Warning Sounds Abound

With all the political and legal drama that surrounds our former President, the news cycle can get pretty tough to slog through. It boggles my mind that he is indicted, and yet he has more political life than The Eveready Bunny. So, while there should be warning sounds all over the place, I found that in the midst of all this drama, I had a little of my own. I do not know about you but I am hearing warning sounds constantly these days. Mostly, it is that the Republican party has no qualms over presenting a candidate with so many charges and convictions in his past and present dealings. And then there is Maralago/bathroom confidential files debacle, the Georgia call seeking to “find” enough votes for him to carry him to victory in 2020, and Trump’s involvement in the January 6th.

Amidst the political dramas, we have had shootings. This past October Maine joined the “Lets get ticked off at the world and randomly shoot and kill regular men, women and children enjoying a night out at a bowling alley and a pub”. In this case it does not appear it was targeting any particular person, unless you count that four of the dead were deaf and one other person is a well-known deaf interpreter. After a shut down through three counties, the next day they found the person: surprise, surprise, he had mental health problems and a family who did not require him to give up his guns.

One day in December I hear a warning tone as I walked through the old summer kitchen in our house. It sounded like a European police car with the two-tone claxon sound. We had put up new smoke detectors, and I knew from a previous outage that the detector, when triggered would say “evacuate, evacuate”. Perhaps one of the others had a different warning sound, I reasoned. As I walked around the downstairs checking rooms, I realized it really was just as strong in the main house as the back wing. It was then it dawned on me that my pacemaker/defibrillator can make sounds when something is wrong. It beeps exactly like a smoke detector if I am near a magnet, so maybe this new warning sound was coming from my chest. I would like to blame my senior moment on taking a long time to thaw out, so I was slow. In truth I have had a warning sign before (do not get your Disney band too close to the pacemaker or you get a warning beep that it will go off). This two-toned claxon was different.

I called the office of my cardiologist who is located in Scarborough 80 miles south of home. When I described the problem, I was immediately referred to the device department and it was determined that something, either the pacemaker or defibrillator had a issue. Since it was late afternoon, I went to the ER in Augusta and a technician from Scarborough drove up to meet me. It was determined that the defibrillator had a faulty lead, even though mine really was not that old. Immediately we set up some pre-op appointments and I was given a list of things to do prior to having it replaced. Once I had a telehealth appointment with the cardiac surgeon, it took a bit for the surgeon and the electrophysiologist/cardiologist to synchronize their schedules, settling for the last week of February. A insurance issue popped up which required the professionals (cardiologists) and the insurance gate keepers to have a meeting to have the insurance approve not only the lasar removal and the insertion of new one, but also a new generator which is part of the lead- you can’t put have of one in there and expect it to work. At the last minute, my surgeon got notice from his Naval Reserve unit that he was being deployed to Korea for a time. Fortunately, he was able to get an opening a couple days earlier and the fix was set.

It is amazing how they can manage to get into the chest through a fairly small incision and retrieve the fractured lead, which thankfully decided to come out easily, and then the other cardiologist inserted the new one, the generator and I think new batteries. I had to stay for an overnight and be monitored to make sure all was pacing properly. It is not really pretty looking- unless you like black and blue and yellow at every intravenous port (3) and the chest cut. In time it will return to its normal color, although I think it shows under my skin a little more this time. Think Appalachian trail rather than the Rocky Mountains. I will have a few more appointments, a new monitor in my house, and another echocardiogram with Definity to see how serious my gradient is., but nothing to get worked up about.

Now that that crisis is over, my “If I die first” notebook, needs updating so the kids can help Dave figure out how to run the house and pay the bills, along with needed usernames and passwords. One of the next big steps will be to make Josh our power of attorney for financial and medical should we need it. I am trying to get a catalog of some of the items we have collected over the years, some are family pieces, and the kids need to know that whether or not they are interested in them. I am providing a list of auctioneers we have found to be trustworthy. Still when it gets to that point, we will either be gone or unable to participate in the dissolution. We have made some significant steps by distributing/selling a few of our old cars. They need maintenance and neither of us are up to it anymore, plus we want to make sure every grandchild either gets a car or cash. It seems as the 70’s are flying by and we need to step into the next phase. Our plan is to stay in our house for as long as we are able, but sometimes it simply isn’t possible.

While many in our country are sounding the alarm about just how we follow the constitution and the laws of our land moderate and progressive Democrats, and moderate Republicans alike are sounding a claxon as we gear up for the November election. I hope we collectively join together and clearly state again, the values that we hold dear.

The summer of….

This week I was sitting under some very tall pine trees, enjoying my view of the lake and listening to the song of the loons. It has been a while since I had such a treat. I was armed with several books for this adventure. The weather started out hot and humid, not a Maine thing, but then quickly moderated to the high 70’s. Three nights ago, I even had to find a sweatshirt in July no less…. a very pleasant surprise!

It was the first camping trip of the season and I was rummaging through the cupboards putting things in order when I came upon a small bag, tucked in a corner, and filled with old CD’s from another life. In this summer of 2020 with all its weirdness, I was about to have a bittersweet surprise. As I sifted through the CD’s I reacquainted myself with some songs I had not heard for a very long time.

What a Fool Believes, The One That You Love, Islands in the Stream, I’ll Never Love This Way Again, Cherish, Hello, Time in a Bottle, Get Here, Take My Breath Away and so many others. The earliest ones were from the 70’s- the latest from the 90’s. This was just a sampling of my find, and of course I immediately loaded them into the sound system of the camper, a far better one than from back in the day. Before I knew it I was transported back to other summers, when we came to the rocky shores of Maine as often as we could. We came because we sought refuge from the hazy, hot, humid days of a PA summer. We came because we revisited the place where we camped as kids, when times were simpler and summers were a blast because work and money were the responsibility of the grown-ups. Our family would spend hours on the Seawall, a mile long rock stretch on Mt Desert Island (pronounced like dessert not desert), where, as an adult, I was content to just sit and watch the ocean come in and go out. Sail boats, lobster boats, seals and seagulls, bits and pieces of sea glass, urchins and shells were our companions as our kids played, dodging the waves they way we did when we were their age. I would sit on huge granite rocks smoothed by the constant passage of water and read or write letters. There were no cells phone, internet or laptops. At night I remembered falling asleep to the sound of the buoy bell of the Bass Harbor Head Light, or if the fog rolled in, thick and misty, the mournful sound of foghorns warning ships at sea.

Looking back, it is fair to say that the 80’s and 90’s were a difficult time. There were lots of losses and lots of changes happening, both of which made for some very tense relationships. I remember that during that particular Maine trip I thought things were going in a more positive direction. My job was great, it fit me like a glove and I had room to move up if I wanted to. Economically, life was better as a two income family. As part of my job I had contact with a psychologist and she was able to help me navigate the challenges of working with people with severe mental illness and living with someone with severe PTSD and depression. It helped me with boundaries which in turn not only helped at work but in my personal life as well. I did not have to attend every fight I was invited to, nor was I responsible for the actions of others, just my own. It took me years to learn to benevolently distance myself from drama that swirls around PTSD and broken family systems. But reflecting back on those thoughts I had that year, I realize how wrong I was. Like many life challenges it was going to get worse before it got better.

Of course now I know how life balances things out. Losses and fractures in relationships can sometimes move you in a new direction, directions you never seriously considered. The continuing oversight of managed care drove me nuts: how do you address a life-long severe illness in six treatment sessions or less? When I started the word was reduce hospitalization stays- show us results and we will approve the strategies. Then came the mass memory loss when we started doing just that. It was somewhere in the midst of these changes and some severe personal losses that I heard God’s soft, persistent call to the ministry. God does not operate on managed care time, thank heavens. All issues are not fixed or even uncovered in five or six conversations. I learned that losses and pain, just like great joy, lives deep within you and inhabits your inner life just like the crow’s feet, laugh lines, and wonky knees inhabit my aging body, and that is not bad or good it just is. I was always a person who strived to be content with life. I watched people who always wanted more- who were never happy unless they were on to a new sport or hobby and/or had to my one more piece of stuff for their house or back yard, and I knew enough to find everyday experiences that made life worth living.

So I learned to look for and savor the small, sweet, cherished memories that make such a difference in my enjoyment of life. A loved ones laughter or chuckle, the softness of a toddler’s wispy hair, the trusting grip of a baby’s fingers on yours, the immensity of the heavens watching the northern lights in a place where light pollution is minimal, the hug of my grown sons and daughter, these are moments to be cherished. These moments can take your breath away. There are so many everyday sacred moments and when you are so wrapped up in “other stuff” you can miss them so easily. So for all the difficulties of those decades I came away with some real life gems, and they have stood me in good stead. Do I miss those who are gone from my life: more than words can say. I miss their smile, their hugs, their laughter and the easy comfortable feeling of their presence. Do I hope that someday, somehow, someway we can find each other again- I sure do. Who knows what eternity brings?

Meanwhile, as Stephen Colbert always says, I look forward to some future summer, to finding an old playlist on my old iphone on a future camping trip. I will listen to the loons and replay the soundtrack of the 21st century, marvel at the summer of 2020, and be grateful for new life lessons. You are never too old to be grateful for God’s grace or to learn.