Sonny Jurgensen

I must be the only person on earth still writing or thinking about Sonny. Is there a Sonny Jurgensen fan club?

Do you know that here in Wilmington NC there is a Jurgensen Field? Well, truth be told, it is the Jurgensen/Gabriel Field, but still....

Next time someone asks me why I moved here, I am going to say it was because of Sonny.

Can I Actually Date?

The one-year anniversary of SCA- Sudden Cardiac Arrest (9/5/09) is around the corner. That also marks around a year since the final demise of my nearly 30-year relationship with the ex. Ex husband. Totally ex. Tom, or as a friend refers to him -- "Old what's his name". I laughed when I first heard that sweetly dis-empowering reference last October, and it still makes me laugh today. It was a rocky late summer and fall last year, to be sure. Relationship ending, heart stopping without warning, enter Skippy the defibrillator stage left.

So here I sit, one year later. Overwhelmingly grateful to be here - to be alive, to be relatively undamaged by the SCA, to be in my home, to be among friends, to know I am cared about, to be so close to the water. To be just here.

So thoughts turn to couple-hood, or couple-ness, to love, to companion, to partner, to that dreaded word "dating". A ritual designed for kids. I am not quite there, but in the words of my very favorite 'southernism' - I am thinking about fixin' to get ready to....argh.... date.
I know I am getting there - I have pretty much stopped thinking of Hatred and old what's his name in the same breath - emotional health returns slowly in these parts.

Just regular, ordinary dating as an adult is bad enough, but now - now, there is a whole new level of baggage to be introduced - Skippy the defibrillator and how it/he arrived.
On what date do we cough that up? Can you imagine the scenario: Oh, by the way, first-date-man-I-just-met -- my heart has taken to stopping, but it's really OK because I have this tiny little set of paddles in my chest wall, wired with leads into my heart with a little tiny dude ready to yell "clear" and flip the switch - as needed. So not to worry.

Clearly not date number one. Isn't Date One reserved for really benign pseudo-information? Favorite color? Do you read? Do you like soup? Is that real hair?

So not Date One ---- but just as clearly sometime before THAT date - After all, there is a physical presence to Skippy that will be apparent.
Oh God. Maybe the Mormons have it right; I don't think the fundamentalist women ever really take off the "sacred undergarment". Is it too late for me to convert? I really think this may be a valid reason to convert.

One of the many positive things that come after surviving SCA (like - those lottery odds start to look better) --- you can get through anything. For now, I am just going to assume that will include dating.
OH God. Dating.

P.S. a new favorite New Yorker cartoon has a woman saying "To get through this, I've had to rely on an inner strength I never knew I had --- in the medicine cabinet"

How to Celebrate?

They say..... "they" being people who survive Sudden Cardiac Arrest.... they say that we should celebrate our SCA date as our "second birthday". Mine is coming up - on 9/5/10, it will be one year. One entire, jaw-droppingly astonishing year.

I've largely grown accustomed to Skippy the defibrillator's presence; I've wrestled to the ground many of the fears that started out being so enormous they were starkly, nakedly and overwhelmingly terrifying. But the thing that I have in no way gotten used to is that there are moments that come out of nowhere where it all just knocks me on my heels. Figuratively, I'm happy to say.

Moments that come out of the blue. Like cravings for cigarettes 12+ years after the last one I smoked - bang, the moment is there. Real, raw, sharp, insistent, demanding. The SCA 'out of the blue' moments are breathtaking in their way. It's just that bright light blast of "damn - did that ACTUALLY happen to ME?" My flipping heart just stopped? STOPPED?
That one is followed so quickly by the still unanswered "how the hell did I know to go to the Emergency Room that morning?" I have replayed and replayed and replayed that morning 9/5/09 and honestly, I still don't genuinely understand what made me go. And I've replayed the chain of events if I had NOT gone, or even if I had not gone exactly when I did.
And I didn't go to the ER the moment I woke up that day. I woke up, felt weird and probably spent 20-30 minutes trying to sort out what was wrong and what to do. So after a half hour or so, something made me go.

I was in the ER only around 10 minutes before the arrest. A 10 minute window. 600 seconds. Is that right? 600? Life and death.
If I had not gone to the ER when I did, I would have arrested at home; Tom probably would not have woken up.
That would have been my end.
600 seconds.

After musing and rolling around for a few minutes grappling with the out-of-the-blue SCA moment, my core of uber pragmatism takes over and I am transported back to the far less dramatic present.

So now I am back to -- how to celebrate? I've never been one for rituals. I only attended my high school graduation because my parents forced me to; I skipped both with my college and Law School graduations. My wedding was small, quick and informal. Never much cared for New Year's.

But even I, anti-ritual and pragmatic; even I feel a profound obligation and desire to mark this date.

At least this evening I do.
I just don't know yet how to....

As we say, what a wonderful problem to have.

Cities Waking Up

Visiting the home town - Philadelphia. My home city has a deserved reputation for toughness and roughness around the edges. It is true, they booed Santa Claus. I always thought the other boo-ing story was worse- they booed Mr. Wallenda when he successfully tight-rope walked over the stadium. Success is boring, tragedy exciting.

Stayed downtown last night on Rittenhouse Square (moving today to the burbs to stay with family). It's hot, it stinks, it's really hot. The square was crowded last night - could there be that many people without functioning air conditioning? Classic urban scenes - small families with hot babies, dogs everywhere, a few homeless looking sorts tossed in and a chess tournament - or at least a collection of chess matches. I know it was a club, not just a casual, last minute gathering - they used timers.

Dined on that best of all Philly delicacies - for some it's the hoagie or the cheesteak or the sticky bun, but for me, it will always be ----- the street vendor soft pretzel.

This morning, it is not as hot, but you can tell that it will be. Walking out, the city was asleep (along with a surprising number of souls in the Square). By the time I walked back, the city had begun to come alive.

Here is Philly. Walking down Walnut street passing a building construction site. I am half block past it - and it is STILL monstrously loud with jackhammers. From a few stories up on the building comes a big, big sneeze. Not a dainty sneeze - one from a big man (I hope) - loud enough to be clearly heard over jackhammers and a distance of half a block.

In a split second after the sneeze - not even long enough for it to register with me - comes the equally loud, from an equal height up the building, the equally burly-man sounding "Blessya".

I love Philadephia.

Perfect Day

Those of us who have had visits with death - surviving Sudden Cardiac Arrest (SCA) or something else along those lines --- we don't need much help finding joy in our days. We find frustration, anxiety, pain, fear, to be sure, but we also find joy in places we never looked before.

Yesterday I had a perfect day. Worked for much of it, but then broke off early to meet a friend with a boat. (This is heaven on earth - friends with boats. Much better than actually owning a boat, I think). Granted, I now live in a place I find spectacular in its physical beauty - created by the shores on salt water. For me, there will always be a special magic to 'water-you-can't-see- the-other-side-of.'

So off we went on the friend's boat heading northwards in the intracoastal waterway. It's a small boat, but on a calm day with winds from the right direction, it can safely go into the ocean. And into the ocean we went. North again. Past undeveloped land, which is also magic on the Atlantic.

We then anchored on the ICW side of one undeveloped island, trekked over and swam and body- surfed until it almost began to get dark....That incredible time of day. While you're in the ocean, you watch (or try to watch) as dusk takes the horizon away.

Didn't see another soul, not even another boat.

Just us, birds, jumping fish and the joy of endless water.

Back onto the boat and headed home as night fell.

Perfect day. Boat, salt water, quiet, empty beach, great company.

One gift from SCA - we will never take a day like that for granted.

Fear and Eleanor Roosevelt

I met a woman recently who said she read that Eleanor Roosevelt said "Every day, we should do something that frightens us".

My first thought was geez, must we fill each day with an unpleasantness??

The second, always better, thought was: Those of use who survive SCA (or experience death as a temporary state) would have very little trouble adhering to Eleanor's advice.

If you come back after SCA --- fears abound; they jump out from around corners, they lurk in the most unexpected places. We tackle them and wrestle them to the ground one by one. There may be one or two that win out (I still can't quite bring myself to scuba dive).

My latest facing-fear-story sounds dumb, but here goes: a mammogram. Skippy the defibrillator went through his first mammogram this week. Not my first by a long shot, but his first. And I was so frightened about it, it honestly approached terror. It took everything I had in me not to cancel the appointment.

Disproportionate fear. Mammograms are never comfortable, but I just couldn't quite envision how all that pulling, tugging and tough compression would happen without "breaking" Skippy or setting him off. (and unlike actual people, if the anthropomorphized Skippy gets 'set off', it means the defibrillator fires). I haven't experienced a fire (yet) and I deeply dread it.

I didn't cancel the appointment and the tech was sympathetic, understanding, skilled and patient. The test does get done a little differently on that side to avoid "disturbing" Skippy. But aside from the fear, it was moderately more challenging than every other mammogram.

But fear is lethal. Fear may lead us to poor choices (and sometimes to good choices, admittedly). It is uncomfortable, unsettling and can invoke our flight response. The desire to cancel that appointment was not insignificant.

But I remembered Eleanor.

I was proud of myself for not cancelling. One more fear wrestled to the ground.

The Pressure of Survival / The Right to Goof Off

Surviving Sudden Cardiac Arrest (SCA) puts you into a very small club. I've been told that the survival rate is 2% (but then someone corrected me and said it was actually 3% - hardly a comforting difference to me). Whether it's 2% or 3% or 4%, it's a very small group. 96-98 out of 100 people who experience SCA die - permanently die, not just have a brush with death. Really die. Finito. End of the line. Not coming back no more.

But I didn't, and I have online acquaintances who didn't either - we are in the 2%. In the weeks immediately after the SCA when I was having constant (or it felt constant) contact with various medical personnel, I heard over and over references to destiny -

- God must have had a plan for you

- God wasn't finished with you yet.

And then even more references to what (to me) feels like some pretty significant expectations:

- Oh, this experience must give you a profound sense of purpose

- You are here for a reason

- It must change your entire perspective on what is important.

Well, yes and no. And while I know it is unseemly to complain about the after-math of survival, all of the above adds up to a burden. Or at least pressure. Not that I have ever been a total goof-off, but if I wanted to be, how on earth could I possibly justify it now? Did we lose that right?

Yes and no. Sure, I have times of profound introspection about how I want to spend my days that sometimes feel absolutely borrowed, BUT I also still get cranky waiting in a slow- moving checkout line. So the SCA survival hasn't completely changed my perspective. Just a bit, here and there.

But when people ask me these questions, sometimes it feels like pressure. Like I don't deserve to goof off, or if I do, even the goofing off must be profound. Can't be just regular, old-fashioned goofing off, it would have to be "pondering the essence of the universe" or "cherishing all the earth has to offer".

Sometimes, I just goof off. Throw off the mantle that because I got so flipping lucky 9.5.09 that I am now a deeper person or at minimum have an obligation to lead a deeper life.

Sometimes yes, sometimes not.