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?
-cs 12/25/2025
(Image by InspiredImages (pixabay.com)
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