Questions for a loved one

Yesterday I read an article about end of life conversations. As I read the advice being given I reflected on the only end of life conversation I’ve participated in. 

My mom, Cynthia Bademosi, was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in January 2016. Before being given the official analysis, in our hearts we already knew. Auntie Marlene, my mom’s younger sister, had had Parkinson’s, as did her son, Kwame. So as a family, we intimately understood the disease and recognized the symptoms when they started showing up in my mother. We were in denial at first but after a while, we had to face facts and accept reality.

My mother was pragmatic. She maintained her health regimen and focused on wellness. My brothers and I supported and encouraged her to live fully and do everything she wanted.

We started on the journey to learn more and do more to help our mother. As part of my research I had a conversation with a friend who is a healthcare professional. A piece of advice she gave was to have an end of life conversation with mommy so we could understand what she wanted when the time came when she could no longer make decisions for herself.

In October 2016 my brothers and I decided we had to have the conversation. I went to my mom’s house to carefully broach the subject. How do you say to someone that you want to talk about the unthinkable – death – hers?

I still can’t remember how I worked up the nerve to say we have to talk – but I do remember my mom’s reaction. She was all over it. She indicated that she wanted to have this talk. She had been discussing it with her friends and wanted to sit down with us, her kids, to share her thoughts and wishes. 

I did not see that coming!

We picked a Sunday afternoon to go to my brother’s house to talk. The four of us were there. I was armed with my researched questions and I lead the conversation. Tears. Choking emotions. Overwhelming denial. We experienced this and more.

The only thing that made that hour better was my mom. She was ready and prepared. She knew what she wanted and didn’t hesitate to make her thoughts known. She was clear of mind and focused. Having worked in healthcare most of her professional life she knew what to expect when her health started to decline. One of the things I will always remember was her saying, hearing is the last thing to go. “Read these bible verses to me and this is the music I want playing.” She provided a long list of both.

Here are some of the questions we asked:

When you can no longer make decisions for yourself who do you want to make financial decisions for you?

When you can no longer make decisions for yourself who do you want to make medical decisions for you?

Do you have a preference in a care giver – male or female?

When the time comes, what type of service do you want?

Zen in Kuala Lumpur

Yesterday I was reminded of the day I promised to listen more and not speak for five hours.

I was helping a friend who was getting her life coaching certification. She needed real people to work with in order to get the mandated hours she needed. Always in search of new tools, I agreed to be her client. We started the process in Bermuda and it continued while I traveled. I remember I was in Kuala Lumpur for one of our Skype sessions. I had already mastered my commitment to exercising. I now needed to focus on my inner health and wellbeing.

My assignment was to be in silence for five hours. How hard could that be? I was alone in a country where I knew no one and I didn’t speak the language. This was a done deal.

I carefully chose the day I would experience heightened consciousness. I knew I could do this. I knew I would be that much wiser and more in touch with my inner essence by the end of the five hours.

That morning I got up and went for breakfast. It was buffet so I didn’t have to talk. Hold on, how do I order coffee? I had to get coffee. So I delayed my silence start. After I signed my tab, my silence clock began.

This was the day I had also decided to do a tour of Kuala Lumpur. It was an on and off bus. Each stop you could get off or stay on the bus. I was two hours into the tour. All was going well. I was on the top deck, experiencing the city, listening to what was going on around me. I was in silent bliss. Then some folk sat behind me. I felt a tap on my shoulder and they asked where I got the city map.

Like I said, I was two hours into the silence experience. Did I open my mouth and tell them where they could find the map or pretend I didn’t understand? I was compelled to speak. I couldn’t help myself, I told them.

Damn! The end of my silence. I couldn’t do it for more than two hours? This was not good. I hadn’t discovered my inner calm, I hadn’t focused on my breath, I hadn’t quietened my mind and become a genius.

With a sigh, I got off the bus and headed back to my hotel. Clearly the only way I could discover zen in Kuala Lumpur was to sit in my room and be in silence.

OCD at 35,000 Feet

I recently returned from a vacation in the Middle East. I was on ten flights over a three week period. 

This was my itinerary:

September 1: Bermuda – NYC – Dubai – Bahrain

September 9: Bahrain – Dubai – Lebanon

September 14: Lebanon – Dubai

September 17: Dubai – London

September 21: London – Dubai – NYC – Bermuda 

Let me make a confession here – despite all the leisure travel I have undertaken over the years, geography isn’t my strength. My travel details looked good until you get to September 17. In my defense, when I booked my tickets I didn’t realise London was seven and a half hours away from Dubai so when I decided to get a round trip ticket from Dubai to London, I thought I was doing a two or three hour flight. 

Needless to say, September 21 was the longest day of my life. I left London at noon Bermuda time on Friday and didn’t get home until 10pm Bermuda time on Saturday night. Basically almost 24 hours in the air. (Don’t try this at home kids).

Having said that, I had some interesting conversations on the flight from Dubai to London. This helped to pass away the hours, considering I was in a middle seat in the centre aisle in the middle of a full plane. Yes, the struggle is real – and so is claustrophobic. And no, I didn't buy business or first class seats.

I had a Ugandan-born business man of Indian descent on my right and a white South African woman on my left. Talk about international travel companions.

I knew I had found my OCD soulmate when the lady on my left pulled out some wipes and started cleaning down the tray in front of her, every aspect of the tray and the arms of the seat. I asked if I could have a wipe because mine were in my backpack in the overhead compartment. Not only did she give me some wipes she also put antibacterial gel on it because the wipes weren’t anti-bacterial.

Who could ask for more than that? I then proceeded to share all my OCD knowledge with her - research has shown that the dirtiest things on planes on the trays because cleaning staff don’t pay close attention to them and parents use them to change their kids’ diapers. 

I then went on to share my thoughts on being germ free while traveling – clean the light switches and door handles when you are in a hotel and for God’s sake, sterilize the remote control. Never walk barefoot through security and how often do you think the condiment containers are cleaned on restaurant tables?

The lady listened patiently as I shared my scary knowledge of germs and she added a few thoughts of her own. Luckily, we ran out of frightening OCD facts quickly which allowed us to have a conversation about South Africa and why she lives there as a white woman and the contributions she wants to make to her country.

Together with the gentleman on my right, who shared with me the basis of his company and his plans for the future, I was not at a loss for conversation. I felt as though I was able to get some unique insight into my travel companions, insight I wouldn’t have gotten had I stuck to my usual travel routine, sit down put in my earphones and pretend to listen to music while reading my Kindle.

Now, back to my travel itinerary. Yeah, probably not the best way to move around the world. I knew this when, near the end of my travels, one of the Emirates Airlines staff said she had never heard of anyone flying from London to Dubai to get to New York. I figured, I have three weeks to get there and back. Why not double up and go to Dubai airport, just one more time.

Have passport, will travel

 Traveling can be extremely stressful. What time does the flight leave? What time do we have to leave for the airport? Will there be long security lines? Will the flight be on time? Will the plane be full or can I stretch out? Do I have my passport?

I made the decision to visit Sierra Leone a week before I was due to leave. As soon as I made up my mind I sent my passport off to the embassy in Washington DC so I could get a visa. Once the passport was safely in the hands of the courier service, I started planning my trip.

My friend Ngadi and her family were already in Freetown, I knew she would take care of all the on-the-ground arrangements, I just had to arrive. Easier said than done.

I was traveling: Bermuda - London - Belgium - Freetown. I had to overnight in Belgium.

My flights and hotel in Belgium were booked. It was now the Wednesday, before the Friday I was to start the first leg of my journey and everything was ready for my impromptu vacation except I didn’t have my Bermuda passport back. I called the embassy. A very nice gentleman assured me he had my passport and it was sitting right there on the desk – ready to leave. I thought – cool. All is in order. I had a return tracking number so I would know where my passport was at any given time.

Wednesday evening, I checked on line – no movement. Not a problem. I was confident, it would still arrive by Friday. I called the courier – just to make sure I had the latest information. The person corroborated what the website tracker said – no movement from the embassy. Thursday dawned bright and clear. A great day to receive a passport. Just to be on the safe side, I called the embassy. In fact, because each time I called I didn’t get a warm body, I ended up calling 17 times, to no avail. I didn’t talk to anyone. 17 times!

Friday morning dawned equally bright and clear but panic was setting in. The courier website said, ‘keep dreaming, you aren’t getting a passport today!’ I knew drastic action was needed. I called the embassy. The first attempt – I got a live body. Yes. They have my passport. Still. I was incredulous. Why haven’t they sent it? Instead of creating animosity by asking uncomfortable questions, I asked if I could get someone to collect it on my behalf. They were extremely cooperative. I gave them Angie’s government name (because Angie isn’t her real name) and told them she would collect it on my behalf.

I called Angie and explained the situation to her. Mark and I had talked that morning and he suggested that I not involve Angie in my drama as she was in Washington DC to attend her daughter’s graduation, not run around the city trying to break into embassies. However, I didn’t heed that piece of advice. I knew my girl Angie would move heaven and earth to help me.

Needless to say, she is one of the heroes in this tale. She got the passport and FedExed it to my hotel in Brussels. I had the tracking number so I knew where it was every second of every day. I started my journey on another passport (having more than one is extremely handy), secure in the knowledge that I would get to Sierra Leone with minimal fuss. Although I was scheduled to leave on Sunday morning, the passport wouldn’t arrive until Monday. Starting my vacation a day late wasn’t too bad.

I got to the airport in Brussels with every intent of changing my ticket to Monday, only to learn, there are no Monday flights to Sierra Leone! How is this possible? I won’t arrive until Tuesday evening? I would only have two full days in Freetown before I had to return to Bermuda? Sigh. Such is life. I was too jetlagged to make a 400 euro flight change fee decision. I figured I would sleep on it. I checked into the hotel. Went to sleep for a few hours. Upon waking up, I talked to the front desk and added two nights to my stay.

I got a good night’s sleep and woke up after 7am. I was lying in bed and leisurely checking my messages. I casually stopped at the FedEx site to see where in the world my passport was. Whoa! It was in Belgium. I Googled the location of the Machelen facility and found out it was ten minutes away by car. Ten minutes. It was 7:30am. Why not get up, get dressed and take a taxi out to the processing centre and see if they could find my passport and then I could leave on Sunday at 12:10pm as planned.

I hurriedly dressed and ordered a taxi. There was enough time to grab a coffee (of course). I gave the driver the address of the facility and off we went. Ten minutes later we arrived at a deserted FedEx facility. I banged on doors, looked through windows, hoping to see someone. Walked around the building and found two guys working. Luckily the taxi driver spoke Flemish and English and so was my interpreter. The guys couldn’t really help but offered to call the boss. The taxi driver called no less than ten times. We couldn’t raise him. I eventually asked if there was someone else who could help. The assistant manager. We got her on the first try. She speaks English! I explained my predicament. She agreed to come in to help find the package but needed the workers to help her. They agreed. She wouldn’t arrive for another 30 minutes.

I decided to go back to the hotel, pack my bags and return. If they had my passport, I could grab it and go straight to the airport. If they couldn’t find it, Plan B would go into effect, three unexpected days in the city of, arguably, some of the best chocolate in the world.

As soon as I arrived, they said they had the package!! I provided the appropriate ID and signed my life away. Jumped back into the cab and dashed to the airport. We made it in record time. I was ecstatic until the driver’s credit card machine didn’t work. I was like, I’m not missing my flight when I’m this close. I started wondering what I could barter if the machine kept declining my card. He turned if off and then started banging on it – I didn’t think this was an effective turn-on method but far be it for me to criticize the man who was responsible for driving me between the hotel and FedEx and who learned English 25 years ago for precisely this day. The machine finally worked, my card was accepted and I sprinted to check-in and gleefully showed my Sierra Leone visa firmly affixed to my Bermuda passport.

Thank you FedEx for going over and beyond in your customer service! Thank you English- and Flemish-speaking Belgian taxi driver who gave me his personal number for next time ... Thank you Angie Farquharson (my go-to BFF who will ALWAYS get the job done)! Do I have my passport? Check.

Investing 101100010101110001.0

I haven’t written in a long, long time but I felt the urge to put something on digital paper to share my thoughts.

By now you would have heard about bitcoin, blockchain, distributed ledger technology. If you haven’t it’s not too late … Google is your friend. Google the heck out of these words and then hold on for the ride of your life. I’m serious. This stuff is serious. Life is serious – well maybe life shouldn’t be serious. But that’s a topic for another blog.

Three months ago, I knew nothing about these topics, I knew they were important but I didn’t know what they meant and how they pertained to me. Then I had to write something significant about it for work. So, I did what you are going to do. One evening I sat at my dining room table with a glass of wine, some music in the background and started Googling. First I went to YouTube, sometimes watching a seven minute video is the fastest way to learn. Then I started jumping from site to site, page to page, learning as much as possible as quickly as possible. 

This is exciting stuff!

So now that I am semi-fluent in blockchain technology. I want a digital wallet. Then I want to make an investment, because you know, ‘there’s gold in them tha hills!’ My first (well to be honest – my seventh) attempt to open an exchange account hasn’t borne fruit just yet. I keep doing something wrong. You have to scan a QPR code, you have to write down a 16 alphanumeric passcode and then catch six numbers that last for 30 seconds. If you don’t do all of these things in the exact order and within the timeframe dictated, your digital life may not be worth living. 

That being said, I’m going back in. I’m not going to be head off at the (digital) pass (see how watching those old Westerns is finally paying dividends). Speaking of dividends, I will open a Binance account, I will get a digital wallet and I will make gazillions. I just have to figure out the 30 second passcode. 

Join me in the blockchain/bitcoin/etherium learning adventure. Together we will go places.