There is so much traffic just outside the windows of my North Street home. It amazes me now as I sit here watching the seasons change through the color of the sky and the leaves’ silent descent to the ground. Life in its many iterations is right there in front of my eyes – humans of all ages; plant and animal life; those deer and foxes that haunt the evening scene, sniffed out by the dog each morning.

The cars keep coming in a straight projection from north to south in the morning and then by late afternoon, from south to north. I know the routine all too well having lived as a cog in the wheel of American industry for so many decades, now resting and observing – oh, there goes my neighbor now!

This house in this bedroom community was my sanctuary each evening – a prime reason I pushed so hard to produce, never thinking too deeply about what life would be like when I wasn’t working full-time.

There will be a lull in the flow of traffic sometime after 9:00 am, and then near-quiet until 2:20 pm when the school buses return with their precious cargo, those vibrant youths laden with backpacks holding a future supported by spines straining under the expectations.

The cycle of life is truly visible right here just outside my front windows – the seasons, the people, the revolutions of the Earth around the sun, and the moon around the Earth. Sometimes, sitting quietly as I am wont to do as of late, I can almost hear the generations that have passed this way as sprouting new growth vies for an open space to become whatever it becomes. My soul is at peace with it all.

I hadn’t planned on such a full stop so soon, but years of wear and tear, of living and using my body came to pass. No, I hadn’t thought about it at all, except to stay busy in both mind and body. AARP hotly advises: stay engaged at all levels.

At age 39 with a diagnosis of osteoporosis, I had flung myself feet-first into exercise that I knew would save me from an old age of broken bones, or worse. Miles upon miles of speed walking followed more recently by exercise classes geared for the aging body; I also added bicycling and swimming just to mix it up a bit. I felt so good.

I took the prescribed medications intended to strengthen my bones and trusted without much study or thought that I would be spared what I had witnessed happen to my maternal aunt and my mother – the slow crush of skeletons unable to support torsos and legs no longer viable as vertical supports, and the unrelenting pain. These ladies didn’t have a childhood diet rich in vitamin D and calcium. And no doubt they had inherited a predisposition to the disease as I have. But they didn’t exercise, take supplements, or subscribe to the religion of prescription medications. I had. I’d be spared. I’d live a healthier life in my old age. There would be no stopping me.

Overuse injuries brought on by structural issues that were ignored sidelined me for months, but I was strong, and I presumed that the bright light at the end of the tunnel wasn’t an oncoming train, but a welcoming beacon signaling the entrance of yet another open space trail I needed to wander.

Yet things weren’t right. Things were going wrong. Ankles followed by a hip issue followed by back troubles tested my persistence to get better, which was getting more and more difficult. Physical therapy appointments became mental health sessions, too. Dark thoughts simply were not to be tolerated. A mantra of “The sun will come out tomorrow” was holistically prescribed by well-intentioned young bloods.

However, that swinging sword of Damocles began to cast a long, foreboding shadow across my Mary Poppins attitude despite my best efforts. While I was able to convince myself that if I walked 1 mile-an-hour on Monday, by golly, I’d have to aim for 2 miles-an-hour on Tuesday, a sense of impending doom was also settling in for the duration.

Now, as the traffic flow shifts from south to north each afternoon, my energy level is drained by the effort of simply walking around the house with crutches. Surgical intervention to repair a broken femur has been followed by weeks of in-home physical therapy, as I’ve become the lucky one in 10,000 to have a negative result from osteoporosis medications. They’ve turned out, for me, to do more harm then good.

As my husband, that champion whose loving care means everything, and I prepare to face a rather long ordeal of securing cutting-edge medical intervention at a Boston hospital, my resolve has not waivered. To be less than optimistic would be unfair to him and the rest of the family and, yes, to myself. I must press on.

Others have gone and are going through worse; I am reminded, almost hourly. My peers are familiar with waiting rooms, too.

If nothing else, maybe my cautionary tale can help someone else navigate the sometimes murky and experimental side of modern medical care. Or to at least plead, “First, do no harm.”

This Mattapoisett Life

By Marilou Newell

The weather could not have been better had it been special ordered. Air temperatures hovered in the high 50s. Water temperature was 42 degrees. Although the sun was blocked by a sky reminiscent of a silver and grey quilted blanket, when it peaked through, its warmth could be felt. And thus January 1, 2019 was a spectacular day for a swim.

Hundreds of people piled onto Mattapoisett Town Beach to support or participate in the annual event were once again entertained by hot dance tunes and a warm tent where hot drinks and food donated by local venues helped to take the chill off.

What many were unaware of is that the 2019 event almost didn’t take place.

Will and Michelle Huggins, the founders of the annual fundraiser, had reconsidered putting the event on this year. Will was facing some medical challenges and the energy required to pull off an event of the scale … well, they weren’t sure they could do it.

As the song goes, “I get by with a little help from my friends,” friends of the couple couldn’t let that happen. And so, with lots of assistance and with others shouldering the heavy duty of coordinating “Freezin’ For a Reason,” the Huggins watched from the sidelines wearing grateful smiles.

The Hugginses have had their share of struggling through a cancer diagnosis. It was those struggles and the subsequent unseen costs associated with getting through it all that inspired them to start a fundraiser that could help other families with unforeseen expenses.

Unlike other fundraising activities that funnel monies into medical research, the Huggins’ Freezin’ For a Reason gives money directly to families with financial burdens brought to the fore by cancer.

Huggins said as he stood by the beach bonfire celebrating with friends, “We average around $11,000 in donations for this event, but we won’t know the full amount for about two weeks.” Those monies will be divided between several families identified as being in need of assistance.

While young and young at heart alike were well aware of the importance of the fundraiser, the F-U-N was on full display.

There were Santa heads, horse heads, and abominable snow monster heads donned by New Year’s Day revelers, none of which seemed to fair well once the swimmer hit the water. There were soloists and families trudging out to reach deep water as low tide made the plunge just a bit more difficult.

With the music pumping and spontaneous reunions taking place throughout the crowd, the clock ticked down to the moment of truth: 5-4-3-2-1! Plungers laughed and screamed their way into the waiting water. Less then a minute later, many were thundering back to the warmth of towels and fleece.

Mattapoisett’s John Jacobsen and his 13-year-old son were return plungers, with the senior Jacobsen saying the water was “amazing.”

Mike King said he did the plunge “to make sure my heart was still working.”

Youngsters Autumn and Hunter Horesey seemed completely unfazed afterwards, and planned to do it again next year, as did 9-year-old Rose Miconi.

Mike LaCroix, along with his niece, 11-year-old Maya Warren, was aware of the importance of the event, while also relishing the good time.

Nine-year-old Torrin Brodo said she planned on doing it again next year too, if she finds herself in the area.

At the eight-minute mark there were still several swimmers in the water vying for the bragging rights of being the one who stayed in the longest. But when they finally got out of the water, they quickly melted into the crowd not to be seen again. When asked, the organizers could not identify those brave souls.

Kyle McCullough, 14, has been doing the event for several years and beamed as he returned to his towel.

Kay Coney, a first timer, was jubilant as she returned to her car saying, “It’s good to start the year out by trying something tough,” and commenting, “Hell, yes!” when asked if she’d do it again.

As fast as the swimmers and supporters poured onto the beach, they poured off the beach, leaving behind only the fieriest party-goers who were line dancing, and the small children who refused to give up their swinging.

By Marilou Newell