{"id":4490,"date":"2010-04-06T21:59:44","date_gmt":"2010-04-07T02:59:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=4490"},"modified":"2010-04-06T21:59:44","modified_gmt":"2010-04-07T02:59:44","slug":"disaster-status-by-candace-calvert","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=4490","title":{"rendered":"Disaster Status by Candace Calvert"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"\"<\/a>It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a><\/strong><\/span> <\/strong> book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Today’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/div>\n


<\/p>\n

Candace Calvert<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

and the book:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Disaster Status (Book #2 in Mercy Hospital series)<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. (March 4, 2010)<\/p>\n

***Special thanks to Mavis Sanders of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. for sending me a review copy.***<\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a>Candace Calvert is an ER nurse who landed on the “other side of the stethoscope” after the equestrian accident that broke her neck and convinced her that love, laughter\u2014and faith\u2014are the very best medicines of all. The inspirational account of her accident and recovery appears in Chicken Soup for the Nurse’s Soul and launched her writing career. The author of a madcap cruise mystery series in the secular market, Candace now eagerly follows her heart to write Christian fiction for Tyndale House. Her new medical drama series, launched with Critical Care in 2009, offers readers a chance to “scrub in” on the exciting world of emergency medicine, along with charismatic characters, pulse-pounding action, tender romance, humor, suspense\u2014and a soul-soothing prescription for hope. Born in northern California and the mother of two, Candace now lives in the Hill Country of Texas.<\/p>\n

Visit the author’s website<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Product Details:<\/p>\n

List Price: $12.99
\n Paperback: 352 pages
\n Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. (March 4, 2010)
\n Language: English
\n ISBN-10: 1414325444
\n ISBN-13: 978-1414325446<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong>
\n <\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Fire captain Scott McKenna bolted through the doors of Pacific Mercy ER, his boots thudding and heart pounding as the unconscious child began to stiffen and jerk in his arms. He cradled her close as her small spine arched and her head thumped over and over against his chest. \u201cNeed help here. Seizure!\u201d<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

\u201cThis way.\u201d A staff person beckoned. \u201cThe code room. Someone page respiratory therapy stat!\u201d<\/p>\n

Scott jogged behind a trio of staff in green scrubs to a glassed-in room, laid the child on a gurney, and stepped back, his breath escaping in a rush of relief. He swiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead and tried to catch a glimpse of the girl\u2019s face. He\u2019d swept her up too fast to get a good look at her. Now, with merciful distance, Scott\u2019s heart tugged. Six or seven years old with long black braids, frilly clusters of hair ribbons, little hoop earrings, she looked disturbingly pale despite her olive skin. Her dark eyes rolled upward, unfocused, as the ER team closed in to suction her airway, start oxygen, and cut away her flowered top and pants.<\/p>\n

The alarms of the cardiac monitor beeped as a technician attached gelled electrodes to her tiny chest. Thankfully, the seizure ended, although saliva\u2014foamy as a salted garden snail\u2014still bubbled from her parted lips.<\/p>\n

Scott inhaled slowly, the air a sour mix of illness, germicidal soap, and anxious perspiration. He thought of his nephew, Cody, lying in a pediatrics bed two floors above.<\/p>\n

The ER physician, a vaguely familiar woman, gestured to a nurse. \u201cGet an IV and pull me some labs. I\u2019ll need a quick glucose check and a rectal temp. Let\u2019s keep lorazepam handy in case she starts up again. What\u2019s her O2 saturation?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s 98 percent on the non-rebreather mask, Dr. Stathos.\u201d<\/p>\n

Leigh Stathos. Golden Gate Mercy Hospital. Scott nodded, recognizing her\u2014and the irony. She left San Francisco. I\u2019ve applied for a job there . . . and everywhere else.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood. Now let\u2019s see if I can get a medic report.\u201d Dr. Stathos whirled to face Scott, her expression indicating she was trying to place him as well. Her gaze flickered to his badge. \u201cOh yes. McKenna. Didn\u2019t recognize you for a second there. So what\u2019s the history? And where\u2019s the rest of your crew? Are they sending you guys out solo now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. But no crew. And no report. I was here as a visitor, until some guy waved me down in the parking lot. I took one look at this girl and decided to scoop and run.\u201d Scott nodded toward a woman crying near the doorway. \u201cThat could be family. They were in the truck with her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeizure history?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t know. My Spanish isn\u2019t the best. I think they said \u2018sick\u2019 and \u2018vomiting,\u2019 but\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

One of the nurses called out for the doctor. \u201cShe\u2019s starting to twitch again. IV\u2019s in, and the blood glucose is good at 84. No fever. How much lorazepam are you going to want? She weighs about 20 kilos.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dr. Stathos moved back to the gurney. \u201cWe\u2019ll start with one milligram slowly. But let me get a look at her first, listen to her lungs, and check her eyes.\u201d She looked up as a blonde nurse appeared in the doorway. \u201cYes, Sandy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, Doctor. I couldn\u2019t get much, but her name\u2019s Ana Galvez. Six years old. No meds, no allergies, and no prior seizure history. I think. There\u2019s a language barrier, and I don\u2019t have an official interpreter yet. But thought you should know I\u2019ve got a dozen more people signing in for triage, all with gastric complaints and headaches. The parking lot\u2019s full of farm trucks, and\u2014\u201d She stopped as the child began a second full-blown seizure.<\/p>\n

Two respiratory therapists rushed through the doorway.<\/p>\n

Scott tensed. A dozen more patients? Then his Spanish was good enough to have understood one last thing the terrified family had said before he took off running with their child: \u201cHay muchos m\u00e1s enfermos\u201d\u2014There are many more sick people.<\/p>\n

He glanced back at the child convulsing on the gurney. What was going on?<\/p>\n

+++<\/p>\n

Muscle it. Punch through it. Control it. Be bigger than the bag.<\/p>\n

Erin Quinn\u2019s fist connected in one last spectacular, round-winning right hook, slamming the vinyl speed bag against the adjacent wall. And causing a tsunami in her grandmother\u2019s goldfish tank. Water sluiced over the side.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhoa! Hang on, buddy. I\u2019ve got you.\u201d She dropped to her knees, steadying the tank with her red leather gloves. Everything she\u2019d done in the last six months was focused on keeping Iris Quinn safe, secure, and happy, and now she\u2019d nearly KO\u2019d the woman\u2019s only pet.<\/p>\n

Erin watched the bug-eyed goldfish\u2019s attempts to ride out the wave action. She knew exactly how he felt. Her own situation was equally unsettling: thirty-one and living with her grandmother and a geriatric goldfish named Elmer Fudd in a five-hundred-square-foot beach house. With two mortgages and a stubborn case of shower mold. She caught a whiff of her latest futile bout with bleach and grimaced.<\/p>\n

But moving back to Pacific Point was the best option for her widowed grandmother, emotionally as well as financially. Erin was convinced of that, even if her grandmother was still skeptical . . . and the rest of the family dead set against it. Regardless, Erin was determined to put the feisty spark back in Nana\u2019s eyes, and she had found the change surprisingly good for herself as well. After last year\u2019s frustrating heartaches, being back in a house filled with warm memories felt a lot like coming home. She needed that more than she\u2019d known.<\/p>\n

Erin tugged at a long strand of her coppery hair and smiled. The fact that her grandmother was down at the chamber of commerce to inquire about volunteer work was proof they were finally on the right track. Meanwhile, she had the entire day off from the hospital. March sunshine; capris instead of nursing scrubs; time to catch up with her online course work, jog on the beach, and dawdle at the fish market with her grandmother.<\/p>\n

She turned at the sound of her cell phone\u2019s Rocky theme ring tone, then struggled, teeth against laces, to remove a glove in time to answer.<\/p>\n

She grabbed the phone and immediately wished she hadn\u2019t. The caller display read Pacific Mercy ER. \u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, great. We caught you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot really,\u201d Erin said, recognizing the relief charge nurse\u2019s voice and glancing hopefully toward the door. \u201cIn fact, I was just heading out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Stathos said she\u2019s sorry, but she needs you here. Stat. We\u2019ve got kind of a mess.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mess? Erin\u2019s breath escaped like a punctured balloon. In the ER, a mess could mean anything. All of it bad. She\u2019d heard the TV news reports of a single-engine plane crash early this morning, but the pilot had been pronounced dead on the scene, and there were no other victims. The hospital shouldn\u2019t be affected. Then . . . \u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEighteen sick farm workers,\u201d the nurse explained, raising her voice over a cacophony of background noise. \u201cMaybe a few more now; they keep coming in. We\u2019re running out of gurneys, even in the hallway.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSick with what?\u201d Erin asked. The sheer number of patients qualified as a multicasualty disaster, but only if it were a motor vehicle accident, an explosion, or a similar tragedy.<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Stathos isn\u2019t sure. But she\u2019s thinking maybe food poisoning. They\u2019re all from the same ranch. Everyone\u2019s vomiting, and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a real mess,\u201d Erin finished, sighing. \u201cI got that part. But how come the ambulances are bringing them all to us? Dispatch should be sending some to Monterey.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re not in ambulances. They\u2019re arriving in work vehicles. A couple of guys were even sprawled out on a flatbed truck. They\u2019re lucky no one rolled onto the highway. The police are at the ranch investigating, but meanwhile we\u2019re overwhelmed. And of course the media got wind of it, so now we have reporters showing up. You know how aggressive they get. I\u2019m sorry, but I feel like I\u2019m in over my head with this whole thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

The nurse was new at taking charge, and Erin remembered how scary that felt when things went south in the ER. Monday shifts were usually fairly tame, but this sounded like . . . \u201cTell the nursing supervisor I\u2019m on my way in and that we\u2019ll probably need to go on disaster status and . . . Hold on a second, would you?\u201d She yanked off her other glove and strode, phone to her ear, toward the miniscule closet she shared with her grandmother. \u201cClose the clinic and use that for overflow. Get security down there to help control things, the chaplain too. And see if the fire department can spare us some manpower.\u201d<\/p>\n

Erin pulled a set of camouflage-print scrubs from a hanger, then began peeling off her bike shorts with one hand. \u201cI\u2019ll get there as soon as I can. Just need to take a quick shower and leave my grandmother a note.\u201d And kiss my free day good-bye?<\/p>\n

No, she wasn\u2019t going to think that way. As a full-time charge nurse, the welfare of the ER staff was a huge priority. Besides, Leigh Stathos wouldn\u2019t haul her in on her day off if it weren\u2019t important. Erin had dealt with far worse things. Like that explosion at the day care center near Sierra Mercy Hospital last year. In comparison, food poisoning wasn\u2019t such a big deal, even two dozen cases. Messy, yes. Life-altering, no. Central service would find more basins, she\u2019d help start a few IVs, they\u2019d give nausea meds and plenty of TLC, and they\u2019d get it all under control.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo problemo,\u201d she murmured as she hung up, then realized the inarticulate phrase was pretty much the extent of her Spanish. She made a mental note to be sure they had enough interpreters. Interpreters, basins, more manpower, and a full measure of TLC to patients\u2014and her staff. That should do it.<\/p>\n

Ten minutes later she snagged an apple for the road, wrote Nana a note, and stowed her boxing gloves on the rack beneath the TV. She wouldn\u2019t need battle gear for this extra stint in the ER. And then she\u2019d be back home. In a couple of hours, tops.<\/p>\n

+++<\/p>\n

When Erin turned in to the hospital parking lot, she realized she\u2019d forgotten her name badge. Good thing security knew her. Her eyes widened as she approached the ambulance entrance. She braked to a stop, her mouth dropping open as she surveyed the scene at the emergency department\u2019s back doors: four dusty and battered trucks\u2014one indeed a flatbed\u2014at least three news vans, a fire truck, an ambulance, and several police cars. She quickly put the Subaru in park, then opened her door and squinted up at the sky. Oh, c\u2019mon, was that a helicopter? A plane crash wasn\u2019t big enough news today?<\/p>\n

Several nurses stood outside the doors holding clipboards and dispensing yellow plastic emesis basins to a restless line of a least a dozen patients in long sleeves, heavy trousers, and work boots. Including one elderly man who seemed unsteady on his feet as he mopped his forehead with a faded bandanna. A young uniformed firefighter paramedic, the husband of their ER triage nurse, was also helping out. Good, Erin\u2019s request for extra manpower had been accepted.<\/p>\n

Reporters in crisp khakis and well-cut jackets leaned across what appeared to be a hastily erected rope-and-sawhorse barricade. It was manned by a firefighter in a smoke-stained turnout jacket with the broadest shoulders she\u2019d ever seen. And an expression as stony as Rushmore.<\/p>\n

Erin locked the car, grabbed her tote bag, and jogged into the wind toward the barricade, trying to place the daunting firefighter. Tall, with close-cropped blond hair, a sturdy jaw, and a rugged profile. He turned, arms crossed, to talk with someone across the barricade, so she couldn\u2019t see all of his face. But he wasn\u2019t a full-time medic; she knew them all. An engine company volunteer? Maybe, but she hadn\u2019t met him. She was sure of that. Because, even from what little she\u2019d seen, this man would have been memorable. Her face warmed ridiculously as she slowed to a walk.<\/p>\n

But her growing curiosity about his identity was a moot point. There wasn\u2019t time for that now. She needed to slip between those sawhorses, hustle into the ER, touch base with the relief charge nurse, brainstorm with Leigh Stathos, and see what she could do to help straighten out this mess.<\/p>\n

Erin stopped short as the big firefighter turned abruptly, blocking her way. \u201cExcuse me,\u201d she said, sweeping wind-tossed hair from her face as she peered up at him. Gray. His eyes were granite gray. \u201cI need to get past you. Thanks. Appreciate it.\u201d She attempted to squeeze by him, catching a faint whiff of citrusy cologne . . . mixed with smoke.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t thank me. And stop right where you are.\u201d He stepped in front of her, halting her in her tracks. There was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. He crossed his arms again. \u201cNo one can come through here. Those are the rules. And I go by the book. Sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

By the book? As if she didn\u2019t have policies to follow? Erin forced herself to take a deep breath. Lord, show me the humor in this. Called to work on her day off and then denied access. It was funny if you thought about it. She tried to smile and managed a pinched grimace. This was about as funny as the mold in her shower. She met his gaze, noticing that he had a small scar just below his lower lip. Probably from somebody\u2019s fist.<\/p>\n

\u201cI work here, Captain . . . McKenna,\u201d Erin explained, reading the name stenciled on his jacket. \u201cIn fact\u2014\u201d she patted the left breast pocket of her scrubs, then remembered her missing name badge\u2014\u201cI\u2019m the day-shift charge nurse. But I forgot my badge.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI see,\u201d he said, uncrossing his arms. He pointed toward the trio of reporters leaning over the barricade. \u201cSee that reporter over there\u2014the tall woman with the microphone and bag of Doritos? Ten minutes ago she pulled a white coat out of one of those news vans and tried to tell me she was a doctor on her way to an emergency delivery. Premature twins.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut that\u2019s unbelievable. That\u2019s\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly why I\u2019m standing here,\u201d the captain interrupted. \u201cSo without hospital ID or someone to corroborate, I can\u2019t let you in.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her jaw tightened, and she glanced toward the ER doors. \u201cOne of your paramedics is back there somewhere; Chuck knows me. He\u2019s married to my triage nurse. Find him and ask him.\u201d<\/p>\n

McKenna shook his head. \u201cCan\u2019t leave this spot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen call.\u201d Erin pointed to the cell phone on his belt. \u201cBetter yet, ask for Dr. Leigh Stathos. Tell her I\u2019m here. She\u2019ll verify my identity. The number is\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got it,\u201d he said, lifting his phone and watching her intently as he made an inquiry. He gave a short laugh. \u201cYes. A redhead in what looks like Army fatigues . . . Ah, let\u2019s see . . . green eyes. And about\u2014\u201d his gaze moved discreetly over her\u2014\u201cmaybe five foot nine?\u201d<\/p>\n

Erin narrowed her eyes. What was this, a lineup?<\/p>\n

The captain lowered the phone. \u201cYour name?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cErin Quinn,\u201d she said, feeling like she should extend her hand or something. She resisted the impulse.<\/p>\n

\u201cHmm. Yes,\u201d he said into the phone. \u201cI see. Okay, then.\u201d He cleared his throat and disconnected the call.<\/p>\n

She looked at him. \u201cDid you get what you needed?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d he said, reaching down to detach the rope from a sawhorse, \u201cit seems you\u2019re who you say you are. And that I shouldn\u2019t expect a commendation for detaining you. Apparently it\u2019s because of your request that I\u2019m here. Not that I wanted to be. I still have men out on the plane crash, but . . .\u201d He hesitated and then flashed the barest of smiles. Though fleeting, it transformed his face from Rushmore cold to almost human. \u201cGo on inside, Erin Quinn. You\u2019re late.\u201d His expression returned to chiseled stone. \u201cAnd for what it\u2019s worth, I\u2019m sorry. But that\u2019s the way this has to work.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo problemo.\u201d Erin hitched her tote bag over her shoulder and stepped through the barricade. Then she turned back. \u201cWhat\u2019s your first name, McKenna?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cScott.\u201d<\/p>\n

She extended her hand and was surprised by the warmth of his. \u201cWell, then. Good job, Scott. But going by the book isn\u2019t always the bottom line. Try to develop a little trust, will you? We\u2019re all on the same team.\u201d<\/p>\n

Twenty minutes later, Erin finished checking on her staff and rejoined Leigh Stathos in the code room. They both looked up as the housekeeping tech arrived at the doorway.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou wanted these?\u201d Sarge asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. Great. Thank you.\u201d Erin nodded at the tall, fortysomething man wearing tan scrubs, his brown hair pulled back into a short ponytail and arms full of plastic emesis basins. \u201cPut those in the utility room, would you? And I think we could use some extra sheets and gowns too. If you don\u2019t mind.\u201d<\/p>\n

His intense eyes met hers for an instant before glancing down. \u201cYes, ma\u2019am, double time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Erin smiled at Sarge\u2019s familiar and somber half salute, then watched him march away, his powerful frame moving in an awkward hitch to accommodate his artificial leg. She returned her attention to Leigh and the dark-eyed child on the gurney beside them. The ventilator, overriding her natural breathing, whooshed at regular intervals, filling the girl\u2019s lungs. \u201cShe had two seizures but none before today?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLooks that way.\u201d The ER physician, her long mahogany hair swept back loosely into a clip, reached down and lifted the sheet covering the child. \u201cBut see how her muscles are still twitchy? And her pupils are constricted. I\u2019ll be honest: I don\u2019t like this. The only thing I know for sure is that the X-ray shows an aspiration pneumonia. Probably choked while vomiting on the truck ride in. I\u2019ve started antibiotics. Art\u2019s coming in,\u201d she added, referring to the on-call pediatrician. \u201cAnd I paged the public health officer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood.\u201d Erin\u2019s brows scrunched. It was puzzling; an hour after arrival, Ana Galvez remained unresponsive, her skin glistening with perspiration. Though Leigh had inserted an endotracheal tube and the child was suctioned frequently, she was still producing large amounts of saliva. Her heart rate, barely 70, was surprisingly slow for her age. She\u2019d had several episodes of diarrhea. Poor kid. What happened to you?<\/p>\n

Erin glanced toward the main room of the ER, grateful things appeared to be settling down out there. \u201cI still don\u2019t get this, though. Ana came from home? Not the ranch where everybody got sick?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but\u2014\u201d Leigh fiddled with the stethoscope draped across the shoulders of her steel gray scrub top\u2014\u201cshe\u2019d been there earlier. Felt sick after lunch and her father took her home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo that goes right back to the food. But salmonella takes time. Still, the symptoms fit. Triage says most of the patients are complaining of headache, nausea, cramps, and diarrhea.\u201d Erin checked the monitor: heart rate 58. Why so slow? \u201cWhat did they eat?\u201d<\/p>\n

Leigh sighed. \u201cSack lunches. Every one different. That doesn\u2019t fit at all. I wanted it to be huge tubs of chicken stew that everyone shared. That would make sense. But Sandy\u2019s seen twenty-six patients in triage now, and the story from everybody sounds the same: picking strawberries since 6 a.m., lunch together around eleven, and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry to interrupt, but something\u2019s . . . wrong.\u201d Erin and Leigh turned at the sound of the triage nurse\u2019s voice at the doorway.<\/p>\n

Erin\u2019s eyes widened. The triage nurse looked awful\u2014pale, sweaty, teary-eyed. Sandy was holding her hand to her head, trembling. What happened?<\/p>\n

Before she could ask, Sandy\u2019s eyelids fluttered and her knees gave way.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

MY REVIEW:<\/strong><\/p>\n

Disaster Status<\/a> is a riveting and realistic drama that brings the world of the ER to life on its pages. Charge nurse Erin Quinn and firefighter Scott McKenna’s first encounter during a disaster response got them started off on the wrong foot. As they continue to work together, they fight their mutual attraction but find themselves drawn irresistibly closer. Each of them have personal issues with trust and commitment that are caused by unresolved family conflict and feelings of guilt. Will they be able to forgive themselves and others? Can they learn to trust God again? What about the possibility of a future together? These and other questions can be answered by picking up a copy of Disaster Status<\/a> for yourself.
\n <\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[8,60,59,41],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4490","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books","category-contemporary-fiction","category-medical","category-romance"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4490"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4490"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4490\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4496,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4490\/revisions\/4496"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4490"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4490"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4490"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}