My colleague Wendall died swiftly of a heart-attack on Thursday evening. A co-worker was able to drive him from campus to the emergency room during the crisis (it’s just down the street), but they were apparently able to do little for him. He was one day short of his 56th birthday, and leaves behind a wife, kids, grandkids, and a large number of stunned colleagues in his department and on the entire campus.
I worked with Wendall for nearly two years. When I accepted this interim job in 2004, I was slated initially to take over the supervision of the Science Division, but by the time I actually got to campus, the president had reorganized things a bit and I found myself leading the “Science & Technology Division.” The technology portion included the Industrial Technology Department (consisting of the Automotive, Machine Tool, and Welding Technologies), of which Wendall was the department chair.
Wendall was a weldor and welding instructor; from my perspective he loved his trade and he had a deep and abiding affection for his students. He was exceptionally dedicated to the mission of the Industrial Technology department, and worked long hours to make sure everything was moving along as it should. Most importantly he was, simply, a very decent human being.
I will miss him.
This event seems to be triggering, for me, overwhelming feelings of loss. Even though I know that loss is integral to our existence, I still am sad. Despite the length of time I’ve lived and how much I’ve learned, I guess I’ve never been able to accept the impermanent nature of the universe. One would think that, by now, I would know that any relationship is temporary. To begin a relationship with anyone, with anything, is to know that it will someday end.
This loss, taken with my other large losses in the last couple years, is serving to keep me, I believe, in a rather deep and prolonged melancholic state. I apparently cling to some kind of ideal that I can, at some point, “get it together.” It’s likely my perfectionist tendencies, and my sense of what’s “fair,” that lead to disappointment and my sense of loss and failure. And, I suppose it’s what keeps me “stuck” in whatever uncomfortable place this is that I am in.
“To think that we can finally get it all together is unrealistic. To seek for some lasting security is futile…Suffering begins to dissolve when we can question the belief or the hope that there is anywhere to hide.
Hopelessness means that we no longer have the spirit for holding our trip together…Trying to get lasting security teaches us a lot, because if we never try to do it, we never notice that it can’t be done.” (Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart, p. 39)
On April 4, 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr., was assassinated in Memphis, TN. Two days later, as the country was experiencing utter turmoil from coast to coast, M and I were married at Trinity Lutheran Church in Eau Claire, WI. If that marriage had lasted, today we would have been celebrating 38 years of married life. Holy smokerinos, do these kinds of thoughts make me feel old!
I now find it interesting that I chose to get married in a year that was one of the most turbulent and definitive ones of the times. M and I went honeymooning when many of the major metropolitan areas of the country were experiencing riots in the aftermath of MLK’s murder. Bobby Kennedy was killed in California just a couple months later; two more months after that was the Democratic National Convention debacle in Chicago. My oh my, the flashbacks I’m having as I write this…
I guess if I can have memories this old, then feeling old, at least at times, isn’t all that surprising.
Lately, the energy I’ve been able to summon to make blog entries (well, actually, just to make it through the day) has waned a tad. Since last week, for sure, I’ve been trying to pace myself even more conscientiously that I usually do. Seeing my life’s blood literally gush from my body in the nosebleed episode had a big impact on me, I think. And, too, I was diagnosed with another eye infection last week. So, I’ve been fighting with that condition, which has led to diminished motivation to stare at a computer screen. Anyway, if you’re out there checking blog entries, you’ll probably have noticed less productivity from ol’ TechnoMonk.
I had a chat with a fellow I work with today. He’s a couple years younger than me, and he disclosed that, physically, he’s been struggling as well. It seems as if his energy level has taken an unexplained, precipitous drop. It wasn’t a gradual thing. Suddenly he’s fatigued all the time. All the medical tests that he’s had so far have turned up nothing; still, this kind of stuff can weigh mightily on one’s mind. I sure know about that firsthand.
It just another example of the fact: we never, really, have any control…
“Seeking security or perfection, rejoicing in feeling confirmed and whole, self-contained and comfortable, is some kind of death…[and is] setting ourselves up for failure, because sooner or later we’re going to have an experience we can’t control: our house will burn down, someone we love is going to die, we’re going to find out we have cancer, a brick is going to fall out of the sky and hit us on the head…to be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. To live fully is to be always in no-man’s land…” (Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart, p. 71).
Postscript for the day ... As I was just putting the finishing touches on this entry, the phone rang. My supervisor, who normally does not call me at home, just did. The news is: one of our colleagues, a good man, and a department chair who reported directly to me, died this evening, apparently of a heart-attack. I don’t have the details. I am in shock. More later...
Yes, I love the show “ER” – and I’ve even mentioned it before here. The show has lots of drama, not only because of the variety and intensity of the emergency-room cases they present, but because of the lives of the characters we see developed. However, that’s not what this little essay is about. What I’d like to talk about now is my personal experience of the emergency room. My most recent exposure was just a couple of days ago – and I’ll get to that in a little bit.
First, a little history.
Probably the most interesting emergency-room time I had was the night I passed a kidney stone, but was nonetheless diagnosed with bladder cancer by the young (Doogie-Howser-looking) ER doc and the on-call urologist he consulted with. That episode lasted from dusk till dawn, and the crisis passed a couple of days later when tests showed that I did not have cancer. While I felt mostly well-cared-for that night (Katrina was with me, and she was certainly a great comfort to have around; and I had a wonderful nurse), Doogie's behavior was pretty amazingly terrible, as I recall. As he was initially delivering the bad news to me, he was talking in a soft voice, and walking backwards away from me toward the door, while using medical terminology obviously intended to obfuscate. I believe he just tried to slip that little word “carcinoma” right by me, thinking I might not notice (or know what it meant). Basically, both doctors that night came up far short in terms of getting a good review from me.
A couple of other ER experiences stick out in my mind as well. Neither were quite as bad as the one just described, thank goodness. They were drama-packed in their own right, though. One was an “urgent care” facility that we took Katrina to when she was suffering from a rupturing appendix. Although the tests were not definitive, the surgeon who was called in was right on the money in terms of a diagnosis, and the surgery the next day, I think, went mostly ok (of course, I’m not the one who had to go through it, and there was a tough post-operative period). The other episode was here in Portland four days after I moved up from Eugene in 2004. I took a fall on the pavement while walking the unfamiliar hilly streets in the Mt. Tabor neighborhood, and ended up spending almost another entire night being attended to. That I complained of “chest pain” at the front desk probably got me some special attention, I imagine.
So, now we come to my most recent visit.
I developed an early-morning nosebleed two days ago while I was in the shower. At some point I looked down and the water in the bottom of the tub was curiously pink. After I figured out what was going on, it took me almost a full hour and a half to get the bleeding under control. Given that I have had a history of nosebleeds (for me, they come with allergy territory), I have some experience in this area, so when it took that long to control I was, well, concerned. During the time I was trying to stop the bleeding, I had images of somebody, someday eventually finding me naked and dead on the bathroom floor, bled out from the nose. Not a pretty picture. And, all the while this was going on, the room started to look more and more like a crime scene. Again, rather ugly.
Well, I did get the bleeding to stop. Finally. I called my doctor’s office (it was right about 8:00 a.m. at that time), and they said if I wanted to see somebody, go to the emergency room. I drove myself, of course, all the time hoping I wouldn’t start bleeding again!
OK: I admit. This time when I visited the ER, it wasn’t quite in the category of emergency. It certainly had felt like it earlier in the morning, but by the time I got to the hospital, the situation was fairly tame. And, I guess, from an ER doc’s perspective, well, “this is a pretty uninteresting situation here.”
I had quite some time in the waiting area, and then in the little examination room I was finally shown. The nurse who checked me in was quiet but efficient. I appreciated that. After about a half hour in the examination room (I was passing time reading the morning’s paper), a young woman finally came in, introduced herself as a med student, and said that since no one else was attending to me, she thought she’d keep me company and familiarize herself with my case. She sat down, asked questions, took notes, and listened. She was pretty great, actually. After about five minutes, though, the “real” ER doc came in and took over. At that point, the med student seemed to rush away. I was sorry to see her go; it was about the only time I felt really listened to during the rest of my experience there. Not that I didn’t get attention; my nose was cauterized and packed with gauze and I had the name of a specialist to follow up with. But, during most of my time there, I believe I was an “issue” not a person. I was “the nosebleed in 4” – wow, that was not a great feeling.
Later that same day, my nose started bleeding again…I felt it happen, and, in the mirror, watched the gauze change color from white to pink. I drove to the ER again. I was bleeding when I showed up, but I still had a half-hour to wait before they called my name. During that time, sitting in public view in the waiting room, pinching my nose and swabbing my face with Kleenex, no one at the desk seemed to be overly concerned. Again, I suppose I was “just a nosebleed.” When I finally got in to see the second doc, and since the bleeding had stopped, he did nothing. In fact, was very dismissive (like: why are you here?), and didn’t even really get any of his attention until I said something like, “well, I can see that I’m not being taken seriously here.” As it turned out, all he would do was reinforce the notion that the ER had done what they could (contained the emergency and referred me on). I left with wet bloody gauze in my nose and no hope of getting it looked at again until Monday (four days away).
Well, I knew there was no way that I was going to make it that long with gauze in my nose. I just knew. (A thought validated after a sleepless night that night, not being able to breathe.) Yesterday, I removed the gauze myself, and now I seem to be doing fine.
I don’t think I’ll be remembering this episode too favorably…except for the med student who took some time to listen. Even though I was “just a nosebleed,” she saw me as a person as well...and what a difference that makes!
I guess if you’ve been paying attention, you’ve noticed that most of the photos I’ve posted recently have been of signs. Signs, signs, wherever I look. Big signs, small signs, commercial signs, hand-made signs; advertising, promoting, accusing, demanding. They’re everywhere!
So, I’m thinking: aren’t there signs made not of solid matter, but rather more like “signals from the universe”?
What’s going on? There are “signs” in my life that seem to be pointing in a positive direction. And it’s happening rather all of a sudden. I had those two interviews the week before last (and I’m still waiting to hear back about results and/or next steps). Now, as of this afternoon, I have three more scheduled in the next three weeks: for an associate dean position (Salem, OR), a vice president position (Aberdeen, WA), and a vice chancellor position (San Mateo, CA). The latter is with the San Mateo County Community College District (Bay Area), the place where I came in a close second for a dean’s position during fall term (and where I made a good impression and some friends, I think).
With all this interviewing activity, aren’t the chances pretty good that there will be some place that will fit? (One would think…!)
I’m choosing to believe that all these invitations are a good sign.
And it certainly feels better to be popular than not!
Soundtrack Suggestion
And the sign said “Long-haired freaky people need not apply” So I tucked my hair up under my hat and I went in to ask him why He said “You look like a fine upstanding young man, I think you’ll do” So I took off my hat, I said “Imagine that. Huh! Me workin’ for you!” Whoa-oh-oh Sign, sign, everywhere a sign Blockin’ out the scenery, breakin’ my mind Do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign?
“Spring in the world! And all things are made new!” (Richard Hovey)
This is the week of spring break, or at least it’s the week of our spring break here in Oregon (for the public colleges and universities, that is). Not all colleges in the country take a break at the same time, of course: the sunny vacation spots and airlines couldn’t handle it! This time of year certainly makes me think of taking a trip – namely one for fun and not one where I’m someplace merely to interview. Two years ago in March, I took a day trip to the Oregon coast and visited Mo’s (see above) in Newport. I also made another trip that month up to Bellingham, WA, during spring break week and had a spectacularly good time there, on the ferry ride, and in Port Townsend.
Typically, too, during this time of the year, I try and attend to the “spring cleaning” ritual. I clean house more thoroughly than I normally do, the car gets special attention, and, now that I’m in living in a house, I decide what to do with the yard.
This year, all that seems so senseless. The sale of the house closes this week, I’m told, and I will have a new landlord I have never met and whose name I do not even know. What is constantly in my awareness is that I need to vacate these premises by the end of June.
Why put any effort into cleaning right now at all? There’s no reason, actually, so I guess this place will just get dirtier and messier until it’s time to for me to pack up and leave. It’s not the way I’m inclined to live, but there are just so many more important things to pay attention to at the moment.
Maybe we all should be thinking of other, larger-scale tasks, instead. Let’s bring some newness to the world by making it a better place?
● By removing the troops from Iraq and Afghanistan?
● By sweeping the likes of Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld from the West Wing and the Pentagon?
● By upgrading voting machines in places like Florida and Ohio?
● By replacing the current occupants of various statehouses with more effective ones?
● By building voter confidence in government enough so that tax measures would/could be passed that are adequate to meet state and local needs?
Yes, there are lots of ways that this season of renewal could be used. How about some fragrant blossoms of universal peace and enlightenment?
