Column: A bad situation that could have been much worse

I recently wrote about how, in one memorable week in May, both my husband and one of my dogs had to go to the emergency room.

After that, I would have loved to have had a respite from problems for a while, but that’s not the way life works.

As soon as June rolled around, our water heater wouldn’t start.

This didn’t faze us at first. It’s true that we don’t like cold showers. Or repair bills. Vet bills, emergency room co-pays—it was adding up. We’d already had to call our heating and plumbing company on a weekend to deal with a seriously clogged kitchen sink.

Plus, my husband, Paul, and I know we need to get a new furnace this summer. We chose to believe the hot water heater just needed a tweak.

For a few minutes, we believed we could wait until the next day, Monday, to call someone in, so we wouldn’t have to pay weekend rates. We were quickly disabused of that notion when the smell of oil began to permeate the house.

That seemed odd. The water heater is oil-fired, but it wasn’t working. Paul had even shut off the emergency switch. We called for service.

My first fear—that fire was going to break out—seemed unlikely (since the heater was off), so I moved on to the smell. At first, it was like the smell that arises when an oil burner is fixed. But it got worse. I wondered if it was dangerous. Well, yes, oil contains toxins, so it’s not good to inhale it for long.

We began opening windows. We have a 19th-century house with window screens that need to be installed and removed with the seasons. With all the rainy weather in May, we hadn’t placed many in yet. We quickly rectified that situation.

The technician had two calls ahead of us. He arrived shortly after lunch time. Later, he would say he immediately knew what was wrong when he came into the house.

The heater’s exhaust connects to the chimney, which is immediately behind it. But the connecting piece of ductwork was completely blocked with soot. With nowhere else to go, gases escaped into the basement. As a result, carbon monoxide levels in the basement were quite high. They were measurable upstairs in the kitchen, too, but not at a danger point.

I was shaken. We have our furnace checked and serviced every year, but not the hot water heater. Obviously, that was something we needed to add to the list of seasonal to-dos.

I remembered seeing “carbon monoxide detector” several times on our shared electronic calendar. I asked Paul about it. The last time a furnace technician had been in, he said we ought to have one, because even a small crack in the furnace can emit gas. But Paul had ignored his own reminder to pick up a detector.

The hot water heater repairman was very knowledgeable about carbon monoxide safety (as well how to fix our problem). I felt reassured that we were safe.

Once he was done with his work, Paul went out and bought three detectors. One he placed along the cellar stairs, one in our bedroom and one in our all-purpose room. I was relieved when the basement device did not go off. The levels had continued to drop.

I was also relieved that the problem was identifiable and resolvable. When we were awaiting the technician, I was worried there was some kind of oil leak. Maybe it would take days to find. Maybe we’d have to evacuate the house.

This is called catastrophic thinking, and, since I’m an anxious person, I’m quite familiar with it. The mind jumps to the worst case scenario, and then stays there, as if it is the reality.

On the other, fear has an upside, if used properly. We now have three carbon monoxide detectors. We already have made a note to get the hot water heater inspected next spring.

I felt lucky. The whole situation could have been much worse. If the soot hadn’t smelled so badly, we wouldn’t have opened the windows. I also felt stupid. Why didn’t we get detectors sooner?

We have four cats and two dogs. None of them reacted to the smell. The dogs were agitated by the appearance of the technician and sensed something was going on. But their meal and walk times were not affected, and I guess that’s all they really cared about.

I was glad to be back to normal at the end of the day. Live and learn, as they say. I did ask Paul to double check our smoke alarm. The way things were going, I didn’t want to take any chances.

And here’s another cliché to live by: “Better safe than sorry.”

Thank God, we were safe.