Summer Sounds

A soft breeze brings a susurration of leaves, but not much cooling as it enters through the screens.  With the windows open, we’re more aware of sounds – a car passing, a toot indicating one of the Captain John boats is leaving the wharf, the drone of an airplane overhead.  They bring the memory of older summer sounds. Sometime in the past the whir of a rotary lawn mower changed to a motor noise.  I no longer hear a radio announcer describing a ball game.  Television baseball isn’t the same.  I wonder if they had a special microphone pick up the crack of the bat. The music of the ice cream truck now has an electronic tone, but voices of children on a summer evening are the same. 

Following my “procedure” in the hospital, I’ve been staying at my in-town home, but the beach cottage has its own familiar sounds.  The surf on a night of east wind is one of my favorites.  The mutter of a lobsterman’s boat as he pulls his pots in the dawn light mixes with the music of song sparrows and the laughing gulls’ humorless “har, har, har.”  Later children on the Lobster Tales boat squeal when the pot is opened and creatures of the deep are revealed.  They return to port to the strains of he Hokey-Pokey, and I smile to imagine them doing the dance.  In the evening, as we drift to sleep, crickets chirp in the beach grass of the dunes and a mouse skitters in the loft above our heads.

I hope soon to be back.

New Circumstances

Carol, my nurse at Jordan Hospital was a sweetheart. She flattered me about my blue eyes, and when I was to be transferred to Boston Medical Center, she performed the work with alacrity.  There I was cared for by a brainy bunch.  My catheterization procedure was done by a team. 

Just before I was wheeled in, I talked to a resident named Ooga.  "What kind of a name is that?" I asked.  “It’s a made-up one,” he said. His real name was Hawaiian with lots of l’s and vowels.    He looked like Polynesian royalty – tall, muscular, and a little pudgy with a great smile and golden skin.  He was the most beautiful person I met with the exception of my visiting granddaughter Emily. 

He was part of a crowd of learners and teachers performing the catheterization. Everyone seemed to have a turn. I could hear “Ok it’s too far, move it back.  Damn!  Alright, now move it down.  That’s right.”

It was right.  None or these youngsters pierced the artery causing me to die.  The team was informative attentive and as pleasant as they could be.  I felt very well cared for. Now I’m fitted with a stent and resting at home.

It’s nice to have my shampoo, my shower, my nail clippers, my nail brush, my electric toothbrush, my Listerine, and my bed.  It’s great to eat at the kitchen table.  Annette got fresh peaches and blueberries for my welcome home breakfast.  I am happy to be alive and reunited with the familiar.

It is I who am different.  I am changed from a healthy man to one with a heart condition.  I can eat anything so long as it doesn’t have fat, salt, or too many calories. Those who take Plavix must avoid alcohol. I can never try to open a struck window, work with my arms above my head, or strain on the toilet.  I must weigh myself every day and learn not to sit with crossed legs.  I feel fragile. 

But I’m here.  When I woke with chest pains, Annette called 911 and got me from our cottage down the beach road to Bert’s parking lot, where we were met by an ambulance.  The ocean was the deepest blue, and the eastern horizon was a band of smoky rose.  Surf was coming in, and the air was salt.  In the west a full moon glowed.  Seagulls soared. 

I am thankful for Annette, for the hospital care and for the world.  I lift my low-sodium Virgin Mary in salute to you all. I hope to stay a while.  

Cloudy Day