The vibration that invaded Teller’s consciousness was mostly, at first, mosquito-like in its intensity: a teeny, tiny, annoying little buzz in his ear. It was difficult to make out what is was, precisely, at this extremely low volume, but it rather sounded, when he paid attention closely, like: di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit.
It was a pesky, irritating sound, this, and Teller wished that he could just find the right insect repellant to rid himself of the miniscule pest (if that’s what is was), or be able to q-tip his ear in the appropriate manner to eliminate whatever physical “thing” it was that may be scratching his ear drum.
Over and over again: di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit. Just barely loud enough to overcome the awareness barrier. Insistent enough, though, for him to start thinking he might be going slightly mad. And, slowly, ever so slowly, day-by-day, it seemed to be getting louder.
Piled on top of his many, already-existing personal and professional woes, Teller believed this to be yet another, obnoxious, frustrating new dimension to his life; but something he could (and would) clearly resolve. I can’t put up with this distraction for long, he thought, I’ve got other stuff to attend to.
Still: di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit. It just kept happening, with him every minute of every day. What the heck is going on?
Now that he thought about it some, Teller recognized that he first became aware of the phenomenon back in October. That was weeks and weeks ago, and this background noise to his life was definitely getting disturbing. Or, more aptly put, over this period of time, Teller was becoming increasingly alarmed by the presence of this irritating, incessant, crazy-making addition to his existence. If this was going to be the new soundtrack to Teller’s life, he certainly wished that he had had more say in the selection. After all, why not some classic rock? How about a great radio station? KINK FM in Portland would do just fine, after all, thank you very much.
But it just kept coming: di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit. Was this tinnitus? A website he found stated that tinnitus is “the perception of sound in the ears or head where no external source is present.” Well, that sure sounded about right. Apparently tinnitus sufferers “report hearing all kinds of sounds: crickets, whooshing, pulsing, ocean waves, buzzing, even music.” Ah, ocean waves, thought Teller…so why do I get di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit?
And, then, almost magically, it dawned on him. Oh, my: how friggin’ obvious! How is it I didn’t catch on sooner? Di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit = S. O. S.! Teller was hearing (of all things!) Morse codein his head!
Teller knew (from his Boy Scout, Ham-radio days) that SOS is the internationally utilized distress signal, sent out over radio waves by vessels in trouble. The code, and the letters “SOS” associated with it, have long been equated with such common phrases as Save Our Ship, Survivors On Ship, Save Our Sailors, Stop Other Signals, and Send Out Sailors.
None of these sayings really fit for Teller, however. Why would he be hearing “Save Our Ship?” Ah, but then he remembered…SOS could also mean “Save Our Souls.”
And, then, with that one thought, everything just seemed to fall into place. The noise stopped; it just plain ceased to exist. The message had been received. Teller understood. Finally.
His physical body had been sending his soul a message. “Save yourself,” he was being advised. “You are not well. You are not in a healthy place.”
The Morse code he’d been hearing was entirely consistent with recent dreams he’d had, of course. In the guinea pig dream, the episode had concluded with him calling out HELP! to an unknown presence upstairs. One interpretation of the dream held that he was appealing to his “higher self” – shouting for attention regarding the desperate condition he was in, crying out for assistance in order to escape his ridiculous predicament.
Then, there was a more recent dream, also involving stairs. His recollection of the plot line was fairly garbled, but Teller remembered that, again, he was wondering what was at the top of a staircase, even as he knew that he had to traverse all three flights to the top. During his slow, plodding steps upward, wondering what entity was to be found there, he was very carefully carrying a precious liquid made up of a viscous purple extract from African Violet plants. Curious, yes: but he knew that this was a valuable, life-affirming substance, and would be used for good…if only he could successfully deliver the goods.
Teller had come to understand from both dreams that he was trying to get in touch with his higher self…in order to use the knowledge, wisdom and experience readily available to him to resolve his current life situation.
And, now: SOS. His very soul was obviously at stake. His own body was sending him a message: loud, clear and unmistakable.
So Teller made a promise to the universe, “yes, indeed, I will save myself. I am paying attention.”
Teller rarely dreamed. Or, more accurately, he only occasionally remembered his dreams. Even when he woke up in the middle of the night with the awareness of particularly vivid images in his mind, and with the serious intent to remember what had just been happening, absolutely no memory was left by the time morning arrived. Whereas other folks seemed to retain their dreams and talk about them a lot, Teller always remained silent during those kinds of conversations.
So, it was particularly interesting recently when Teller found himself, in the deepest, darkest part of the night, at his former home in the big city (in the most northern part of Cascadia). As he entered the living room from the bedroom that served as his office, he was astounded to see a huge animal occupying the space. While paralyzed in place at the sight of this beast (what was this thing? could it, gasp, be a monster guinea pig?), Teller had some time to process in his head the thought that this thing was actually more than huge, it was unbelievably gigantic. It more-than-filled the entire room: yes, it seemed to be bigger than the room itself, and when the beast (was there really anything else it could be called?) inhaled, the house expanded, and when it exhaled (it had awful breath!), the house contracted. And, amazingly, although this was a sixty-year-old wooden structure, the building seemed to not make any noise while it rhythmically responded to the animal’s breath. The living room, actually the house itself, was a supple, tight-fitting body-glove for this beast.
As Teller listened, spell-bound, to the animal’s respirations, he thought, somewhat detached and analytically, hmmmmm, what is going on here?This is really interesting…
However, while Teller’s mind was trying to adjust to the reality of this thing in his house, and frozen in place thinking about what this all might mean, the giant animal noticed Teller’s diminutive presence. The beast looked at Teller, and Teller looked at it; their eyes locked. Teller’s demeanor was mostly neutral as he adjusted to this startling new development, though the beast’s face (somehow Teller thought he could make out the features of the face well enough) took on an expression of true curiosity: a sort of “cock your head” kind of reaction, as a housecat might make when suspecting a mouse is somewhere around.
But, the expression of simple curiousness rapidly disappeared, replaced by one of a predator sighting new prey: the look of a carnivore anticipating its next meal. Teller recognized the expression, and his rational mind told him to run. This is not someplace I should be, he thought. But his feet, somehow, were superglued to the hardwood floor; he simply could not move.
Teller knew a little bit about guinea pigs, and thought he remembered they were not carnivorous, but rather herbivorous. (How he could even be thinking this, though, at a time that should have been utter panic, he did not understand.) However, this was obviously not your average guinea pig. Who ever heard of a guinea pig as big as a house? He guessed, by the look on the beast’s face, that its size was indicative of its overall abnormality, and that this particular non-garden-variety guinea pig was, indeed, a killer looking for someone to eat.
Teller turned. Finally. He knew he had to make a run for it. There was no other option other than being devoured by this rodent of mythic proportions. However, just as he took his first step, the beast was finally ready to make its move. Teller immediately felt himself being lifted up by the scruff of the neck. The back of the neckband of his t-shirt was in the beast’s mouth, and, as Teller was lifted up, he started to gag and choke. I sure did overdid the analysis part this time, Teller thought to himself. I should have made a dash for it a LOT sooner.
The beast knew it was in total control now. Its next meal was trapped with nowhere to go. With this fact confidently in mind, the beast, incredibly, decided to treat itself to a nap first and enjoy the meal, that is Teller, upon waking. With Teller dangling from his black and orange (“Beaver,” another kind of rodent, how ironic) t-shirt, the beast carried him down into the basement, while all the time, the house oozed around the beast to accommodate its immense size.
The beast was apparently skilled at keeping trapped prey in its mouth and sleeping at the same time — so promptly dozed off. Teller was virtually apoplectic, with a very high level of adrenaline coursing through his veins, and, of course, scared out of his wits. He knew he was toast when the beast awoke. But, what to do? Here he was: trapped in the teeth of a sleeping beast, down in the cold, dank basement, in the middle of the night, with no prospect of being saved. It seemed like his life was over. What a way to go, he thought. A monster guinea pig; this is my fate.
But wait: was there a noise upstairs? Was there somebody else around? Was it possible that he could be saved? Can I call for help without waking the beast? What do I do now? …were all questions that raced though his mind.
He knew he had to act. And act swiftly. He had no idea who or what might be making a noise upstairs, but he had to try and make his plight known. He needed to be saved…so he summoned all he had and, literally, screamed: HEEEEEEELLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPP!
And, of course, with this, Teller screamed himself awake.
During the next half hour or so, while he tried to calm himself down (and waited, rather anxiously, for the police to arrive — thinking that certainly a neighbor had reported the screaming), he resolved to not do so much obsessing, during any given evening, about the challenges of the next work day. On this particular occasion, Teller had an early morning appointment with Cascadia College’s Provost, Dr. Mennace, and he just knew he must have been processing this in his subconscious during the night.
There are plenty of arguments surrounding both sides of the great flu-shot debate. So I ask: Should I get one? Or should I not?
I have to consider that lots of folks ask good, pointed questions about the process, such as, “why would I want to put toxic chemicals and virus strains grown on living tissue into my body?”
That’s really not a bad thing to ponder, is it?
But here’s the deal: even though I have a passing familiarity with the issues, and I certainly like to avoid putting terribly nasty things into my physical self whenever possible, I’ve had a flu shot every year since 1990 and I really haven’t regretted it. I’m under the impression that they work for me, and I suppose that’s about as important as anything.
In the winter of 1989-90 I was living in Corvallis and working in Monmouth. The season went along fairly normally until, finally, in February, I got a really bad case of the flu for the second year in a row. I thought I was gonna die! That summer I moved to Bloomington, Indiana, where the upcoming winter was certainly going to be more challenging for me (than any Oregon winter had been for twenty years). I got a flu shot that fall at the Indiana University Health Center, and I’ve followed through with a shot every year since then.
Even when it’s been difficult…remember the vaccine shortage of a couple of years ago? I thought, in 2004, that I may have to forgo the usual flu-shot ritual. However it happened, the shortage started to ease up a bit, though, and some of us “at-risk” (read “older”) folks finally, in late December, were able to get in for our shots. I remember standing in line at the GetAFluShot.com location on 102nd Avenue in SE Portland, thinking “who are all these old people?” And, “why do I belong to this group?”
At any rate, I ended up getting a flu shot, even in that problematic year.
These past few weeks I went through the usual, yearly, mild debate I have with myself about getting the shot…and then, today, I went in to do it. The thing is, ever since I’ve started getting a flu shot, I have not had a case of the flu that even comes close to the cases I had the last two years when I had no flu shot.
Maybe, at this point, it borders on superstition. Still…
I’m always on the lookout for things (products, therapies, supplements, drugs, etc.) to assist me with my chronic-pain issues. Lately, my back problems have taken a turn for the worse and I now have fairly extreme muscular tension not only in my low-back but the upper-back and shoulders as well. Recently I’ve made trips to my out-of-town chiropractor, consulted again with my primary care physician about Chronic Myofascial Pain, and, blessedly, found a gifted massage therapist here (who I saw for the first time last week). I’ve had noticeable improvement since the massage, and I have another appointment scheduled for this week.
Also, I’ve had on hand, for a few weeks now, a “Thera Cane.” It’s a rather strange-looking contraption (as you can see). I’ve been more conscientious during the last few days in learning how to use this device, and have developed a routine of massaging my own back with it at least twice a day. I think this approach is helping. It’s available from Amazon.com, if you’re so inclined to give this kind of thing a try.
In keeping with the happiness theme that I wrote about yesterday, this morning I started to make a list of the “good things” that happened. By noon, I had three already:
One of my coworkers stopped by, closed the door, and ran a number of ideas by me. It was a very good use of my listening, relationship and leadership skills.
The same person said: “do you know how much you’re appreciated here?”
Another individual complimented me on the two photographs that have appeared on this blog in the last few days.
All of this felt incredibly good. I stopped the list-keeping with these three items, but other good stuff happened as well. (I should pay more attention to this than I do!)
