optimism – Go Retire Psychiatrist

Reasons to Be Proud and Hopeful for the Future

As the month of May Mental Health Awareness draws to a close, I reflect a little on the Make It OK calendar items that are salient for me: 3 things I’ve done that I’m most proud of and 3 reasons I’m hopeful for the future. I’ll keep it short.

One thing I’m most proud of is being the first one in my family to go to college. The biggest accomplishment was going to medical school at The University of Iowa in 1988. That was also the year Michael Jackson’s pop hit “Man in the Mirror” was released. That’s sort of how I felt about what I was doing that year—making a big change.

The more I reflect on this the more I realize the other thing I’m most proud of was getting a degree from Iowa State University in 1985. That paved the way for the path to becoming a doctor.

This process seems to work backwards because probably the first thing I’m proudest of is making a change even earlier in my life to land a job with a Mason City, Iowa consulting engineer firm, Wallace Holland, Kastler Schmitz & Co. That came before college and they’re all like stepping stones on the path of achievement. I think I started at the minimum wage back then, which was about $2.00/hr. I was an emancipated minor and couldn’t afford an apartment so I lived at the YMCA. It was a cramped sleeping room with no kitchen, a communal bathroom/shower, and a snack vending machine from which I got a worm infested candy bar. There were strict rules about what you could keep in your room—which somehow didn’t prevent one guy from building a motorcycle in his. Now this is getting too long.

In order to move on expeditiously with the mental health awareness calendar items, I’m going to cheat on the 3 reasons I’m hopeful for the future because they involve what is most important to a teacher. That’s what I was. I was so proud of the many medical students and residents I had the honor to teach. There were a lot more than 3 reasons to be hopeful for the future. I used to take group pictures of them and me at the end of each rotation through the consultation psychiatry service. We got a kick out of that because the only way I could do it was by using my old iPad that had a fun remote way to trigger the snapshot. I leaned the iPad up against something on a table. We all gathered as a group at the other end of the room. We posed, I raised my hand and counted to three, then closed my hand into a fist. That was our cue to smile. The shutter clicked.

Every time we did that, I was proud. Wherever they are, I hope they know how proud I am of them.

When Do We Get Out of the Woods?

We were out walking the Terry Trueblood Trail the other day. It’s always good to get out of the hotel where we’re staying until our house is built. I get this cooped up feeling and it feels great to escape.

While we were on the trail, we saw this huge field of giant, golden prairie plants that looked familiar. It lined both sides of the walking trail. It was giant mullein. We saw it for the first time a couple of years ago while walking the trail.

Anyway, when you got perspective on it, it gave a sense of coming out of the dark, coming out of the woods.

It reminded me of that scene in Wizard of Oz when Dorothy and the guys emerge from the dark woods into the light. There’s this great little song in the scene that I finally discovered is called “Optimistic Voices.” I found this blog post about it posted back in 2015 by a writer named Marti Wukelic. The blog is called Is There Life After Retirement?

It captured how I felt that day, surrounded by giant mullein. I know that sounds ironic because we were in a sense in the woods of a field of giant prairie plants.

But giant mullein is a sunny color. On both sides of the trail, it rose high above our heads. It was like a giant, golden hallway to heaven and we were stepping into the sun.

Move Up to the Power Pole Saw

One of our favorite movies is “Up,” a charmer about an old guy named Carl whose wife Ellie always urged him to move up and onward to new adventures. In some ways, me and Sena are like Carl and Ellie. There’s a lot more to that movie than a house which travels under balloon power to South America, carrying Carl, a boy named Russell, and the spirit of Ellie.

Like Carl, I tend to be reluctant to try new things—like chain saws, for example. Ever since the derecho over a month ago, a chain saw would have come in a lot handier than a handsaw, a bow saw, and a manual pole saw. Sena tried to coax me to get a chain saw for a derecho disaster in our backyard, which left an eyesore of a mess. The tangle of stout oak branches with a dense mass of dead leaves never hit the house and was not a hazard—unless you bushwhacked into the woods and stood underneath it with a non-power pole saw and jiggled it with that.

Even with the pole fully extended, I could barely touch the 7 or 8-inch-thick branches. I could tickle it, but I knew I would never bring it down. Sena thought otherwise.

And then one day, Sena came home with a gift for me—the power pole saw. It’s a battery powered chain saw on a pole extendable to about 15 feet. The picture shows it without the battery. There are many words to describe my immediate reaction. Gratitude is not one of them. I have never owned nor used any kind of chain saw. I was not eager to learn and was not convinced that it would help me bring the oak tangle down.

My first efforts using the power pole saw reminded me more of Russell trying to pitch his first tent than Carl succeeding in getting his house in the air with balloons. The battery took only a little over an hour to fully charge, dashing my hopes of returning a defective product without injury to my ego.

I figured out how to attach and tighten the pole extensions. It was heavier than I thought it would be. Amazingly, no lubricant oil was provided. I had to make an extra trip to get that and a pair of safety glasses (which had to fit over my prescription pair). Oiling the bar and the chain is a bit tedious using the thumb-sized plastic bottle provided—which I had to fill from a large bottle of motor oil I had to go out and buy.

Finally, I could stall no longer. I crept into the very cramped space in the thicket, the kind of place in which experts tell you not to use the power pole saw. It was also necessary to stand right under the branch I needed to cut—another no-no.

At least I had my safety glasses on when I finally turned on the saw and got a face full of sawdust and wood chips that somehow got into my eyes anyway. One thing I was very thankful for was the two-step trigger mechanism. I had to first press one safety switch backward with my thumb while pressing the power trigger with my forefinger. Only then could I lift my thumb off the safety switch and continue to cut—as long as I kept my finger on the trigger. If I lifted my finger off the trigger, the motor would immediately stop. That didn’t bother me a bit.

I was just starting to gain a little confidence with the tool when I got it jammed into one of the thickest branches over my head. I couldn’t jiggle or pry it loose. It hung there, apparently wedged between the two sections of the limb and by one of those pesky strips of bark. I could hear faint snaps and pops that worried me more than a little bit.

I hurried out of there and looked back. The saw hung in mid-air in the wedge. I could hear more distinctly now a crackling noise and could see smaller branches slipping down through the foliage distal from the big branch. Gravity was playing a role here.

I grabbed the manual pole saw, extended to its full length and quickly scraped at that stupid strip of bark, holding my breath. The popping noises suddenly got a little louder and I rushed for the opening in the thicket, but got hung up by the manual pole saw which got stuck on some smaller trees. I yanked like a maniac a couple of times before realizing that I had to move back a few steps towards the thicket to unhook my saw from the brush before moving forward. I guess life is like that sometimes.

I got out—but the tree limb just wouldn’t drop. I used the molded hook on the manual pole saw and wrestled with outer branches in an effort to pull the thing down. It finally fell, releasing my power pole saw, which fell to the ground. By some miracle, neither the saw nor I was harmed. In its path to the ground, the branch passed the spot where I had been standing.

I wish I could tell you I reformed right then and there, stopped my foolhardy, reckless, death-defying acrobatics and levitated to the Himalayas, there to meditate for the rest of my life.

But I didn’t. I went back in there, retrieved my power pole saw and—got the thing wedged again in a different branch. This time, I could free the blade but had to take the chain off, brush the wood chips out, and put the tool back together. This involved repeatedly turning the chain over and over, trying to understand how this was supposed to be refitted on the bar to match the image stamped on the bar. This took a while. I dropped the bar a couple of times, but it didn’t break—dang.

Now you would naturally suppose that by this time, I saw the error of my ways, sought counsel from aliens who took me in their spaceship through the nearest wormhole back to their home planet in a distant galaxy where they reengineered my genetic code and built me a new brain thereby setting me free from the ancient human pattern of refusing to learn from mistakes.

But no, that didn’t happen. I just kept cutting. Against all odds, I cleared most of the derecho debris. It just goes to show you; sometimes it’s better to be lucky than smart.

It also helps to have a persistently encouraging wife who says, just like Ellie, “Adventure is out there!” Sena gets all the credit.

Hanging In There

It has been a while since my last post. I’m hanging in there although sometimes it’s difficult to stay optimistic. I’m reminded of the Survivor Tree, the Callery Pear in New York City. You can easily google the story about this tree which somehow survived at Ground Zero after the 9/11 attack on America in 2001. We visited New York in the summer of 2017 and saw the Survivor Tree at the 9/11 Memorial & Museum plaza. It’s hard to believe that was 19 years ago. And now we’re dealing with the Covid-19 pandemic.

I’m still adjusting to my new identity as a retired person. I was reminded of that when I read the recent post “What is your Identity?” on 9/12/2020 by The Good Enough Psychiatrist. She’s resilient and optimistic, traits I admire. I tend to be rigid and pessimistic, especially when I have a lot of time on my hands.

I also need to get out of my head. It’s amazing how easily reminiscence can morph into rumination. Galloping all over the hospital as a psychiatric consultant distracted me from that habit. On the other hand, Sena and I reminisced the other night for quite a while. I was astonished at how much we both recalled about our 42-year long marriage and the adventures and challenges we’ve been through.

Our first house was a challenge. Shortly after we moved in, I had to try to mow the tall grass which had been neglected for a long time. I had to use either a scythe or a weed whacker. I honestly can’t recall exactly what I used but the scythe sounds more impressive, so I suspect it has crept into the story more for dramatic effect. It was a very hot day and my first encounter with my neighbor from across the street was his generous act of lending me his power lawnmower. He was a white man and, back in those days, kindness in that context was uncommon.

The only time I used a power mower other than at that house was when I went to Huston-Tillotson College in Austin, Texas. It’s now called H-T University. It was one of the historically black colleges in the country and I recall feeling a bit awkward there since I had grown up in largely white neighborhoods in the Midwest. Anyway, I helped mow the campus grounds. I guess “helped” might not be the right word, especially if you consider the perspective of the groundskeeper who was in charge of fixing the power lawnmowers I destroyed. I wrecked a few mainly because I kept running over rough, rocky ground. After I dragged the 2^nd or 3^rd ruined mower back to him, he stared at me and shook with rage. Mercifully, memory fails me at this point.

I’m realizing I could probably go on rambling like this for a good while. I guess that might mean I’m gradually adopting the identity of a garrulous old retired guy. I know that sounds pessimistic.

On a more positive note, Sena and I had a great time in New York City three years ago. We’re glad to have the memories. Sena is optimistic and resilient by nature. She’ll help me imagine brighter times coming in the future.

Spring, A Time for Optimism

This is the season for optimism and milestones: graduating medical students and residents, new faculty from the graduating resident class—including the milestone of getting the suspicious looking postcard notice in the mail reminding me that I’ll soon be eligible for open enrollment in Medicare.

No kidding, I got my first ever Medicare Open Enrollment postcard notice although, of course, it was not from any government agency as the Medicare Open Enrollment Inquiry Card indicated. This notice was obviously a lure from an anonymous marketer soliciting for one or more insurance companies, “SD Reply Center” in Rockwall, Texas.

Don’t get sucked in by this hustle. This has been going on for years. I found an on line news story from 2012 written by Bob LaMendola, with the Sun Sentinel in South Florida.

This is widely viewed as a scam, and the company targets seniors (yes, I am one of those). If you send back the card with all of your personal data on it which they request, outfits like SD Reply Center (SD stands for Senior Direct) will sell it to insurers who may knock on your door. Insurers themselves are forbidden by federal and state laws from sending these postcards or otherwise soliciting seniors unless we request them. While it’s not against the law for companies like SD Reply Center to solicit seniors, consumer advocates advise us not to mail our personal information to the sender of an anonymous postcard. While it may not be harmful, seniors are then in the difficult position of fending off eager insurance salespersons.

I will be shredding my postcard. But I will remain aware of Medicare open enrollment and pursue less worrisome avenues for more information about my coverage options. You have to keep your eyes peeled for trouble.

Speaking of trouble, our birds are in a lot of it. Right after the house finches lost their nestlings, the cardinals lost their only chick, probably to the same predatory crow that took the house finch babies. The cardinal and house finch parents are now gone.

However, while the robins might have abandoned the under-the-deck nest (not clear, my wife says she saw one flying under our deck), they may have settled into our front yard crabapple tree. It’s thick with flowers right now and provides excellent cover for the brand new nest the floor of which still needs work (just like the nest under our deck needed for a while).

Spring is a time of optimism. Hope springs eternal in the human breast—and in the robin redbreast.