A little more than a year ago, if you were to ask someone in our family where s/he would most like to visit, you would get responses ranging from Ireland to Germany to Australia. Vietnam would not have be mentioned. So how in the world did we end up visiting there?
Hartmans at Mai Chau, December 2011
In 2010, during a gap year between university and graduate school, Hanna applied with Lutheran Church Missouri Synod World Missions, requesting placement in a country where she had not already traveled. She was offered a position as a volunteer English teacher at Hanoi University of Science and Technology. She originally volunteered to serve for two semesters beginning in January 2011, with a summer at home in between. During that summer break, Hanna decided to extend her stay in Vietnam through a third semester.
The schedule of the Vietnamese educational system meant that Hanna would not be able to come home for the Christmas and New Year holidays. After putting her back on a plane in September, we started looking into making a visit to Vietnam.
It turned out that three months was not too far ahead to be planning a trip to the Far East. Because we knew absolutely nothing about flying to Asia, we opted to work with a travel agent, who was able to find us significantly less expensive flights than I had found on the internet. The International School administrator offered Hanna the use of his family’s townhouse in exchange for watching their cat while they traveled to the United States for the holidays. Phil requested time off work; Laura arranged to take two of her finals early and asked to be excused from basketball practice over the school break. Bosses, teachers and coaches were uniformly cooperative and enthusiastic about our opportunity. Phil’s brother made plans for their mom to stay with him and his wife. Our next door neighbors agreed to watch the dog and cat.
The trip was on! Even with all of our advance planning there were more items on our to-do list:
We all had current passports, but needed travel visas. There are companies that handle travel visas for a fee, but this step can be easily handled directly through the Vietnam Embassy.
A visit to the travel clinic determined that we needed typhoid vaccination, but fortunately not malaria or Japanese Encephalitis. Phil and Laura needed Hepatitis A vaccinations as well; I needed both Hepatitis A and B. Joseph was up to date on both.
We learned as much as we could about cultural customs. For instance, we learned – among other things – that it is polite to use both hands when giving or receiving an item from another person, that one should never touch another person (even a child) on the head, not to be insulted if asked about our age, and that it is a great compliment to be offered the head of a chicken at dinner.
When word got out that we were planning a visit, we received requests to bring along a few Christmas gifts for people that Hanna worked with. We were happy to help. Then the packages started coming and kept coming. And coming. And coming. When it was obvious that we would need more luggage space, I went shopping for big suitcases. Sticker shock quickly led me to thrift stores. Upon hearing the reason why I was shopping, a kindly Salvation Army clerk insisted that suitcases were half price, that day only. I scored two jumbo suitcases for $5.00 – for both, not each.
All those boxes.
Three months passed quickly and early in the morning of December 22 we packed our ten suitcases and Grandma H in the van and drove to Kansas City to begin our Vietnam Vacation. My next few web log posts will address various aspects of our trip there, from travel to food and shopping to housing and infrastructure and more. I hope you’ll come along!
Back when the kids were smaller, I helped my friend Kris Arthur with her summer enrichment camps. One year I taught a week’s worth of classes on Día de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead. The first day we studied the history of the celebration; during the rest of the week we made tissue paper marigolds and papel picado (intricately cut tissue paper banners), created calacas (festive skeletons), baked pan de muerto (bread of the dead) and designed calavera (skull) masks. The significance of each of these was explained in my class handout, which I adapted for this post. I hope that you find Día de los Muertos as fascinating as I do.
The Day of the Dead festival in Mexico (October 31 – November 2) is a blend of ancient Aztec harvest rituals and the Catholic celebration of All Saints Day. The observance of Day of the Dead varies by region, but generally involves welcoming the souls of the dead back into their homes and visiting the graves of close relatives. Día de los Muertos is not a time to grieve, but to celebrate and remember the dead. The souls of children, or los angelitos (little angels), are greeted the first night, while adult souls are welcomed the second night. To end the holiday, calevera (skull) masks are worn to chase lingering souls back to the land of the dead.
Many families prepare an elaborate altar with offerings (ofrenda) to honor their deceased family members. The altar is constructed in a place of honor within the home, sometimes using tables and boxes to form a pyramid of three or more levels, covered by a white tablecloth.
A washbasin, soap, towel, mirror and comb are placed nearby so that spirits may freshen up when they return home. Altars, which remain in place until November 4, include these elements:
Candles
Four candles at the top level represent north, south, east and west. Additional candles are lit for each dead family member, with an extra to make sure nobody has been left out. The candles represent hope and faith, and burn all night so that there is no darkness. They also provide a place for the dead to warm their hands.
Incense Copal is the sap of a Mexican tree, burnt as incense. In the Aztec culture, it was an offering to the gods. On a Day of the Dead altar, the scent attracts the spirits of the dead and guides them home. It also wards off evil.
Flowers
Fragrant marigolds are traditional Day of the Dead flowers. In the Aztec culture the marigold was known as the flower of 400 lives. Marigolds are placed on the altar so that their scent may guide souls home. Sometimes paths of marigold petals are made from the cemetery to a home. For los angelitos, baby’s breath and white orchids are used.
Food and Drink
A basic Día de los Muertos altar will include:
• agua (water), to quench thirst and for purification,
• sal (salt), the spice of life, and
• pan de muerto (bread of the dead), food necessary for survival
More elaborate altars may include sweets, harvest fruits and vegetables and the favorite foods and drinks of each family spirit. Three sugar skulls, representing the Trinity, are often placed on the second level of an altar.
Calacas Calacas are handmade skeletons representing the dead, usually depicting their occupations and hobbies. Calacas show an active and joyful afterlife and are funny and friendly rather than frightening and spooky. Along with the smell of favorite foods, calacas help spirits locate the right house. Calacas have emerged as an art form indigenous to Mexico.
Papel Picado
The Aztecs used paper banners in rituals. Papel picado is colorful tissue paper cut into intricate designs and strung around the altar. Traditional colors for papel picado are:
• morado (purple), to signify pain, suffering, grief and mourning
• rosado (pink), for celebration,
• blanco (white), for purity and hope
• amarillo y anaranjado (yellow and orange), for the marigold, sun and light
• rojo (red), representing the blood of Jesus (Catholic) and the life blood of humans and animals (Aztec)
• negro (black), for the land of the dead
Personal Items
Favorite items and mementos of the departed are added to the altar, including children’s toys, household saints and photos of those honored, plus items for everyday living, such as eating utensils, drinking gourds, serapes, and musical instruments.
In Romeo and Juliet, my least favorite of Shakespeare’s plays, he asserted that “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Maybe so, but those misguided twits were still dead by the end of the play, and most of us still have strong feelings, either positive or negative, about our own name.
The name Sara wasn’t as common when I was growing up as it is now. My parents borrowed my name from Jazz singer Sarah Vaughn, but opted for the German spelling, dropping the “h” from the end. That was also not as common in the ‘60s and ‘70s, and not only did most people misspell my name, but there weren’t any nifty personalized items like bicycle license plates or keychains available with my variation.
I got in trouble once when my first grade teacher called me “Sally” and I did not answer her. She thought I was being insubordinate. In reality, at age five I was blissfully unaware that Sally was a nickname for Sara(h). However, that incident led to my brothers and sister calling me Sally for years when they wanted to tease me. Much later I named my dog Sally in memory of that incident.
But I still liked my name. I’m glad I wasn’t named for one of my grandmothers, in which case I would be either Frieda or Hilda and forced to go by my middle name (as my mom did), or come up with a nickname.
The name Sara means princess, which I also liked, but which supplied an odd contrast with the meaning of my surname – “hedge dweller.” Surely a princess would live in a castle rather than a hedge! Hmm . . . maybe it really referred to a hedge maze surrounding the castle. Yeah, that must be it.
When I got married, my names still didn’t match. “Princess” and “Deer hunter?” Again, a princess would certainly have someone to slay deer for her, in a manner in which she would never have to witness the process. Fortunately, my husband does just that.
I also became one of at least three Sara Hartmans (or would the plural be Sara Hartmen?) in the Jefferson City area, including my niece and the daughter of my children’s principal. (The principal’s daughter has since married, but we still get mixed up now and then, usually when my path crosses with one of her former classmates.) This plethora of local Sara Hartmans made me wonder who else shares “my” name.
A Google internet search turned up many student athletes (cool!), a substance abuse counselor, a few YouTube videos, and a crew member for The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part 2. There is a reference to a joke sent by “Macintosh friend Sara Hartman.” That could be me as I use a Macintosh and do have at least a couple of friends, but the joke, though clever, is not one I would send. There are a myriad of genealogy hits, and plenty of social networking profiles, but no reference to any of my books until page 3. Blow to ego.
Do you or someone you know have an unusual or interesting name? Email me or leave a reply. It may turn up in a future post.
One of our quirky family pastimes is called the “IN Game.” It originated from watching ¡Three Amigos! (This movie is one of my favorites, but parents of young children should be forewarned that it does contain inappropriate language.)
After seeing the heroics of the Three Amigos in a movie, residents of Santa Poco, a small town in Mexico, want to hire the Three Amigos to scare off a gang of ne’er-do-wells that is terrorizing their village. Two of the city’s residents go to the telegram office to send a message to the Three Amigos, but the telegram officer has to edit it down to fit their budget. Of course the meaning is changed a bit, too.
The Three Amigos have just been fired by their movie company following a salary dispute when they receive the telegram:
Lucky Day (reading telegram): “Three Amigos, Hollywood, California. You are very great. 100,000 pesos. Come to Santa Poco put on show, stop. The in-famous El Guapo.”
Dusty Bottoms: What does that mean, in-famous?
Ned Nederlander: Oh, Dusty. In-famous is when you’re MORE than famous. This man El Guapo, he’s not just famous, he’s IN-famous.
Lucky Day: 100,000 pesos to perform with this El Guapo, who’s probably the biggest actor to come out of Mexico!
Dusty Bottoms: Wow, in-famous? IN-famous?
Hence, the genesis of the “IN Game”. We use the prefix in- to mean more than, instead of opposite. There are only a few simple rules.
First, you can’t use a word stem that doesn’t exist. For instance, you can’t try to put down a younger sibling by saying “You’re such a fant; you’re an IN-fant.” For that matter you can’t turn around and say “That’s such a sult; it’s an IN-sult,” either. There are more of these words than you would think.
Second, you can’t use words that actually need im- or un- to make them opposites. For example, “That’s so possible; it’s IN-possible,” or “That’s so fair; it’s IN-fair.’ Close, but no cigar. You must use the in- prefix properly.
Third, be sure to over-enunciate the in- prefix. It should sound like it is capitalized, italicized, written in bright red ink and several syllables in duration. This is probably the most important rule of the game.
Words fall into a few basic categories. There are run-of-the-mill in- words, like
It’s so destructible; it’s IN-destructible!
That’s so voluntary; it’s IN-voluntary!
You’re so considerate; you’re IN-considerate!
That’s so adequate; it’s IN-adequate!
There are words that actually mean the same thing, such as
It’s so flammable; it’s IN-flammable!
(There aren’t a lot of these. I know we have come up with one other, but I can’t remember it right now.)
And there are vocabulary-building words, for example
I’m so defatigable; I’m IN-defatigable!
There is even a Princess Bride category. Instead of telling Fezzini that he doesn’t think that word means what he thinks it does, Inigo could have played “It’s so conceivable; it’s IN-conceivable!”
The “IN Game” is great to play on long car trips when everyone is bored. It’s usually sparked by an innocent comment, such as “This trip is interminable!” whereupon everyone else in the car chimes in “It’s so terminable; it’s IN-terminable!” Then you’re off and running, and the trip doesn’t seem so long after all. It’s also great at defusing arguments. How can someone stay mad at you when you throw them a “You’re so sane; you’re IN-sane?”
I invite you to try it. E-mail me your best “IN Game” entry or leave a reply, and I will publish the best sometime in the future.
Once our trip to Alaska was planned, I nurtured a dream of seeing the Northern Lights, preferably over Mount McKinley. The odds weren’t great for seeing Mount McKinley; its peak is visible less than 30% of the time. On the other hand, the aurora borealis is most active near the equinox and there had been recent solar flares, both in my favor. However, the sky must be clear.
My dream: aurora borealis over Denali.
With rain in the forecast for both days we would spend in Denali National Park, it wasn’t looking good. The train ride up was enjoyable, despite the rain. Our tour guide, Sarah, kept up a stream of steady commentary on Alaska in general and our current location in specific, pointing out such notable scenery as Sarah Palin’s alleged driveway in Wasilla and the so-called “Dr. Seuss House” near Willow. A few lucky folks on the other side of the train saw a moose, but our side was not as fortunate.
Sarah, our tour guide on the observation deck train.“Dr. Seuss House” near Willow, AK.
Four hours later the train pulled into Talkeetna, Alaska. The rain had let up to a slow steady drizzle, so Phil and I decided to spend some time in that charming hamlet. We ate lunch at The Roadhouse, which has been featured in Man v. Food on The Travel Channel. Phil ordered their signature dish, a reindeer hot dog with chili, while I had a salmon and rice pasty; both were warm and filling. On our way out, we picked up a slice of cheesecake for later from their extensive bakery.
Talkeetna is the point of debarkation for excursions to Mount McKinley, and the ranger station is a must see. It is warm and dry, and the rangers are friendly. Sarah from the train told us they had the nicest bathrooms in town, and she was right. We watched a short film about the mountain and looked around the great room that featured books and exhibits on mountaineering gear as well as a notebook chock full of statistics on attempts to scale Denali, complete with a list of fatalities and their causes. Honestly, I have never understood the appeal of mountain climbing. It’s arduous and extremely cold. What’s to like, I ask in all sincerity.
The rest of Talkeetna is a short strip of eateries, a microbrewery, a museum in a former one-room school, souvenir shops, a couple of art galleries, and an assortment of flightseeing and other wilderness outfitters. Almost all of the excursions were cancelled due to inclement weather. It only took a couple of hours to explore the shops, then we found a little coffee shop and stopped for another chance to dry off and warm up before heading to the bus stop for a trip to the McKinley Princess Wilderness Lodge.
The lodge is about 50 miles from Talkeetna, an hour on the bus, just long enough to savor a refill on my hot tea and share the cheesecake from the Roadhouse. The lodge was about what we expected from a cruise line, nice in the catering-to-the-crowd sense. There was a main lodge with a couple of restaurants, a gift shop, and a tour desk. We checked in and bought tickets to the evening “Norhtern Lights Photosymphony.” Unlike a cruise, meals and entertainment are not included. We ate at the mid-range 20,320 Cafe, where just like a cruise, the food is nondescript. The room was nice, and much larger than a ship cabin, though not as charming as the Anchorage Grand Hotel. We waited for our bags to be delivered, then headed back to the main lodge, the only location with wi-fi.
On the way back to the lodge, we saw that the fog had lifted enough to see the outlines of Mount McKinley through the vapor. I thought that it would be all-or-nothing see it or not, so I was quite pleased. We stopped at the front desk to ask for a wake-up call in case the Northern Lights were visible, spent some quality time with our iPads and headed down to the “photosymphony.” Our tickets bought us each a stacking chair in a conference room watching morphed time-lapse photos of the aurora borealis projected onto a wall and set to classical music selections over a tinny speaker system. The idea has potential; it really does. Play it in a nice auditorium with tiered seating, a big screen and surround sound speakers and it would have been $16 well spent. As it was, though, not so much.
Mount McKinley through misty rain and fog.
Sadly, there was no midnight aurora call, and we awoke to another cold, gray, rainy morning. After breakfast we meandered back to the main lodge to check out excursion options for the day. All flight options cancelled. No luck on horseback riding, either, although we could take a horse drawn wagon ride. (Excuse me? I didn’t come all the way to Alaska for a hay ride!) Neither of us is interested in fly fishing or ATVs. Wait a minute: the Byer’s Lake Nature Walk looks promising. Unfortunately, that’s no longer available because the guide went back to college. Besides, there is a minimum of three people. Not looking good . . . not looking good. We may have to spend the entire day in the lodge with several busloads of retirees to keep us company.
By now we have narrowed our options to one: the Denali Wilderness Hike. “Explore Alaska’s spectacular wilderness on an exhilarating trek with an experienced naturalist guide. Hike through lush vegetation along forested trails while your guide tells you about the local history and wildlife of the area. Denali State Park is famous for its trails, wildlife, and stunning views of nearby Mt. McKinley. Weather permitting, climb 1200 feet from lush forest to treeline for panoramic views of Alaska Range peaks and glaciers. Photographic opportunities abound-from majestic alpine vistas to delicate wildflowers and berries. Denali hiking doesn’t get any better than this! This is a great trip in any weather. Enjoy a fresh, healthy picnic lunch while scanning the mountainside and valleys for foraging bears.” But wait – there’s more! “Hike is 5 to 7 miles and may involve challenging terrain on park trails. Participants must be in good physical condition and be able to sustain a high level of activity. Wear sturdy shoes. Bring raingear, insect repellant, and bottled water. Dress for the weather. Limited raingear, hats, gloves and overboots are provided.” Even better news: this hike has a minimum of two participants. We have a winner! The excursion was scheduled for 2:00p.m.
That left us with plenty of time to gear up. We had brought our hiking boots and rain gear. It was cold so we dressed in layers. I packed up my trusty Canon Rebel digital SLR camera and some protein bars. Back at the lodge, two more hikers had signed on – Dave and Pat from Wisconsin. We met our tour guide, Mackenzie, and headed out.
Once at Byers Lake, Mackenzie had us pack lunches (pasta salad, peanuts, granola bars, fruit snacks and juice plus chocolate bars for those who can eat them) and offered us some additional rain gear. We accepted her offer of hiking sticks, rain hats and Neo overboots. (Important excursion tip: follow all recommendations from your guide. S/He knows what s/he is doing!) Mackenzie loaded our lunches in her backpack and we started our tour.
Byers Lake is fed by spring rather than glacier. Unfortunately the rain precluded us from hiking up to the tree line because the paths were too slippery. Instead we hiked around the lake and took a side trip to a waterfall, made extra spectacular by the extra rain. Along the way we sampled wild cranberries, raspberries and blueberries.
Waterfall at Byer Lake.
We saw evidence of a bear (paw prints and berry-laden scat) but no actual bear. No moose either, despite the large bog we passed. We saw plenty of geese, however, and trumpeter swans and a huge beaver lodge.
Fresh bear paw print.Fresh bear scat with berries.
Although the hike was described as strenuous, none of us had any trouble keeping up the brisk pace that Mackenzie set. The scenery was beautiful with vivid autumn colors, although many times we were too busy slogging through shin-deep water to notice much of our surroundings. The Neo boots were worth their weight in gold. My low-cut hiking boots were still dry at the end of the six mile hike, although most everything else was soaked through despite our rain gear.
Soaked through (except for feet!) at end of hike.
Back at the lodge, I was eager to try out the hot tub, until I found out it was outdoors. I settled for a hot shower and was moderately successful in getting the black dye from the gloves I had borrowed off my hands. Another night passed without an aurora alert.
By the time the next morning dawned, rainy yet again, we were ready to head back to Anchorage. With several hours between checkout and our afternoon train, we headed back to Talkeetna to once more roam the shops, ranger station and coffee shop. The return train ride had a different ambiance, featuring tables of four rather than traditional seating. This time we opted to dine on the train and when we returned to our seats had a very pleasant surprise – sunshine! – rendering the scenery much more dramatic on the return trip.
Mountains in sunshine! (Picture taken on cell phone due to non-operational waterlogged camera.)
We arrived in Anchorage about 8:00p.m. and headed directly to the Airport Mariott to spend the night in an pleasant but ordinary hotel room. We would have loved to return to the Anchorage Grand Hotel, but a 6:00a.m. flight necessitated an airport hotel with shuttle. Our Alaskan adventure was winding down. We repacked our luggage, choosing to carry on the bare minimum and check the rest, a decision that would come to play on our fateful trip home, which you may have already read about in Putting the Drama in Dramamine.
Even without seeing the Northern Lights or Mount McKinley, Alaska was a great destination and we’d love to go back someday.
Alaska’s state motto always reminds me of Star Trek. Or maybe Star Trek’s mission statement reminds me of Alaska. Either way, this web log entry is all about our recent trip to The Last Frontier.
Phil and I originally envisioned a trip to someplace warm (Costa Rica, Barbados, Jamaica) for our anniversary in November, combining frequent flyer miles from last year’s trip to Vietnam. Quickly learning that it would require many more miles to fly to the Caribbean, we regrouped to brainstorm about places in the United States that we would like to visit. Alaska was at the top of the list for both of us. An internet search showed that rail tours were discounted at the end of the season in September, then a quick calendar check miraculously revealed six days tucked in between can’t-miss school, work, volunteer, child and parent responsibilities. The trip was on!
It took three flights and nearly fifteen hours to travel to Anchorage from Columbia, Missouri. We gained three hours in time zone changes, however, and arrived in the early evening. We elected to stay at the Anchorage Grand Hotel for its downtown location and proximity to the train station. Excellent choice! It’s a charming older hotel with a sitting area and kitchenette in each suite. Highly recommended.
Downtown Anchorage scenery.
The first evening we strolled around the shops in downtown Anchorage and asked locals for a recommendation for a light dinner. We were directed to the F Street Station. (No web site, but you can see reviews and menu here.) It turned out to be an Irish pub with a bush pilot theme, and the food was great – I will never enjoy the manager’s special salmon from Gerbes quite as much ever again.
The only bear we saw in Alaska.
Thursday we enjoyed a full day in Anchorage. The hotel offers a continental breakfast, which turned out to be a bag hung on the doorknob filled with bagels and cream cheese, granola bars, instant oatmeal and apple juice. Aside from being all carbs, it’s really rather brilliant – nothing that needs to be refrigerated and everything except the oatmeal can be eaten on the go. We were out and about early and enjoyed a stroll through a very quiet downtown before heading to the Anchorage Museum. Part art, part cultural, part history, part children’s and totally enjoyable. Smithsonian has an extremely well-done permanent Arctic Studies Center at the museum with thousands of tribal artifacts, including waterproof parkas constructed from marine mammal bladders.
Decorative bladder parka.
In one of the current exhibits, Finding My Song, artist Da-Ka-Xeen Mehner combines his heritage with music and art to explore efforts to retain native Alaskan languages. One wall presented a series of faces molded into rawhide drum heads. I’m not sure what activated the display, but as we perused the drum heads they unexpectedly illuminated and projected the images and sounds of chanting natives. (Yes, I jumped.)
Singing drumhead.
We also took in paintings by Alaska artists, the story of scaling Mount McKinley, the history of the Alaskan pipeline, the heritage of whaling, and so much more that it is hard to keep it all straight. We could have stayed all day and not absorbed it all, but we had another activity planned for the afternoon.
A Taste of Anchorage combines Alaskan history and cuisine in a walking tour of downtown Anchorage eateries. We turned out to be the only ones on the tour that day and spent a couple of diverting hours with our host, Damon. He did an outstanding job accommodating my no-caffeine no-blue-cheese dietary restrictions. We sampled truffles (dark chocolate with salmon, cayenne and cinnamon for Phil; white chocolate with black cherries for me), Philadelphia beefsteak egg rolls, soup (caribou vegetable and creamy chicken), savory tea, salmon and artichoke pizza, caribou sausage, and crepes (chocolate and strawberry for Phil; lemon creme for me) – prepared with locally grown ingredients. Somewhere along the line we asked about Alaskan wines, and Damon graciously added an extra stop to sample local berry vintages. I am a huge proponent of local businesses and niche marketing, so kudos to Damon. I hope he is back next season.
Following our culinary tour, we strolled around downtown a bit longer and visited a few more shops, including the Anchorage edition of the Apple Store and the Oomingmak musk ox producers co-op in the tiniest store ever. Then we returned to the hotel to finish our pizza and turn in early for our 8am train ride to Mount McKinley.
Tune in next week for our Denali National Park adventures.
A sold-out Delta flight from Anchorage to Minneapolis-St. Paul on a Boeing 757-200 airplane accommodates 184 passengers. (I know this because I looked it up.) Such was the case last Monday as Phil and I were returning from our trip to Anchorage and Denali National Park.
We had enjoyed our mini-vacation, despite rainy weather that precluded seeing either Mount McKinley or the aurora borealis. We were able to fit quite a bit into a four-and-a-half day stay, carefully sandwiched between major responsibilities back home. Phil had several meetings scheduled at work on Tuesday, while I looked forward to a day to unpack, do laundry and decompress before an evening school board meeting and medical appointments for my mother-in-law on Wednesday.
At the Anchorage airport, we declined an offer to trade our seats for future airline travel vouchers and stumbled – along with 182 equally bleary-eyed traveling companions – onto the 6 a.m. flight. I scooted into the window seat, Phil folded his 6’4” frame into the middle seat, and we settled in for the first leg of our trek home. Flight 1084 was scheduled to be airborne just under five and a half hours. With three flights, two layovers and the loss of three hours crossing time zones, we anticipated arriving home around 10 p.m.
About the time we expected the announcement that it was safe to move about the aircraft, we instead heard, “If there is a medical doctor on the flight, please make yourself known to the flight crew.” As a doctor arrived from first class, the rest of us were asked to remain in our seats.
The doctor and several flight attendants converged on a man situated across the aisle and five rows or so ahead of our Row 39 seats. We overheard snippets of conversation about chest pain and headache. The doctor started an IV, and had a flight attendant fetch an oxygen tank.
The remainder of the flight attendants gamely attended to the rest of the passengers, bringing beverages two by two from the galley. I could see a wide-open drip from the IV bag, which was hanging from a suitcase handle in the overhead bin. As soon as it was finished, a new bag was started.
About midway through both the flight and a third bag of fluids, the captain informed us that the flight would be diverted for a medical emergency. Edmonton, Alberta was the nearest airport and passengers would need to remain in their seats while the medical crew transported the patient. Since it was an unscheduled stop in a foreign country, nobody could leave the plane.
About 15 minutes the plane made a bumpy landing in Edmonton. We could see an ambulance and a fire truck waiting at the terminal. A team of EMTs entered the plane and tended to the man. I was relieved to hear him respond to their questions. He complained of a headache, fatigue and dizziness, but no chest pain at that time. The EMTs moved him to a gurney. I expected him to be an elderly gentleman, but from the back, he appeared to be in his 40s.
The passengers applauded as he was taken off the airplane. The captain thanked us for our patience and assured us that we would be back in the air as soon as possible.
An hour passed. The plane started to get warm and stuffy. The flight attendants served beverages again, more efficiently this time since they were able to utilize their carts.
The captain made another announcement to explain the delay. First, because we were only halfway through our flight, the plane had not burned all of its fuel and we landed overweight. A mechanic would have to inspect the plane to approve it for takeoff. Second, the onboard oxygen that had been used would have to be replaced before departure. He did not know how long it would take, but hoped we would be back in the air shortly as he knew that many passengers were worried about making their connections.
Our seatmate, George, was one of them. On her way back to Buffalo, New York, she had just a 45-minute layover in Minneapolis. She was worried about how the delay would affect her dog, traveling in the cargo hold.
The flight attendants distributed headsets and started some TV episodes on the overhead screens. Another hour passed. Following a series of apologies, the captain made the welcome announcement that passengers would be allowed to deplane, as long as we stayed in the immediate terminal area. Otherwise we would officially enter Canada and would be required to clear customs to reboard the airplane. We would have access to restrooms and an area to stretch our legs, but no shops or restaurants.
There were, however, friendly and helpful airport personnel, free wifi, plenty of charging stations, and sunshine. Phil and I caught up on e-mail and Facebook.
Flight attendants set up an area to arrange alternate connecting flights. George talked to the ground crew, who took her dog for a walk. Some passengers made calls to explain delays or reschedule meetings and appointments. Phil called our eldest daughter to apprise her of our delay. Delta brought in bottled soda, water and juice, and sandwiches for a lucky few.
Finally a mechanic approved the plane for takeoff, an FAA-approved oxygen canister was located, and the passengers reboarded the plane. By the time we arrived in Minneapolis, we were five hours behind schedule and the sun was setting.
As we waited in yet another line for hotel and meal vouchers and tickets for flights the next day, a woman behind us remarked that this was a lot of trouble caused by an idiot not taking proper care of himself. “What?” I asked, “I thought it was a heart attack.” She had been seated within a couple of rows of the man and heard all of the conversations with the doctor on board and the EMTs in Edmonton. Turns out it was not a heart attack at all. He had taken too much Dramamine on an empty stomach.
Seriously? He overdosed on Dramamine? I couldn’t begin to calculate the cost of our diverted flight. Nearly 200 people were affected, most of whom had missed a connecting flight and were spending the night in Minneapolis at Delta’s expense (although without checked luggage). How many seats went unfilled on missed flights? How many passengers, including at least one physician on board, would miss a day of work? . . . important appointments or meetings? . . . a special event with family or friends?
While I am aggravated that this man inconvenienced a lot of people, I am also relieved that he was not seriously ill. I am also grateful not to be in his position: hospitalized in a foreign country, possibly without a passport. I have no idea what kind of arrangements had to be made to get him home. Canada offers national health care to its residents, but does that extend to foreigners? If not, he may be facing a whopping out-of-network expense.
Although Phil missed a day of work and I missed a school board meeting, there was a bright spot in our delay. My brother lives in the Twin Cities and Phil and I were able to meet him and his wife for lunch. Our remaining flights were uneventful and we arrived home exactly 24 hours after we anticipated. Our kids survived the extra day just fine and we have an extra story from our vacation.
And the moral of the story is: know your medications. Read the package directions even if it is over the counter and you’ve taken it successfully a million times before. Keep the drama out of Dramamine.
Shortly after my surgery I was fortunate to find a second online support group. This one was for acoustic neuroma patients, but thanks to one of life’s little ironies there is actually a higher risk for facial paralysis during surgery on the eighth cranial (acoustic) nerve than on the seventh (facial). This forum had a section dedicated to post-surgical facial effects, and they were kind enough to let me join their group.
One of my newfound internet friends, “LADavid,” was an aspiring actor and author. You may have seen him in Reba, NCIS, Alias or Brothers & Sisters. If you saw Transformers, you surely noticed his red-stockinged feet as he asked a stewardess to round him up some Ding Dongs. He was a stand-in for the 2007 movies Slipstream and The Bucket List. That October he appeared in a TV Guide print ad for Cave Man. Then, in early December, David Shannon was blindsided by a triple whammy following acoustic neuroma surgery: hearing loss, facial palsy and impaired balance.
David’s combination of complications cut his acting career short, but he refocused his creative energy into writing. This summer, David’s memoir was published. Sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes humorous and always honest, Hell in the Head: My War with a Brain Tumor and Other Evil Things is a frank look at how, with the help of God, family and friends, the human spirit adapts to the unexpected.
In addition to his personal story, David has gathered a wealth of background information related to acoustic neuromas, treatment options and potential complications – information that he did not have going into his surgery. Hell in the Head is available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble,
David’s next venture is a mystery suspense novel. He is also interested in developing screenplays.
I had the good fortune to meet David last New Year’s Eve during a layover at LAX on the way home from visiting Hanna in Vietnam. The flight had been turbulent (a story for another time) and Phil and I were both feeling the effects. Unfortunately I was not up to the long conversation about our writing careers that I had eagerly anticipated, but David was a godsend: kind, considerate and helpful in getting us to our next flight.
I’m not sure how to calculate David’s odds. The incidence of acoustic neuroma is roughly twice that of HFS, but he scored the triple threat of complications. Let’s just say he is definitely a member of the One in a Million Club.
I experienced a life-altering event in 2008. It’s too complicated to include in a getting-to-know-you piece, and would likely keep me from going on Jeopardy! even should I someday pass their wretched test.
In 2002 I was diagnosed with a rare neurological condition called Hemifacial Spasm. HFS is caused by irritation to the seventh cranial nerve. This may be due to a tumor, multiple sclerosis, or as in my case, a blood vessel coming into contact with it and wearing away the myelin sheath. The irritation causes nerve impulses to backfire and the affected side of the face twitches, intermittently and uncontrollably. This is disfiguring, disconcerting and exhausting.
The estimated incidence of hemifacial spasm is one in 100,000. There are three treatment options: medication, Botox, and surgery.
The medications for HFS are also used for epilepsy, the theory being to calm nerve impulses. Unfortunately, drug therapy is notoriously ineffective in controlling hemifacial spasm. I tried three or four different medications. None gave more than slight relief and all had bothersome side effects. To be honest, one of them did cause me to lose a significant amount of weight, which was actually welcome, but it also caused my fingers and toes to go numb and my lips to turn purple. The one that was best in taking the edge off the spasms quite literally made me stupid. Mid-sentence I would be unable to come up with the next word. My neurologist tried to convince me that it due to the natural aging process, but I knew otherwise. For a writer, this was a very sorry state of affairs.
Most people know of Botox as a wrinkle reducer, but it also has therapeutic applications – for example, helping children with cerebral palsy deal with muscle spasticity. Technically a poison, Botulism toxin works by paralyzing a muscle so that it can’t react to the nerve impulses it receives. In the case of HFS patients, injections into affected muscles around the eye, cheek and mouth gives three months or so of relief from spasms, when properly administered. A little too much, though, and the patient will look like he or she had a stroke until the effects of the toxin wear off. Despite the drawbacks, many HFS patients are satisfied with Botox treatments, although over time the body develops a tolerance and the time between treatments will become shorter.
I was petrified of a bad experience, but once my spasms reached the point of being the first thing I felt in the morning and the last thing I experienced as I fell asleep at night, I decided to give Botox a shot (pun intended). On injection day, I expressed my fears to the neurologist. His response? I read too much and once I had the treatment I would be entirely satisfied and live happily ever after. Just before moving into the procedure room, he asked me to sign a waiver that I would not hold him responsible should any of those unfortunate incidents, or a few others I had not even thought of, occur. He refused to recognize the irony in this, even when pointed out.
Did you know that Botox shots really hurt? (Seriously – I now possess a grudging admiration for celebrities who subject themselves to periodic punishment in the name of youth and beauty.) I got four or five injections around my eye, mainly in the upper lid, one in my cheek and one by my mouth. Then the doctor told me that I would see the effect in about two weeks and it should last for three months. The next afternoon I was reading a book when I noticed that my left eye was itchy. I went to the bathroom to check it, and discovered that I COULD NOT BLINK THAT EYE. So much for two weeks. Over the next few months the muscles that were injected did stay calm. However, the surrounding muscles twitched in their stead. One muscle in my forehead was so active that it gave me what to this day I fondly call my “Botox wrinkle.” On the advice of my ophthalmologist, who did not like what dry eye could do to my vision, I cancelled my three month follow-up.
After six years of intensifying spasms, brain surgery started looking better and better. I saw patient after patient on the web support group I belonged to report excellent results. Because HFS is a rare disorder, there are very few surgeons who specialize in the microvascular decompression (MVD) surgery to repair it. I selected a neurosurgeon, “Dr. C,” who had trained under the doctor who pioneered the surgery and had significant experience but wasn’t yet approaching retirement age. Miraculously, my insurance company approved my out-of-network request right away.
My surgery took place June 2, 2008. I awoke to a raging headache and extreme nausea and knew even before touching it that the left side of my face was paralyzed. I was also deaf in that ear. Dr. C reported that everything went reasonably well during surgery and he padded two arteries and half a vein before he felt he had to quit. He described my nerves as “unhappy” during the surgery but noted that the facial nerve was responding to stimulation during the entire procedure. Usually that is good news, but he somberly stated that he had a “bad feeling” about my facial nerve. He said that after three months I could consider a nerve graft, and recommended a surgeon at the University of Missouri if I wanted to stay closer to home.
At my pre-op consultation, Dr. C had told us that about one in ten patients comes out of the surgery with some degree of facial weakness or paralysis. At my post-op exam, he added that about one in ten of that group sees no recovery from the paralysis. After four years, I estimate that about 65-70% of my facial function has returned. That’s the equivalent of “D-” on an exam, but on the bright side, I have regained “symmetry at rest,” meaning that impairment is not noticeable in a neutral expression. I can manage a small smile, but my former toothy grin is gone forever. My mouth looks funky when I talk, but I have discovered that one-on-one, people tend to focus on my eyes rather than my mouth. In fact, most people do not notice anything wrong. My blink function is not normal, but I can close my eye and even wink if I concentrate. I need to keep lubricating gel on my eye at all times, but I have adapted to the half-fuzzy vision. I am very thankful that I had LASIK surgery pre-MVD, because I would not be a suitable candidate now. I have recovered about 85% of my hearing and these days only notice the deficit in crowds and large spaces.
That is how I literally became one in a million. One in 100,000 for hemifacial spasm and one in ten for facial paralysis following surgery. I am thankful not to be the one in ten million who never recovers any facial function.
Romans 8:28 tells us that “in all things God works for the good of those who love Him.” At first I had a difficult time believing that anything good could come from facial paralysis, but I have been blessed to meet some wonderful people who share the same fate. Some, like me, had hemifacial spasm, while others were diagnosed with another rare neurological disorder called acoustic neuroma.
