Benjamin J. Carey's Blog, page 21
July 3, 2017
Flashbulb Memories
"Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away." - Marcus Aurelius
Time is a funny thing. When you are young it goes by painfully slow, and as you age it seems to take on the daunting quality of an accelerating locomotive with no brakes. There is nothing I enjoy more than spending time with my family, but I know one day the children will grow up and move on, leaving a void where all of this cherished chaos existed.
I find myself wrestling with time; struggling and trying to undermine him. I enjoy taking photos to stop the hourglass for a fleeting second, hoping in a bittersweet, unrealistic way, to hold on to these spectacular moments for eternity. There is nothing I enjoy more than spending time with my wife and children. #Tribe
Time is a funny thing. When you are young it goes by painfully slow, and as you age it seems to take on the daunting quality of an accelerating locomotive with no brakes. There is nothing I enjoy more than spending time with my family, but I know one day the children will grow up and move on, leaving a void where all of this cherished chaos existed.
I find myself wrestling with time; struggling and trying to undermine him. I enjoy taking photos to stop the hourglass for a fleeting second, hoping in a bittersweet, unrealistic way, to hold on to these spectacular moments for eternity. There is nothing I enjoy more than spending time with my wife and children. #Tribe
July 17, 2016
Dad, you saved that boy's life.
"Dad!" yelled my 12 year old daughter as we were all sitting on the beach drying off.
We had just come in from swimming in the ocean, and were sitting on towels. In an uncanny coincidence I had just finished lecturing my 9 year old daredevil son on how it was okay to body surf; but to stop diving into the shallow waves because he might break his neck.
My daughter screamed out to direct my attention to the water. I turned my head and saw two people laying a teenage boy down at the edge of the ocean and kneeling over him. They appeared to have just dragged him in from the water. Seaview, the town right next to Ocean Beach on Fire Island, doesn't have lifeguards. I wasn't sure what had happened or what was going on and I just looked on like everyone else. The boy lay still and they were shaking him. After a few seconds he started arching, and writhing; clearly he was in distress. It was no sooner than he started moving that a huge wave crashed on all three of them. I got frustrated and couldn't help myself.
"Get him out of the water!" I yelled out.
They started to pick him up and move him, but not fast enough; another wave crashed on them as they struggled. One of them doing the lifting was an overweight man around 50 years old, and the other was around 20. I sprinted over as another wave came on top of them, and we lifted and dragged him away from the water where the sand was dry. He wasn't breathing.
"Call 911!", I yelled to the crowd.
I'm thinking to myself holy shit this kid is a baby! He looked about 16 years old. Suddenly he started gasping. I immediately turned him on his side and pressured his belly, attempting to push any water out.
"Are you his father?", I asked the oldest of the two, who looked to be around 50.
"Yes. He got crushed by a wave, and didn't come up. He must have swallowed water."
Now my wife Nicole is standing behind me yelling at me "Ben he's turning grey!"
I'm kneeling behind the boy, and he is writhing in my arms. I have an open hand on his back to keep him on his side, and my palm is on his belly. He is breathing, but gasping for air in a weird way I've never seen before. His eyes roll back in his head and all I see is the whites. I want to cry, but I have a good poker face. I'm in complete control. I think to myself oh my god please don't die! He is so young. I've never done this shit before. I can see the bloodshot whites of his eyes, and his mouth making motions like a struggling fish out of water would. I'm prepared to do CPR and rescue breathing if necessary. I put my face close to his ear, and encourage him.
"You're going to be okay buddy, just breathe! Relax, it's going to be okay, you're going to be fine, just breathe!"
The dad chimes in.
"Come on Dan, fight, you can do it, you're gonna be okay!"
It seems to work. The boy seems to calm down. His pupils roll into place like a slot machine. His breaths are shallow, and irregular but he's breathing. He is still struggling. He is incohorent and looks up at me like who the fuck is this?
"It's okay just relax, you're going to be fine", I keep repeating.
With that he spits up a bunch of blood. Oh my god, I'm shitting bricks. I can't make sense of the blood.
"Shit, he's bleeding", I say.
"It looks like he bit his tongue, it's not coming from inside of him", says the father.
The boy is breathing a little better now, but he still looks bluish grey.
"Do you want to sit up?" asks his older brother who is on the other side of him.
I turn him onto his back where my hand is, and I push him up. This kid's hamstrings are tight, I'm thinking to myself. It takes a lot of pressure on his back to keep him upright. The boy's brother assists me with a hand on his back and proceeds to ask him if he knows where he is. He answers correctly. He then asks him what his name is. He answers correctly. I'm so happy now. I tell the boy's father that regardless of what happens he needs to take him to the hospital to get checked out. I tell him I've heard of possible complications in revived drowning victims up to 12 hours later.
The police arrive with an oxygen tank. They put an oxygen mask on him and he sits there trying to gain some regularity to his breathing. I look behind me and I see a small boy very close. He appears to be all of 8 years old, and has been quietly watching the whole event transpire from the beginning.
As the boy breathes the oxygen, all seems okay. His older brother is on the other side of him across from me, and his father is at his feet. With my hand still on the boy's back, I look across at his brother who looks at me and nods.
I ask him. "Are you okay now? Everything good?"
"Yes, thank you so much" he says, his eyes watering.
His father thanks me. I pat the boy breathing oxygen on his shoulder and tell him good job, and I tell him again he's going to be fine. Nicole is still standing behind me and reiterates to the father the importance of taking the boy to the hospital to get checked out.
I walk about 20 feet back to where we were sitting, and my daughter Milan (12), and my sons PJ(9) and Sully(6) are standing there waiting. They seem mortified, hence they didn't leave where we were sitting when this all went down.
"Daddy what did you do? What happened?" asks Sully.
"Dad.............Dad.....", nudged PJ.
"I was trying to help him", I answered.
"Dad, you saved that boy's life! You should feel good!, said Milan.
I smiled and we left the beach. They wouldn't stop about it. They were still talking about it as we walked up the wooden steps off the beach. We had rented bikes for the day and I began unlocking them from the bike rack. As I was doing so, that little boy from the beach boy who was watching us the whole time approached us. He clumsily pulled at his oversize tricycle that was in the rack next to ours. Now Sully and PJ are arguing over who drank all the gatorade as I'm bent over frustrated; trying to unwrap the cable lock routed through all of our bikes. I look up as the kid on the tricycle is riding by, and he says something.
"What did he say?", I ask Milan who was closer to him.
"Thanks for saving my brother", she says.
"Really?", I ask.
"Yeah dad, that was his brother".
I felt shaken, but euphoric afterwards. I was happy to have helped that kid, and grateful that my own children were able to witness so many life lessons in all of about 15 minutes. I was reminded of why in my earlier years I toyed with the idea of becoming a NYC fireman or a doctor. I can't stand the sight of blood, and there were other reasons why I never pursued those paths in life; but I guess this feeling is what drives people in those fields.
We had a great trip to Fire Island. I cherish spending time with my family.
We had just come in from swimming in the ocean, and were sitting on towels. In an uncanny coincidence I had just finished lecturing my 9 year old daredevil son on how it was okay to body surf; but to stop diving into the shallow waves because he might break his neck.
My daughter screamed out to direct my attention to the water. I turned my head and saw two people laying a teenage boy down at the edge of the ocean and kneeling over him. They appeared to have just dragged him in from the water. Seaview, the town right next to Ocean Beach on Fire Island, doesn't have lifeguards. I wasn't sure what had happened or what was going on and I just looked on like everyone else. The boy lay still and they were shaking him. After a few seconds he started arching, and writhing; clearly he was in distress. It was no sooner than he started moving that a huge wave crashed on all three of them. I got frustrated and couldn't help myself.
"Get him out of the water!" I yelled out.
They started to pick him up and move him, but not fast enough; another wave crashed on them as they struggled. One of them doing the lifting was an overweight man around 50 years old, and the other was around 20. I sprinted over as another wave came on top of them, and we lifted and dragged him away from the water where the sand was dry. He wasn't breathing.
"Call 911!", I yelled to the crowd.
I'm thinking to myself holy shit this kid is a baby! He looked about 16 years old. Suddenly he started gasping. I immediately turned him on his side and pressured his belly, attempting to push any water out.
"Are you his father?", I asked the oldest of the two, who looked to be around 50.
"Yes. He got crushed by a wave, and didn't come up. He must have swallowed water."
Now my wife Nicole is standing behind me yelling at me "Ben he's turning grey!"
I'm kneeling behind the boy, and he is writhing in my arms. I have an open hand on his back to keep him on his side, and my palm is on his belly. He is breathing, but gasping for air in a weird way I've never seen before. His eyes roll back in his head and all I see is the whites. I want to cry, but I have a good poker face. I'm in complete control. I think to myself oh my god please don't die! He is so young. I've never done this shit before. I can see the bloodshot whites of his eyes, and his mouth making motions like a struggling fish out of water would. I'm prepared to do CPR and rescue breathing if necessary. I put my face close to his ear, and encourage him.
"You're going to be okay buddy, just breathe! Relax, it's going to be okay, you're going to be fine, just breathe!"
The dad chimes in.
"Come on Dan, fight, you can do it, you're gonna be okay!"
It seems to work. The boy seems to calm down. His pupils roll into place like a slot machine. His breaths are shallow, and irregular but he's breathing. He is still struggling. He is incohorent and looks up at me like who the fuck is this?
"It's okay just relax, you're going to be fine", I keep repeating.
With that he spits up a bunch of blood. Oh my god, I'm shitting bricks. I can't make sense of the blood.
"Shit, he's bleeding", I say.
"It looks like he bit his tongue, it's not coming from inside of him", says the father.
The boy is breathing a little better now, but he still looks bluish grey.
"Do you want to sit up?" asks his older brother who is on the other side of him.
I turn him onto his back where my hand is, and I push him up. This kid's hamstrings are tight, I'm thinking to myself. It takes a lot of pressure on his back to keep him upright. The boy's brother assists me with a hand on his back and proceeds to ask him if he knows where he is. He answers correctly. He then asks him what his name is. He answers correctly. I'm so happy now. I tell the boy's father that regardless of what happens he needs to take him to the hospital to get checked out. I tell him I've heard of possible complications in revived drowning victims up to 12 hours later.
The police arrive with an oxygen tank. They put an oxygen mask on him and he sits there trying to gain some regularity to his breathing. I look behind me and I see a small boy very close. He appears to be all of 8 years old, and has been quietly watching the whole event transpire from the beginning.
As the boy breathes the oxygen, all seems okay. His older brother is on the other side of him across from me, and his father is at his feet. With my hand still on the boy's back, I look across at his brother who looks at me and nods.
I ask him. "Are you okay now? Everything good?"
"Yes, thank you so much" he says, his eyes watering.
His father thanks me. I pat the boy breathing oxygen on his shoulder and tell him good job, and I tell him again he's going to be fine. Nicole is still standing behind me and reiterates to the father the importance of taking the boy to the hospital to get checked out.
I walk about 20 feet back to where we were sitting, and my daughter Milan (12), and my sons PJ(9) and Sully(6) are standing there waiting. They seem mortified, hence they didn't leave where we were sitting when this all went down.
"Daddy what did you do? What happened?" asks Sully.
"Dad.............Dad.....", nudged PJ.
"I was trying to help him", I answered.
"Dad, you saved that boy's life! You should feel good!, said Milan.
I smiled and we left the beach. They wouldn't stop about it. They were still talking about it as we walked up the wooden steps off the beach. We had rented bikes for the day and I began unlocking them from the bike rack. As I was doing so, that little boy from the beach boy who was watching us the whole time approached us. He clumsily pulled at his oversize tricycle that was in the rack next to ours. Now Sully and PJ are arguing over who drank all the gatorade as I'm bent over frustrated; trying to unwrap the cable lock routed through all of our bikes. I look up as the kid on the tricycle is riding by, and he says something.
"What did he say?", I ask Milan who was closer to him.
"Thanks for saving my brother", she says.
"Really?", I ask.
"Yeah dad, that was his brother".
I felt shaken, but euphoric afterwards. I was happy to have helped that kid, and grateful that my own children were able to witness so many life lessons in all of about 15 minutes. I was reminded of why in my earlier years I toyed with the idea of becoming a NYC fireman or a doctor. I can't stand the sight of blood, and there were other reasons why I never pursued those paths in life; but I guess this feeling is what drives people in those fields.
We had a great trip to Fire Island. I cherish spending time with my family.
July 4, 2016
Country Mothers
This is a tribute to all the Country Mothers out there. Matriarchs. The foundation of everything; having withstood the strongest of storms, and serving as living examples of values to be cherished. Majestic oak trees with deep roots, strong trunks, and widespread branches connecting the family. Their down home MO inspires. Home made pie, gardens, tree houses, clotheslines, flowers, stews, sweet tea, hard work, honesty, and dreams.
This July 4th weekend we traveled to Saratoga to visit my mother, for a much needed respite. It gave pause to me reflecting on her strength and her way of living. She's a first class lady who provides inspiration even in her subtleties. Watching her with my children reminds me how lucky we all are.
This July 4th weekend we traveled to Saratoga to visit my mother, for a much needed respite. It gave pause to me reflecting on her strength and her way of living. She's a first class lady who provides inspiration even in her subtleties. Watching her with my children reminds me how lucky we all are.
April 25, 2016
Can We Go and See the Sunrise?
It was one of those things that brings you back and stops you in your tracks for a moment; reminding you how impressionable children are, and how big the world seems to them. My 9 year old is learning about the solar system in school and has been chatting us up about it. We were talking the other day while I was getting ready for work, and out of the blue he asked
"Dad, can we go and see the sunrise?"
My first instinct was to brush off the request so we could move on and I could finish getting ready for my meeting, but for some reason the sincerity of his question made me pause. What 9 year old asks if they can go and see the sunrise?
"Sure, we can. We'll drive to the beach and see it this weekend. We'll have to get up when it's still dark, just before the sun comes up", I answered.
He seemed astonished by the response, but of all the things a kid could ask for how could I say no? I don't think I've watched a sunrise since my college days, but for some reason I felt it was important to follow through on this. As adults we remember our childhood experiences with our parents more than we do anything else. It turns out it was a perfect weekend to do it. Our schedule was light, the weather was nice, and there was a nearly full moon which allowed us the privilege of watching the moonset and sunrise simultaneously. We left at 4:30am and were on the beach to see first light in the eastern sky and the moon descending in the west simultaneously. It was spectacular.
Robert Moses Beach - Fire Island Lighthouse - April 24th, 2016
"Dad, can we go and see the sunrise?"
My first instinct was to brush off the request so we could move on and I could finish getting ready for my meeting, but for some reason the sincerity of his question made me pause. What 9 year old asks if they can go and see the sunrise?
"Sure, we can. We'll drive to the beach and see it this weekend. We'll have to get up when it's still dark, just before the sun comes up", I answered.
He seemed astonished by the response, but of all the things a kid could ask for how could I say no? I don't think I've watched a sunrise since my college days, but for some reason I felt it was important to follow through on this. As adults we remember our childhood experiences with our parents more than we do anything else. It turns out it was a perfect weekend to do it. Our schedule was light, the weather was nice, and there was a nearly full moon which allowed us the privilege of watching the moonset and sunrise simultaneously. We left at 4:30am and were on the beach to see first light in the eastern sky and the moon descending in the west simultaneously. It was spectacular.
Robert Moses Beach - Fire Island Lighthouse - April 24th, 2016
May 14, 2013
If I Die Running
If I Die Running
First mile down and you’re pumping
through my veins like a drug.
I am lifted.
I am invincible.
Sweat drips; and the faint burn
makes itself at home in my lungs.
The sun sets up ahead,
and it's horizontal light warms me as I run.
Clouds frame little pockets of blue sky above.
Problems shrink and I see everything
through a rose colored lens.
You numb the pain.
I run farther and enjoy you more
with each passing year.
Other athletes have retired,
but I'm still running and kicking ass.
Running is based on the premise of
boundless, perpetual goals,
and achievements that can only
be had through investment and dedication.
There are no shortcuts.
I run against time.
I run against myself.
It's about the underdog; a sport where
unwavering dedication trumps skill and talent.
The pain is brutal and relentless,
and the only glory is between me and God.
I question my mortality with every
chest pain and heart palpitation,
but I don't stop running.
To do so would kill my spirit and breed mediocrity.
If I die running don't worry;
I was just on a run to Heaven
-Benjamin J. Carey, Author of Barefoot in November
April 22, 2013
The American Heart Association Young Professionals 2013 Red Ball
From left: Nicole Carey
Benjamin J. Carey, Author of Barefoot in November
Donatella Arpaia Stewart
Dr. Allan Stewart, recipient of the 2013 "Young Heart" award
On Thursday Barefoot in November was presented at the 2013 Red Ball honoring Dr. Allan Stewart of New York-Presbyterian Columbia Medical Center. Dr. Stewart received the American Heart Association's "Young Heart" award at the event, and more than 150 attendees took home copies of the book.
"This is a tremendous honor and I am humbled by the organization’s faith and confidence in me", said Dr. Stewart.
"It's a story about Dr. Stewart, and open heart surgery from a patient's perspective", said Lawrence Phillips during his address at the event. Lawrence is President of the American Heart Association Young Professionals. He spoke of Dr. Stewart's excellence and innovation, and of his undying commitment to the field. He offered kind words about Barefoot in November, and he encouraged everyone in the room to continue their dedication to the fight against heart disease.
"The timing is bittersweet. I had a successful echo-cardiogram this morning, and my brother and I were able to attend this event together. He was just moved up to status 1b on the heart transplant list this week", said Carey.
The Red Ball was held at Crimson in New York City. It is a fun, social affair that attracts over 300 of New York City’s young leaders from the corporate, medical, philanthropic, entertainment, fashion, social and professional communities. It is an event that mixes business with pleasure while raising critically needed funds to support the Association’s life-saving research, education and community-based initiatives. Proceeds from the event support the American Heart Association's mission of building healthier lives, free of cardiovascular diseases and stroke. The vital funds go to advance research relating to heart disease and stroke, develop community programs within New York City and raise awareness among men and women about the signs, symptoms and causes of heart disease and stroke.
Barefoot in November can be purchased here, on Amazon, and in bookstores. You can also support Team Heartosaurus for American Heart Association in the 2013 New York City Marathon.
Dr. Allan Stewart, Recipient of the 2013 "Young Heart" award
Barefoot in November, by Benjamin J. Carey
Dr. Allan Stewart, speaking at the 2013 Red Ball
Dr. Allan Stewart accepting American Heart Association's
2013 "Young Heart" award
From left: Justin Carey
Laurie Hersh
Nicole Carey
Benjamin J. Carey, Author of Barefoot in November
Dr. Allan Stewart, recipient of the 2013 "Young Heart" award
April 17, 2013
What happened at the 2013 Boston Marathon on Monday
The last few hundred feet of a marathon are grueling and filled with emotion. The finish line banner appears up ahead and you are overcome with emotion. Your lungs are on fire and you beg your concrete filled legs to carry you just a few hundred feet more to the finish. You are exhilarated knowing what you've set out to do and are now seconds away from completing.
Now imagine coming down the home stretch and hearing an explosion and being impaled by flying shrapnel. You are shocked. Imagine seeing runners and spectators alongside of you horrified and fearing for their lives. Bewildered, you wonder what is happening as it all plays out in slow motion in front of you.
It happened yesterday in Boston, and these are images that we will not forget. These acts of terrorism are something we are not accustomed to in America, and we will not tolerate them. Whoever is responsible will pay. We stand proud and united as Americans and we will not let these cowardly acts stop us from living life as we know it. Our hearts go out to the victims and we pray for their speedy recovery. We pray for everyone affected that you will see the sun shine again and will soon find a good night's sleep away from the demons that you have been subjected to.
March 25, 2013
"...Barefoot in November contains one element that draws me to all memoirs: candid honesty..." -Jason Lilly, Goodreads.com
Jason LillyGoodreads.com
4 of 5 stars
While it is difficult for me to relate to Carey's predicament (no major medical problems, so far *knock on wood*), his memoir Barefoot in November contains one element that draws me to all memoirs: candid honesty. Carey's words are often harsh and bitter, but they are always honest. In spite of this occasional bitterness, Barefoot in November is ultimately a success story. Ben is a survivor, and proud of it. He is also living proof that "good health" is a holistic lifestyle change and not just "diet and exercise."
I love the juxtaposition of the simplicity of his writing style with the deep issues he tackles: priorities, love, death, family.
I also appreciate that Carey pulls no punches, especially at the beginning of the book when he begins to wrestle with his illness and deal with the weight of his diagnosis. While in the waiting room, Carey has an interior monologue that I'm convinced would be expected from any young man suddenly struck with health problems: "I sat on a vinyl chair in the waiting room...wondering what the hell I was doing sitting around with a bunch of geriatrics. I didn't have anything against them, but I didn't belong there...I felt uncomfortable and out of place."
It is this voice, Ben's voice, that I appreciate. Authors like Carey, who admit their faults and lay their hearts out (pardon the expression) for all to see, regardless of possible criticism. This is what I love about memoirs and Carey has done a superb job.
