Mortality and a gong in the night

Mortality has been on my mind of late.

It can’t help but be. Because of a recently identified heart problem, I’m sitting here in a wearable defibrillator designed to activate should a “cardiac event” occur. Medical explanations aside, it mainly comes down to poor communication and too little oomph. When the electrical signals from one side of my heart to the other fail, the left and right start beating out of sync. This is not good. On top of that, my heart’s a little worn out. Also not good.  

So I’ll wear this vest 24/7 until the medication I’m now on makes my heart function better, or until I get a pacemaker designed to bridge that communication gap.

Ironically, though, the life vest is not for the faint of heart.

Imagine, if you will, wearing a garment that looks like a bra without the cups. It has four large electrodes attached to the band, a paddle inserted into the left front, and two paddles in the back. All of this is attached to an umbilical cord of sorts.

The cord, given its nature, hangs down and emerges from the bottom of your shirt. This gives you the appearance of having a tail, an unlikely appendage that connects to a box.

Equipped with an over-the-shoulder strap, this box is the brains and brawn of the whole outfit. It is prepared to zap you if that potential cardiac event takes place. It tattles on you, sending data through its own dedicated Wi-Fi setup, data that you never get to see. And if it detects an irregular heartbeat, it sets off a siren. Not a discreet little chirp. No, it is a full-blown screaming banshee, warning of potential doom. You have a window of time in which to turn the siren off. If you fail to do so, the box will assume you’re unconscious and zap! The paddles will activate.

So you can see the importance of speed in turning off the siren.

The box has another feature, as well. If one of those electrodes ceases to make contact with your skin, the box will begin to gong. A screen on the box lights up and shows you which electrode is out of place.

(The first time the technician said it had a “gong alarm”, I thought she said “gone alarm”, and was a little mystified. If I was gone, what was the use of an alarm?)

This clever garment has one significant flaw. It was not designed to deal with fat rolls. And on me, the electrodes hit right in the middle of fat-roll territory. When I shift position there’s a chance of a roll rolling, thereby flipping an electrode.

Friends, there’s nothing like being jolted out of a deep sleep by a sudden GONG! GONG! GONG! Arms flailing, you search for the box, which has gotten tangled up in your covers. GONG! GONG!  You start using words your mother would frown upon. GONG! You pat the covers, whimpering, “Where are you?” until you remember to just follow that tail hanging down your back. You follow the cord to the box, disentangle it from the bedsheets, and squint at the flashing screen. Ah. There it is. You reach back, find the offending electrode, reposition it, and lie back down, heart still racing. You begin to relax. You turn to get more comfortable, and in the turning another roll… rolls. GONG!

Then, if you’re having a particularly unlucky night, just after you return to that state of perfect relaxation: WHEE-UH-WHEE-UH-WHEE!  The banshee starts wailing. Your heart rhythm is uneven, only now it’s uneven and pounding. You grab once more for the box, but turning off the siren requires you to press two buttons simultaneously. And your other hand is caught in the strap of the box that was lying beside you on the bed. Foggy from lack of sleep, you start tugging. The strap tightens…

I’ve had it for over a month now, and have so far avoided getting zapped. We seem to have reached détente, the box and I. I sleep unmoving on one side of the bed, and the box (originally dubbed Finn MacCool, for the mythical giant, but since renamed Stanley), well, the box is on the other side, clear of pillows, covers, sheets, or anything else that might block my reach.  

Despite the constant reminders of my mortality, I find it all a bit hilarious. I may be privileged: insurance covers almost everything, my doctors are good, my children check on me. But in the end, I’m just a woman pleading with an inanimate object in the middle of the night.

I also find it a bit sad. Human history is rife with problems caused when communication fails between one side and another.

Like with my heart, the sides are connected whether they like it or not. Whether they recognize each other or not. They cannot survive without each other, although they’d like to think they could.  

And like my heart, the problems begin unseen, long before the damage of our disconnection surfaces.

If only there was a gong, or a siren, that would mobilize us, force us to work together. But that’s not how it works. There are no banshees-in-a-box or mythical giants to pull us into relationship.

Instead, the Divine embraced mortality and was born into this messy world to one day show us how to live in the disconnects and love across the gaps.

And how can I mind mortality, in the face of that?

Merry Christmas, all. May you be blessed.

-cs 12/25/2025

(Image by InspiredImages (pixabay.com)

Of Memories and No Kings

Once upon a time (late 1970s, I think), my parents’ mission in another country shuttered its offices at the request of the national government. I seem to recall other missions also being affected, but maybe not.  

What I do remember about that time—dubbed The Exodus–were the emotions of the missionaries told to leave. The mission family was being ripped apart, people were forced to leave lifelong friends, and despite the relatively organized, respectful manner in which it was done, the whole experience was one of trauma and mourning.

It pales in comparison to the chaos of current events in the U.S.

A cudgel, not a scalpel, is being wielded and it leaves behind broken pieces to be picked through and possibly salvaged – if.

‒ If the person can get a good lawyer.

‒ If they aren’t arrested by ICE as they try to keep court-mandated appearances.

‒ If they aren’t removed beyond the jurisdiction of the U.S. courts.

‒ If they can get someone to recognize their citizenship or resident status.

‒ If their humanitarian visa isn’t among those pulled without warning.

If, if, if. 

And if not, they may be abruptly dumped outside the U.S., sometimes in nations not even their own. They are often refused the basic decencies of a chance to gather personal items, make arrangements for children, or say goodbye. Even the Constitutional protections of due process and habeas corpus are sometimes denied.  

Growing up, that was one thing that set the U.S. apart for me: that we enshrined in our Constitution a respect for legal process such that, regardless of who was in power or who was accused, all would be done according to law and not political expediency. This is woven into our Constitution because of who we aspire to be, not because of who might be the accused.  

To our shame, we have often fallen short. 

To our credit, we keep trying. 

Now, once again, there are those who would try to qualify these guardians of integrity. If they prevail, we all lose. 

Some who I know and love excuse the immigration chaos with the mantra “they should have done it the right way.” (Ignoring those who did, or are, and even so have been snatched up.)

I don’t believe they are evil; I know for a fact that many are lovely people who are angry or afraid. Some have even mistaken fear and anger for virtues, which of course they are not.

I don’t believe those being deported are evil; I know for a fact that many are lovely people who chose the risk of deportation because it was less terrifying than the risk of remaining where they were.

The evil I do see is the one for which we all have the potential: that of viewing any other human being as "less than".

There is no difference in political or religious belief, national or cultural origin, language, legal status, or any other category we may devise, that carries more weight than our shared humanity, all of us equally created and cherished by God.

This is my hill. 

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Once upon a yesterday, our government held a military parade in peacetime.

Where I grew up and when, such parades were only held in times of dictatorship, when there was no daylight between politicians and the military.

That was another thing that set the U.S. apart for me: that we did not flash our military might. Our armed forces served the Constitution, not a president or party. That quiet, looming, non-partisan force was all the more powerful because it had no need to flex its muscle or strut its stuff. And I respected the heck out of that. 

Apparently, I had plenty of company along the way. From a Politico article earlier this month on a previous attempt at such a parade: The notion of a president hosting a peacetime parade was sufficiently unusual that […] South Carolina Republican Sen. Lindsey Graham called such spectacles "a sign of weakness in dubious foreign regimes…" […] "Confidence is silent. Insecurities are loud," Louisiana Republican Sen. John Kennedy said back then. "You don’t have to show it off, like Russia does, and North Korea, and China."

Other warning bells ring discordantly in my ear:

The rhetoric of our current administration has often blurred the lines between the executive office and our military.

Federal budgets are under the sledgehammer and people are losing access to healthcare; but money that could have meaningfully honored our veterans by improving their access to medical services has instead been spent on a peacetime military parade.   

The U.S. Navy and the U.S. Marine Corps also turn 250 this year: will we have two more expensive parades just a few months from now or only the one, because this one coincided with the birthday of a president who likes a bit of flash?

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Once upon an every day it concerns me that the fabric of our nation is being picked apart by short-sighted partisanship and artificially-stoked fears and angers. Intimidation and condescension are not virtues.

But true respect for our fellow man is. Looking at any other human being and yielding to God's love for them, is.

This is the hill on which I'm willing to die. 

Turns out, there are a whole lot of you here already. 

-cs 061525