Taking our near-daily constitutional where the elements of air, water, and earth come together is both physically, intellectually, and somehow spiritually invigorating, relaxing, and restorative at the same time. Some weeks the weather and my multiple sclerosis (MS) leave our “intent” and “reality” columns out of balance, but we’ll not tell the accountants. On this particular morning, when the meteorological outcome of the day was far from a sure bet, we took our chances and donned multiweather gear for our walk. Being prepared is one of the lessons of our ever-changing disease that I’ve brought into my “other” life.
Ahoy! There’s a Strange Ship at the Quay
There was an official looking vessel moored down the piers which hadn’t been there two days before. As a former U.S. Coast Guard member, I guess I still have something of a sailor’s eye when it comes to something being different in my home port. Anyway, this small ship was not only 50 percent larger than any other vessel at the quays, but it was also flying an international marine signal code flag on the starboard outboard halyard (an appropriate place for such things when sending a signal).
Blimey! She’s Got a Waft Up
It’s been a long — long — time since my navigator’s days when I could recall each of the flags and their meaning at a glance and form a response without even thinking twice. There are some, however, that you just never forget. The red and yellow diagonals of the Oscar flag mean “I have a man overboard.” You don’t forget that one. Nor the solid red of Bravo — “I am taking on fuel/have a dangerous cargo”; solid yellow Quebec — “I am in quarantine”; or the red X on a white field that is Victor and says, “I require assistance.” On this ship, the white with blue dovetail Alpha flag flying in the breeze was to inform everyone to stay at a distance because, “I have a diver down.” I remembered that one.
Thar’s the Message, Matey!
You’ll note the personal nature of the flags’ communications. They are first-person comments from one ship to another. They are succinct, they are prominently displayed, and they are internationally recognized, no matter one’s native tongue. Ships also use red and white lights (at night) and large black day shapes (rather obviously in the day) to send signals when out of range for flag patterns to be made out. One day shape we used regularly on my first ship, a buoy tender, was a ball-over-diamond-over-ball, meaning, “I am restricted in my ability to maneuver.” When you’re working on aids to navigation at the edge of channels, for example, you can imagine that we couldn’t really get out of anyone’s way quickly.
My MS Signal to Give Me a Wide Berth
And there we are, back to my life with MS. My walking stick is something of an international signal — a day shape, if you will — to the world that I am restricted in my ability to maneuver. It’s a first-person announcement that I mightn’t be able to get out of your way, so don’t get in mine. I have spoken with many in the MS community who, even on the days when MS isn’t at its worst, take some form of day shapes with them into crowds for just that reason. They just didn’t know that there was a nautical twin to their signal. If only everyone on land knew what these flags, day shapes, and lights we exhibit meant, ours would be an easier track to follow.
Her Colors Fly, but in Error!
It also wasn’t lost on me that the crew of that ship at the pier had forgotten to take in their Alpha flag. There was, obviously, no diver down pierside. And I smiled at the thought of how many times I’ve seen a disabled-parking placard hanging from the rearview mirror of a car driving on the motorway, obviously NOT parked. Wishing you and your family the best of health. Cheers, Trevis
