Leukemia Regattas, Topsiders, and Heart Attacks

Regatta is a misunderstood word.   Brooks Brothers and Tommy Hilfiger ads denote stern blond faces looking seriously in an understated effort.  The smile is just a little short of joy, a little more than a smirk.  We are racing, we are one of the elect (in the Jonathan Edwards sense of the Elect).  How can a doctor from Jamestown, New York  with crooked teeth, compete with these model citizens?

On the water, when we encouter another sailboat, we are racing.  The lazy afternoon turns into a friendly joust.  The winches are adjusted so, the sails are not allowed to luff.  Many comments about the boat, the crew, the tack come to consciousness.  We remain silent as the boats travel towards an imaginary mark.  We marvel as they passes us, and try to readjust.  If the boat is motoring, we feel pity.  Such a sacrifice to time and schedules that they have to use the iron sail.  With a quick wave, we round the mark, allow the sails to gently fill, and broad reach home.  


Deltaville hosts the Southern Chesapeake Bay Leukemia Regatta every summer.  Leukemia and lymphoma are hidden diseases, difficult to diagnose and devastating in impact.  These diseases do not discriminate.  Old and young are equally affected, often robbing people of their vitality in their prime.  Despite the small size of Delataville, the community  raises funds for research that is equivalent of large cities.  We have tried to participate each year to help the cause, but we are not regatta people, we are not racers.

For the Regattas, the unsuspecting guests and crew have two important rules.  They must know how to use the head, and they must wear non marking shoes. Topsiders' only function is to not mark the deck of boats and to maintain some sort of traction.  They are good at not marking the boat, but they are terrible at keeping feet dry.  The modern sailor wears what is functional and seldom cares what is on his feet except that it be somewhat clean and not malodorous.  His feet remains incognito.  Style usually does not play a role.


In high school, when Topsiders were the vogue, I too saved for these special shoes that meant that you were one of the "in" crowd.  In the fridgid Southern Tier winters, they were the worst shoes to  wear.  They were uncomfortable, had no support, and the soles dissappeared with the melting snow.  To wear them without socks was pure stupidity.  The ugly "duck boots" were more practical.  We were not in Newport, this was Jamestown, the unofficial Swedish capital of the New York, with average snowfall of 140 inches.


High school has framed my thoughts recently because of "facebook" and the explosion of the social network among us middle age adolescents. The readership somewhat frames the author.  I think of how far I am removed from high school, but at the same time, the old awkwardness prevails when I think of past relationships.  Perhaps high school becomes hard wired in.


Mitchell Anderson was the quintessential Jamestowner.  He was the golden boy.   Face framed in blonde hair, brothers and sisters at Phillips Exeter, he was the local boy who would go on to Williams College.  He wore Topsiders.  He was the boy we envied and emulated, but would also compete against to be class president.  Much to my surprise, as there were more common blokes like me, I would actually win that contest.  The campaign was "Let there be Coke..." with some expletives thrown in.   These memories are in the back waters of my mind.    A painful understanding how immature and young I was at sixteen sometimes still surfaces.  Never push your kids to go to college early or grow up too fast.

Leukemia Regattas are an odd collection of boats.  We are in the "cruising class" which means pretty much rank amateurs.  Our first race was a crew of four with the most concern revolving around lunch and proper beverages.  We stayed away from the melee at the start, afraid of ramming into another boat.  Starboard tack, barging the line, line honors were foreign concepts.  I tried to read the North U's "racing tactics" the night before.  You cannot sail fast from reading a book.  There is the need for touch and feel and instinctual reflexes that has to be developed as well as to be taught.


We had a great time.  We felt an organic connection to the other boats on the water trying to harness the wind in a fair and foul fashion.  The boats were like schools of fish, turning in unison to an unknown signal.  We limped in near the end, glad to finish.

We have raced for our friends and for our dear neighbor, Susan, who would lose her life to leukemia.  Randy, her husband, has indirectly introduced us to sailing.  Being a lover of water, he organized a boy's outing to Tangiers Island.  We gleefully trailered our powerboats to the Little Wicomico River and made a rhumb line to Tangiers.  While roaming around Tangiers looking for a restaurant that would serve hotdogs, we spotted two sailboats majestically coming into Parks Marina.  Compared to our runabouts, they seemed like  the proper vessel for the Bay.  Once an interest is sparked, middle life obsession can be fueled.  We learned that there are no hotdog stands in Tangiers.  Mama Crockett's Chesapeake House does sell clam fritters that taste remarkably like potato fritters.  You just cannot tell the children.


Sailing in a regatta with a experienced crew is very much like working in the cardiac cath laboratory. Cardiologists are blessed with tools to avert crisis.  The most devasting of maladies, a heart attack, a STEMI, can be treated quickly if the patient can arrive at our hospital within 12 hours of symptoms.  If they arrive within four hour of symptoms, there is usually no damage.  The cardiac cath team is on standby, and called to Code AMI.  Within thirty minutes,  no matter the time of day, the cath lab team goes to work to open the infarct artery.  A critically ill patient, gasping for breath, and having agonizing visceral precordial discomfort, can improve to telling jokes and wondering about the next meal in a matter of minutes.  Of course, every case is different, and there are some very difficult arteries to open.
The poor oncologists had no such easy task, and they are truly the scientist-physicians trying to apply novel clinical trials to new situations.  They have very little fun, I think.


What is remarkable about our cardiac cath team is the mutual coordinated effort.  It is an organized cacophony, a race to open the culprit artery before the dreaded 90 min door to ballon window, and before nasty consequences of an heart attack arise.  The problem is that the 90 minutes starts when the patient arrives at the ER rather than our cath lab door.  Oftentimes, the patient crashes when the artery is opened, as the starved muscle revolts against the fresh blood supply.  It is almost like smoldering embers igniting when oxygen is re-introduced.  The well oiled team is a thing of beauty, anticipating problems before they occur.   Speech is reduced to words, the nurses and technicians handing you the proper instruments before they are requested.  The cases have shape and purpose, and everyone is focused to achieve the best outcomes.  These teams are difficult to train and more difficult to maintain.  They work at the expense of their personal sleep and ease, ready to jump into the fight at a moments notice.  Hospitals should treasure their cardiac cath nurses and techs, hardy people in the true medical regatta.

Every summer regattas have been unique.  There have been races in rain and thunder.  The races in calm are most dangerous as no one can control their boats.  Two summers ago, we had beautiful wind.   Song of the Wind, sprinted around the marks only hampered by her inexperienced captain.   If only it were the cardiac cath lab...

We now look at the beautiful ads depicting sailor models with amusement as there is no authenticity.  We race not to be like anyone in a glossy magazine, but to raise funds to stop a devastating illness.  We race to be part of the sailing community and the local community of a sleepy town.  We race wearing our odd colors and odd shoes with the only stipulation that they leave no traces behind.  We invite you to race with us next summer.  You need only to bring non marking soles.  We 'll teach you how to use the head.

N.B.  some photos by Robin Newland, photographer extraordinare