I HAD A DREAM LAST NIGHT

I wrote this when I was out to sea a few years back...

I woke up from a dream tonight where I was scrubbed up in full medical garb, standing over a patient in a dentist's chair.  I seldom ever remember my dreams, but this one stood out.  The patient was in terrible pain, and it was my job to extract a molar for him.  I suppose in reality, the procedure he would really need would be a root canal, but I say that now with the full benefit of my cognitive ability.  At any rate, in my dream I was going to help this guy by extracting his tooth.  It wasn't coming out like I thought it should, so I knew I was going to have to break it into a few smaller pieces and then pull those pieces out.  I got my chisel and tapped it gently with a dental mallet.  Incidentally, I can't recall ever anesthetizing the patient, but he was definitely in discomfort - as was I.  For some reason I found myself under incredible stress.  In fact, there was something happening with me where I could no longer continue the procedure.  I set my tools down, took off my latex gloves, and said to the patient, "Excuse me for a second."  I reached into my own mouth and started to remove my own molar, which didn't seem at all strange to me in my slumber.  In fact, it didn't even hurt, it just seemed like there was a problem with this tooth and it needed to come out.  What I did find strange was that as I was effortlessly pulling my second molar out, my first molar was also in need of extraction as it too was wriggling out of its socket.  This one hurt slightly, but only in an aggravating way, the way a hangnail might feel as you tear it out.  But I found myself presently with my right hand still in my mouth, fingers pinched around both teeth - and only slightly disturbed - and in one swift motion, took both molars out of my own mouth and came out with them in my bare palm.  I stared at them curiously, looked up at my petrified patient, shrugged, set my own molars on the tray next to the spittoon, put my gloves back on and went back to work on my patient.  Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  Tap.

Smirk

January, 2012.  He found himself in Virginia.  He had woken up with only two hours of sleep.  There was a slight flutter in his left eye.  Google told him this was Myokymia.  He had been working over 100 hours a week at three jobs.  Wikipedia told him that Myokymia is triggered by stress, fatigue, caffeine or alcohol.  He was mainly a Sailor in the Navy.  He had to work so much because after the divorce, he had $63,000 in debt and had to pay the rent on his new shoebox of an apartment in addition to the mortgage on the home he no longer lived in.  WebMD told him that in most cases the condition is benign and ceases of its own accord.  They did.  He also delivered Pizza.  He kept working.  He also professionally cleaned up homes after contractors renovated them.  He kept drinking coffee.  He still tried to live his life existentially, completely in the moment.  He was about to retire in just over 2 years and had to pay that debt off.  He was neither too focused on the past nor too obsessed over the future.  He kept peeling himself out of bed with the aid of at least three alarm clocks strategically set and placed in various places in his apartment so he would have no choice but to get up and deal with them.  There are few other ways to wake yourself up from less than 4 hours of sleep every night.  He just put his head down and charged ahead through the tunnel.  He kept smoking cigarettes.  He kept going on like this.  He used to have time to meditate.  By March, the lawyers were all paid off.  He used to have time to go out for drinks.  By April, he had paid off two other pesky credit debts that did not really belong to him.  He used to have time to read.  By May, he only needed to work two jobs, and he had some time for a new girlfriend.  He was able to begin compartmentalizing his life into smaller chunks so they would be easier to deal with.  By June he had saved up enough money to pay for his son's day care for the summer that he would have him.  By the middle of August, he took his son back and increased his hours at his second job.  By October, he had paid off some significant debt, but also realized that he gained 20 pounds from never having time to work out.  By November he failed his physical fitness test at work and had to come in two hours early every day for mandatory physical training.  He felt like this was all killing him.  By December, he saved enough money for his Christmas trip with his son. 

By January, he was back to work.  His $63,000 of debt was by now only $53,000.  By February, he moved into a better apartment with his girlfriend.  By March, they were settled in.  By April, his girlfriend was in a head on collision, found out she was pregnant with twins, and became his wife.  He was in shock, but awoke from the shock overjoyed.  He quit smoking, he started running again, he lost the weight.  He had a second chance at being a husband, at being a father.  It had been so long.  His divorce made him think he would never have this again.  Would never want it.  He was reborn.  By May, he only had one year left before his retirement from the Navy.  He would have a whole new life. 

His wife noticed that his lower left lip was twitching.  He blew it off as being related to the eye twitching and the constant stress that his life had always been in the last few years.  The next day, he looked in the mirror and the whole side of his face was contorted, stretched back as if being pulled up and back from his ear.  His wife rushed him to the hospital.  He looked like one side of his face was smiling and the other was not.  He thought he might be having a stroke.  He was not.  The name of the disorder is Hemifacial Spasm.  They gave him Ativan.  It affects .08 per 100,000 people.  He took the pills and they calmed his stress level and made him sleepy all the time.  He went back to work.  The internet told him that it was painless, he knew that there was more to it than that.  No sir, I'm not smirking, I have a neuromuscular condition which freezes my face this way.  One way they fix this is by using injections of Botox.  His eye twitched all day now.  Isn't Botox just rat poison?  The muscle that pulled his lip up was sore from all the twitching.  The same way you can get sore from laughing too much at a comedian or a movie.  The Botox injections aren't even a permanent solution, you have to get the shots every 3 to 6 months for the rest of your life, because it never ceases of its own accord.  He would dribble when he drinks his coffee.  The other option was brain surgery.  He would wake up with his eye crusty from it tearing up during his sleep.  They cut into to the skull about an inch behind the ear and place a sponge between what is usually the offending artery and the nerve that it puts pressure on.  His peripheral vision was affected, and he felt as though this affected his balance as well.  His wife did not like the option of surgery.  Psychologically, he was embarrassed by the way this looked.  To the point he did not want to be photographed.  He did not like the idea of injecting poison into his brain every 3 to 6 months.  Somewhat reclused.  By June, his $63,000 of debt was now down to $45,000 and he was on his way to Florida to pick up his son for the summer.  Will he be able to suppress his anxiety enough to protect his son from it during their summer together?  So much more at stake.  So much more risk.  The potential for so much more reward.  But will he be able to keep it up?  Will he be able to keep his second job if he has surgery and needs time off to recover?  Will he recover from it early enough to be an energetic father to his twins?  Energetic enough to be a good husband?  So much ahead.  What will happen?

Memories of Winter Harbor

Since reconnecting with some dear old friends from a time long passed here on Facebook, I've been fortunate to have a flood of memories from those days. These days are specifically from the 6th to the 9th grade in Winter Harbor, Maine. My Dad was stationed at the Naval Security Group Activity in Acadia National Park. He remembers that assignment as one of the worst of his career due to a fractured chain of command and a lot of drama, but for us kids growing up there it was the times of our short lives. There was something special about that place, there was something special about that time in our lives, there was something special about the world and our place in it.

I recently posted a request for all my Maine friends to post favorite memories for those days, favorite places, whatever. From getting dipped ice cream cones on the way home from Church at Jordan's to going for a soda and candy after school at Marie's. Trips to the movies, skiing, bike rides, bowling, swimming (and freezing our butts off, as Cassandra reminds) at Grindstone and the Lighthouse pools, roller skating Saturday nights. There are things that will live on in our hearts and minds forever. The 5 & Dime URL_REMOVED Winter Harbor Grammar School (does anyone else even have Grammar Schools anymore? Most places have Middle Schools now), Fisherman's Inn, Chipman's Grocery Store, the Post Office, the Lobster Festival, and last but not least playing in the snow and going to the service station to get a patched up innertube, icing down Suicide Hill and making ramps to jump whenever we had a good enough snowfall...

Then there are specific memories from the time, such as kicking the crap out of Gouldsboro's soccer team every year, playing the Artful Dodger in Oliver (Aaron you made a great Fagin), Mark Hall's psychotic short stories, Vicky and her broken leg, Billy Bickford being the fist kid I ever saw smoking a cigarette, school dances...in our classroom, picking fresh blackberries and blueberries in the summer, borrowing Bobbi Jo Conley's Duran Duran album (on vinyl, of course) and then losing it in the snow on the way to school (I replaced it though), playing basketball in each others' driveways, making pavement drawings with chalk, skinning my whole leg on barnacles as I slipped on the rocky coast, and having crushes on Jan Brewer, Shannon Gentile, Stephanie Ludwig and most of the rest of the girls in the class. I remember learning about the world in Maine, learning about the arms race and what a "cold war" was, being scared shitless that the world was going to end after I learned what a "nuclear winter" was (remember that show we watched in class about it?), and seeing the Space Shuttle explode in Mr. Rudolph's class was our equivalent to Kennedy's assassination, "where were you when..."

Anyway, I thank Facebook for reminding me of all this, reconnecting with old friends from that time has reconnected my memories with that time. I might even have to plan a trip back to visit. :)

Keeping Guns in the House

I only have the energy to do so much writing tonight, and earlier on tonight, I posted a comment on my friend's blog about my views on guns in the home, it got kind of indepth. So I'm just going make my comment to his blog post, my blog post today. So, here's my post to my friend Nick.

We've talked about this before, of course, but there's a component of my perspective that perhaps I've never shared with you. This is specifically about having guns in your home for protection. Much of this has to do with my religious conviction. Eye for an Eye vs. Turn the other Cheek. Which edict do we follow, whichever we want? What would Jesus do? Some consider that there are plenty of examples of God's vengeance in the bible. But for myself and my family, I have always considered the turn the other cheek approach. In any case where you would likely need a gun to protect yourself, you are almost certainly going to be put in a position where you will have to react to your own fear. Now when it comes to this I am not trying to suggest that there is a right way to deal with fear, but my own choice is to turn the other cheek. If a burglar comes into my house, he can have whatever he wants. I put my trust in God to see his will through in situations like this, my life is in His hands. Material possessions are insured by my homeowner's insurance, my life is insured by my faith. I've had my house burgled and things were stolen, it sucks...but I got over it. In fact, it didn't even take that long to get over it. But if I had a weapon, I don't think I could get over knowing that I shot and possibly killed someone over 'things'...this is my perspective. If I had a gun as a deterrent and it scares the burglar away, then that's obviously the ideal situation for people like yourself who believe that guns save lives, but I believe that it's just as likely that someone breaking into your home might only have a weapon as a contingency in case you do. Therefore it's possible that you run more of a risk of harm or death if you have a gun in your house. But we live in America, the land of choices, where you should be able to exercise your own judgment in protecting your home. So, I believe people should be allowed to arm themselves if they like (provided it's not an Uzi or canon), it's just not for me. (I really don't know enough about conceal and carry laws so I can't really comment about that. Seems unnecessary for people to pack, but if you want to you're going to, legally or not)...

Civic Duty - Check

This morning I woke up at 5:25 AM and walked in the very mild weather, two blocks down the road to H.R. McCall Elementary School to cast my vote. The polls opened at 6:00 AM, I was 11th in line and it was a very cordial, polite affair which took no more than 10 minutes once we got started.

Just to make sure I didn't experience, first hand, the Bradley Effect, I snapped a shot of my vote on my new phone ;)

I am very happy to have this behind me, and I look forward to following Barack Obama's Presidency.  I am also very relieved that this is over.  I hadn't been overwhelmed by the length of this race until just this last weekend.  Let me introduce you to some of my dearest friends:

From left to right is JW, Andy, me, and Steve at my house this weekend.  We were all stationed together on the USS Nimitz from 1994 to 1996.  Everyone was in town for my friend Matt's wedding, and this photo was taken just before JW had to leave to get on the road back to Minneapolis.  

We had a window of about an hour to visit at this time and my dear friend Andy felt moved to spend the majority of it launching into very loud diatribes to me about my decision to support Barack Obama.  Andy of course, is a very passionate Republican, and he felt very strongly about this.  Actually, looking back on it, it seems like perhaps he was very angry that so many people support Obama and he arrived here at my house with an Obama sign in my window and me sporting the tee shirt.

I, for the most part declined to engage in this argument with him...could have, but did not want to get into it right then when none of us had seen JW in 12 years and he was about to leave.  But instead of spending some time to relax and enjoy each other's company, we were instead subject to Andy's rants (and Steve's piggybacking)...it was not fun.

Specific points of contention by Andy were that Obama's birth certificate is not valid and that people all across America are filing lawsuits about this, and that the one that was released was generated after the fact.  He went on and on about the status of his citizenship when he was a child abroad in a school that had mainly Muslim students.  He claimed that Obama if he even had valid US citizenship would have had to rescind it to attend that school.  He also believed that Obama was a secret Muslim and possibly a member of some kind of sleeper cell!  I countered that if his citizenship weren't valid, it would certainly have been quite a bigger story a lot sooner than now, and that of any candidate that has ever been vetted for President during a Primary and General Election campaign, Barack Hussein Obama has, and then some.  This of course didn't satisfy Andy, regrettably and led to further dialogue along the lines of American's should be allowed to have Uzi's in their homes so you can protect your family from crackheads who want to rape your wife and child and steal all your possessions, redistribution of America's wealth to the poor, and pretty much ended with his contention that Democrats are not democratic, but are socialists.

The conversation started to die down when I suggested that we end it so we could actually catch up with each other, I was clearly upset and I think he finally picked up on it.  We got to talking about the new GI Bill and as I was explaining all the new provisions of it (which are very impressive), I think they were all shocked to know that it was Democrats that pushed that issue and championed it to overwhelming support.  I used this mini victory to make my main point, which is that if we can't look past each other's perspectives to appreciate what people of different persuasions bring to the table, it doesn't matter who this country elects as President, we're screwed as a country if we can't hold each other's hand and work together.  

This is one of the reasons I hope that Democrats DO NOT earn a filibuster proof 60 seats in the Senate.  It would ignore the contributions the other side has to offer.  I think that Republicans are very passionate and smart and deserve to be heard.  I am just very glad that the Democratic voice will now have a little more sway as I believe our country needs the kind of change that such a voice will bring.

I spent a short period of time explaining to Andy my reasons for voting for Obama.  It wasn't because of guns, it wasn't because of redistribution, and it sure as hell wasn't because of his race!  I voted for Barack Obama today because I was stationed in London during the war in Iraq, and was there when the bombings on the London busses and subway trains happened.  I saw, first hand, the anger that the international community had with America and while I was never ashamed to be an American, I was not quite proud of my President.  The mismanagement of the war on terror, and specifically our mere unnecessary presence in Iraq are the main reasons I want Obama in the White House.  I want a President that is going to make measured, thoughtful decisions.  I want a President who is going to take his oath seriously...and I believe he will.

I like John McCain, he is a GREAT American...I just think he'd be a better Senator, in fact, now he can go back to being a real Maverick.

To Andy's credit, he is one of my favorite people on God's green earth and I love him to death.  At the wedding later that evening, politics weren't brought up in a single breath and we all had a very nice time.  I think we ended our time this weekend well, and I look forward to seeing him again soon.  I just hope that when it happens, it's not during an election year!

I am so glad it's over, and very happy for our new President!!!!

Now, if only I could figure out how to get the racoon out of my attic!  More on that tomorrow!  Eeeschk!!!

Proof Positive That I Am Not A Young Man

This weekend, a few of my old friends from my first sea tour on the USS Nimitz came out to visit because we were all going to another of our friends' wedding on Sunday evening. Needless to say, on SATURDAY evening, we all went out and drank way too much...

A good time was had by all, but I had forgotten just how bad a hangover could be. Sunday morning, I woke up with a slight headache, which increased in intensity as soon as I stood up, to the point where I had to sit back down. I went to the kitchen and tossed back 2 excedrin with some coffee and toast, but it still took me about 2 hours to feel 100% again.

I hardly drink anymore anyway, not because I don't like to drink - I do - but because I have so much going on in my life (parenting, working, etc.) I seldom ever do, and when I do I only have 2 or 3 beers at the most.

I'm not sure if I'm just not used to it anymore, or if I never really experienced this reaction before. The surprising thing to me is that I didn't think that I had that much to drink, although looking back on it, I guess I did. I never felt sick, or dizzy, or out of control while I was out though, and when I was younger it was only when I did feel that way that I actually got a hangover the next day. Now it seems, I will be rewarded with one any time I have more than six beers.

So, I have either lost my tolerance, or I have simply gotten older. At 36, that is kind of depressing.

Why Tats?

A few days ago, I was having a conversation with my Dad on the Instant Messenger, and after catching up with him a little bit, I broke the news to him that I have two new tattoos. We had a somewhat quiet conversation after that - actually, this could simply be due to the strained nature of IM communication, which is for another post - where he seemed to choose his comments very carefully. Clearly, he was not impressed that I had gotten two new tattoos, but he also didn't want me to think that he hates them so much that he hates me by association. It must seem very odd to him that I've been getting them since I had never done it until last year, and now at the ripe old age of 36 I have four. The conversation was civil, but in the end I don't think I offered my best explanation when he asked, "Why Tats?" Perhaps there is no explanation that could convince him, or make him like the fact that I enjoy tattoos, but here I will attempt to explain my reasons a little better.

I have always been interested in tattoos, since as far back as I can remember, but I was always very hesitant to ever do it. I can remember the first time I ever went into a tattoo shop. It was in Bremerton, Washington and my roommate went in to get a skull with a sailor hat and flames coming out of his head. I can remember the tattoo artist asking me whether or not I was going to get one, and telling him that I was just there for my friend and that I didn't know what I would want to put on my body permanently. In fact, that had been my biggest aversion for most of my adult life. I would think about what I'd like to get and then I'd put so much thought and attention and sometimes research into it that by the time I would be finished with the process of picking something to get I would be unsure of even wanting to do it at all! When the uncertainty of what I want on me permanently merged with the cost of doing it and the pain involved, I would always pass on the idea and go out drinking with my friends instead! I wasn't going to get a tattoo unless I was sure of doing it. I think this process kept me ink free for my first 35 years of life. But I did always like them.

I haven't answered the question yet, so far I have given a pretty good idea why I HADn't ever gotten a tattoo. So, you have the fact that it costs money, it hurts a little, and lasts forever...so, why tats? One of my Dad's main concerns is that I (and my whole generation) will live to regret the tattoos. Regret. That seems like the central issue, really. I like that danger and permanence of it, you really do have to get past a point where you think you might regret it, you have to be sure! That's a pretty big thing to get your head around if you're giving it any thought. Using your own skin as a canvas, what is important enough in your life that you would want to immortalize it on your skin? For me, making that decision, committing to it, and then following through with it takes a lot of courage and conviction! I think as a younger guy, I was a lot more concerned with doing something I would regret, more worried about ruining my canvas with the name of a fleeting girlfriend, or a gimmicky design that would be grown out of without having the ability to change it. Now I'm more sure of myself, I have less concern for regret. At this point in my life, I've learned for the most part how not to regret. So, when I get a tattoo, it has to mean something very profound to me.

My first tattoo is of a Celtic Cross that I took a photo of at St. Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin, Ireland. I got this tattoo both as a memorial to those faithful departed friends and family in my life, and also as a statement of my faith. Inscribed on a banner that drapes this tatto are the words "go deo i mo chroi", which means "Forever in my Heart" in Irish Gaelic, a way to honor my Irish Heritage. So when I see this tattoo on my back, it always reminds me of my Grandpa, my Opa, my Oma, as well as my friends who have passed away, as well as my heritage, and last but not least my faith. It's placement on my back shoulder is also symbolic of my view that the spirit of these people who I love have my back, and God has my back, and I'm bearing that cross...

My second tattoo is of Talaria, the winged sandal which in Greek mythology is an icon for Hermes, the messenger, and is used today to represent running. I designed this with the sandal fashioned into the Roman numerals for 26 to represent the 26 miles I ran during the Indianapolis Marathon last year. This accomplishment means a great deal to me, not only because I achieved the feat, but also because in order to achieve it I had to make a real commitment to quitting smoking.

My third and fourth tattoo are traditional Naval swallow tattoos to represent my love and devotion to my wife and son. For more than a century the swallow has been a favorite tattoo motif for sailors. When out to sea, the sight of a swallow is often a sign that land is near. During migrations that can be thousands of miles in distance, swallows are known to travel far out to sea, but would alight on boats when close to land - a welcome sign for the sailor hoping for landfall. It’s a tradition for sailors - after logging 5,000 nautical miles - to sport the swallow tattoo. Two swallows proclaims 10,000 nautical miles. After two swallows, sailors would turn to other symbols such as nautical stars, or compass roses to denote subsequent denominations. Generally, it carries the good luck message of "safe travel, safe return," but the tattoo carries an even deeper meaning as swallows are monogamous, and no matter where each of them are in the world, once a year they both meet up in the Galapagos Islands to mate...amongst millions of other birds, all over the world, they find each other...so the swallow tattoos also came to represent the Sailor's devotion to his family and his promise that he too will always return home to them...

Ultimately, I think regret is mitigated when tattoos have a great deal of meaning. They are also the best ones in my opinion. I love the ones I have. When people don't put any thought into their tattoos is when people get bad ones that they regret.