. Self-inflicted wound."

Today's problem is her laptop. Sitting in its designated location, it chattered rapidly. Her flat-panel refused to stay in focus. She could see the code she was writing, and then she felt like she could see on the other side of the panel to the various things that fed her screen. Little bits of gear that connected up various wires and transformed the alternating current of the power cord to the direct current all the bits liked.

When she would get her eyes to refocus, she would realize that even without seeing the screen, she had kept right on typing code.

Lots and lots of code.

Her laptop sat to the right of her screen. She pushed it as far away from her as its cables would allow. It still chattered, but the distance seemed to help.

As the code flowed of its own accord out her fingertips. Heather decided to see if she could get her eyes checked. The one thing they had not really looked at in the ER two days ago was a complete eye exam.

Some searching found a nearby highly rated ophthalmologist. Dr. Uma Okafor. Even better, listed subspecialties included Neuro-Ophthalmology and Vitreoretinal Disease.

As luck would have it, the doctor had a cancelation and could see her at 1 pm. 'That never happens' Heather thought as she confirmed the appointment.

'At least Bill will be happy I am being proactive.' Heather thought.