Climate change looks like a 2am heatstroke to me

People ask what climate change looks like from inside a hospital. Not a melting glacier. It's somebody's dad collapsed in a hot apartment at 2am, and a waiting room full of asthmatics every smoke season.

Extreme heat is one of the deadliest weather hazards we have, and it's quiet about it — no funnel cloud, no storm surge, just a body running out of ways to cool itself. By the time someone is confused and burning to the touch, it's a 911 problem, not a summer bug.

Practical note: once the air is genuinely hot, a fan mostly pushes hot air around — think convection oven. Water, shade, cool showers, and air-conditioned buildings beat fans every time.

Meds matter. Plenty of common prescriptions — blood pressure pills, allergy meds, some antidepressants — make heat harder on your body. Don't stop them on your own; ask your pharmacist what to watch for during a heat advisory.

Smoke: wildfire smoke is tiny particles that lodge deep in the lungs. Cloth masks don't cut it; a well-fitting N95 does. Close the windows, run a HEPA filter if you can, and check the air quality index the way you check the weather.

Here's the part nobody likes: the people who die in heat waves are usually alone. Older neighbors, folks skipping the AC to save money, outdoor workers, people with nowhere cool to go.

So do the low-tech intervention with the best track record I know: knock on a door. Ten minutes checking on someone during a heat wave beats anything I can do at 2am, after the fact.

Opinion, not a lecture: you don't have to love climate models to treat heat like the hazard it is. Adaptation isn't surrender — it's triage. And prevention upstream beats my best resuscitation downstream, every single time.