Expressway: Carbon monoxide, a silent killer, invaded my home
"I've worried about many things in my lifetime, but death by carbon monoxide was never among them," writes Anne Donlon Achenbach. Credit: iStock
One hot day this past summer, after a visit with loved ones in Michigan, I arrived home weary, but happy to be back at my otherwise empty white Cape Cod house in South Farmingdale.
I went straight to bed, comforted by cool breezes from the ceiling air-conditioning vent directly above me.
The next day, I did some banking and came home. I sat at my desk, feeling tired, put my head down and could not resist a deep sleep. Struggling to awaken, I left the room and went outside to the patio.
Later that evening I watched TV in the den and again fell asleep, awakening disoriented and unable to focus. I went to bed, and decided that if I still felt unwell in the morning, I'd go to the emergency room at the hospital.
The next day I was groggy, but alert, and had my usual cup of coffee in the kitchen. Suddenly I heard a beeping sound and a voice announcing, "CARBON MONOXIDE!"
The alarm in the basement was going off. I thought about going down to check a malfunction, but blessedly, I called 911 instead. Within minutes I gave my address and was advised to leave the house immediately.
A South Farmingdale fire truck arrived and a chief with a monitor opened the basement door. At the top of the stairs, his monitor showed an extreme level for carbon monoxide. He said I would have died if I had gone downstairs to look at the alarm. His words gave me a chill. I thought about the frailty of life.
I was grateful for the quick advice of the 911 operator, and the fast response and expertise of the South Farmingdale Fire Department.
With the colorless and odorless gas inside my home, I was not allowed back inside. Firefighters threw open windows and hooked up industrial fans to air out the house. After four hours, their gauges showed the air was safe.
Kind neighbors asked if I needed help and I waited in a chair in the front yard. As I looked around at three fire trucks and a police car, the reality washed over me: I could be dead.
A firefighter said a problem with my oil burner was the source of the carbon monoxide. A neighbor called my oil company, which sent a man to fix the problem.
During these events, I realized that the real heroes of my story were contractor Ted Simonson and his son, Mark, who installed the carbon monoxide detector without consulting me during minor basement renovations four years ago.
I phoned Ted the next day.
"Hey, you really saved my life!" I said.
"Wow!" he said, glad that the detector did its job.
I immediately asked them back to install two more devices, one in my bedroom and one in the TV room.
I've worried about many things in my lifetime, but death by carbon monoxide was never among them. I didn't think a malfunction from a well-cared-for oil burner could result in tragedy. I didn't believe it could happen to me. I didn't think I needed a carbon monoxide detector.
Do you have one?
Reader Anne Donlon Achenbach lives in South Farmingdale.
