Back in 1993 to 1999, I flew pretty often. There were some seasons when I was gone several weekends in a row or a few weeks in a row speaking at camps and conferences and going to meetings. I was very used to flying. I didn’t mind it until we would hit the bumps. Thankfully most flights were pretty smooth but there were a few that left me with white knuckles from grabbing the bar.

Life is full of bumps. We can fly smoothly through it for months or even years without hitting any major bumps. Eventually, for all of us, the phone rings with bad news, or a doctor shares words that none of us want to hear.

I remember one flight into Denver when we were hitting bumps so strong that overhead compartment doors popped open. I swear I saw my diet Coke jump up out of my cup and then land back in with a splash. I’m not sure that actually happened but my memory says it did. After we landed in Denver, with literal applause from the passengers, I learned that we were the last flight allowed to land before they closed the airport! A giant snowstorm was pounding Denver. That was the worst turbulence I ever experienced. It left me with white knuckles from gripping the armrest so tightly.

Before the news of my needing a liver transplant, I had only experienced mild to medium turbulence in life. It was all the normal stuff: the financial challenges, unemployment, and marriage squabbles, but none of those caused white knuckles. The news of my needing a liver to survive was our first white-knuckles turbulence. That was about 12 years ago.

I’ve had a few little bumps that seemed like bigger bumps only because of all I went through but, overall, things have been pretty smooth. And, realistically, this turbulence that’s making my knuckles turn a bit white right now isn’t even as big a deal as my mind is making it.

No one likes the C word, right? When any of us hears the word “cancer” we get a little catch in our throats. That’s my turbulence – the c-word – and it has nothing at all to do with my liver. It’s totally separate. Lucky me, right?

I have prostate cancer. It’s not even big-deal, aggressive prostate cancer. It’s just “moderate risk,” monitor-or-treat cancer that went from nothing, to a little bit more than nothing in the last year. I can either treat it with chemotherapy, targeted radiation, or robotic surgery. Or, I can do nothing and have a third biopsy next year to see if it has gotten worse again. My fingers are tightening, stress is building, knuckles whitening…

I don’t want to deal with it, so, taking the advice of people I trust, I’m going to surrender to the robot in the Fall. This whole process is triggering emotions, fears, and nerves. It’s turbulence.

My faith is strong but my nerves (my docs call it “PTSD”) are making me bounce like I’m going into Denver again. It’s affecting me in ways I don’t like, ways that make me feel guilty and even ashamed. I stand up in front of people every week, as though I have everything figured out and never worry about anything. I give life lessons, talk about facing trials and tell people they can meet every challenge with God giving them strength.

I believe that. I’ve experienced that. I know it’s true and I know my God has not left me. I know he’s here with me and I KNOW I will face this and get through it but, I still will feel all the feels. I even know that, in terms of medical advances, this is no big deal at all and not even scary. I’m not going to die but the irrational side of PTSD is winding me up and making my heart race. It’s placing a 40-pound, invisible weight on my chest.

I feel stupid because of the way I am reacting. I feel like a faith failure and a disappointment to God. I’ve even been asking myself what right I have to stand up front on Sunday mornings. The enemy has been using the word “hypocrite” in my mind. Is he right?

Back when I started writing all the transplant journey stuff I promised I’d write honestly. Thankfully, I haven’t had much to write about. Life is good. Very good. Even with these challenges ahead of me, it will still be good.

Now, if only I could get my emotions, my mind, my nighttime dreams, and my blood pressure to believe it too. If only I could get my feelings to be more rational.

If you could join me in praying for peace, that would be swell.

#everydayisabonusday

We had a whirlwind of a great day Saturday. All 13 of us packed into two vehicles to head for Boston for a fun family day. My seat was assigned by Calvin. I was informed, by him, that I would be sitting in the back of their Toyota SUV with him.

After I somehow managed to squeeze my 225-pound, petite, non-muscular body into my spot, climbing through a gap between Chloe and Colton in the middle row, the questions began. Rapid-fire, one-after-another, non-stop “Grampa, why” continued for 90 minutes until I was faced with the challenge of climbing out of my place in the sardine can into the expanse of a Boston parking garage.

A day of learning followed. Nana read every educational sign from phytoplankton to Weedy Sea Dragons, Colton decided it was finally time to do some real walking beyond three steps and a lunge and Ethan was wide-eyed exploring all the things he’s seen in his animal encyclopedias. Chloe marched forward, directing the troops, with no idea where she was going and I could see Emma studying the colors and shapes and movements of everything. I suspect we will see them influencing her creations this week.

Calvin made a great discovery that he was very excited to show everyone. “Look Grampa, those penguins are playing! That penguin is laying on top of the other penguin and they are both flapping really fast! Everyone, come see what I found!!!” All gathered in amazement to watch as I quietly sneaked off ahead of our crowd to avoid, “Grampa, why are they playing like that?” I figured I’d leave that one for their parents.

After lunch, we made it to the Museum of Science and saw only one wing again. It’s the same wing we always see that focuses on math and engineering and the very sciencey stuff of science. We Linscotts interact with interactive exhibits while Nana teaches and I take pictures and push buttons here and there.

If I can pull it off before July 31 when our membership expires, we’re going to go down again in the morning, skip the penguin playland, and go straight to the museum of science to explore the rest of it. Let’s leave the math and engineering stuff alone and head into the section that focuses on living things, planets and how the world works.

After feasting on Cheesecake Factory deliciousness, and laughing at Colton enjoying time with Auntie Laura and Uncle Jake, it was time for the journey back to Maine. No one was interested in switching spots with me, even for money, so I was in for another 90 minutes of Curious Cal while we listened to the Red Sox.

“Grampa what does it mean that he grew up in the Dominican?” (Radio announcer said it about Devers.)

That’s the country where he lived.

“Oh, but what does ‘he grew up’ mean?”

It means he successfully completed being born, getting older and not getting sick and dying. He grew up.

“He never got sick???”

No, he got sick like everyone gets sick but he didn’t die. So, he grew up and turned into an adult successfully.

Silence as the wheels turned in his little brain.

“Grampa, am I Dominican?”

By this point, his dad is laughing so hard in the front seat that he’s crying.

No, buddy. You were born in America. You are an American.

“Grampa, are the Red Sox still up to bat? What does “to the warning track’ mean? Did he strike out? Is the other team ahead? What are “extra innings?” Is that cheating to have a guy on second before anybody is even batting? I think it’s cheating. How many more minutes till we are home? My back hurts. Is Chloe sleeping? Was that a strike or a ball? …

We pulled up to our house and I somehow managed to wrangle myself out of the back once more without pulling even a single muscle.

“Bye Grampa! See you tomorrow!”

I am doing a good deal of reflecting, just 12 days from the tenth anniversary of my liver transplant. I remember celebrating each year completed but five years of survival was a milestone. Now, 10 years, is another. Only 52% of people transplanted before age 65 survive to see this milestone. That’s a little better than a coin flip.

Since that summer of 2012, I have not had a single overnight stay in a hospital. Other than the normalcy of life with a suppressed immune system and having tons of colds, flu, and ear, nose, and throat infections, I have cruised to this milestone with just one minor rejection scare.

Ten years ago today I was laying on a couch begging God to give me an end. I was working on a letter to my wife and each of my kids, urging them to go on with life. I remember being so afraid they would be angry at God.

God did not give me an end. His plan was to give me a beginning. And after Saturday with my crew and holding hands with my oldest grandchild in the backseat of a Toyota Highlander, watching grandchild number 5 beaming with pride as we celebrated his first real walking success, and walking behind my youngest son holding hands with his two adoring nephews, I have to admit that my eyes keep filling with thankful tears.

Today is bonus day number 3638. I have only 12 days left to come up with my 10-year tattoo. Maybe Robin has suggestions? (She HATES tats!)

We are 1 month from 10 years

It was May 7, 2012 when I received my second shot at life.  I am coming up on ten years of bonus days. Ten years of my Pompom pal at my side.

As I approach my ten year mark I am finding myself a bit more introspective than normal. Like George Bailey, I’ve wondered what things would have looked like without me.

While I was wrestling with my 5 grandkids, ages 1-6, yesterday, that “what if” thought crossed my mind. I shook it off and enjoyed my spot at the bottom of the pile.

Before what I call “my transplant journey,” Myers Briggs personality profiles labeled me an “ENTJ.” I came through on the other side as an ENFP. It’s a big change.

“ENTJs are planners. Making decisions and having a schedule or course of action planned out gives them a sense of predictability and control. They are highly rational, good at spotting problems, and excel at taking charge.”

“ENFPs have excellent people skills. In addition to having an abundance of enthusiasm, they also genuinely care about others. ENFPs are good at understanding what other people are feeling. “

Before my transplant, the plan was my focus. I liked biggest, best and coolest and spent a lot of time and effort achieving those goals. A lot of kids came out on the other side of my systems, truly impacted and with a strong faith. But, marginalized kids remained mostly invisible.

After my transplant, my focus is much more on the marginalized, the broken and those our society calls “the least.” Snags and bumps and hiccups in my programs don’t bother me much, even though I still aim for a certain level of quality. What kills me is when efforts fall flat and people just disappear. I desperately want connection and belonging for everyone but don’t have the capacity to give it to everyone myself.

“Develop enough courage so that you can stand up for yourself and then stand up for somebody else.”

Maya Angelou

I believe God uses all personality types to accomplish his purposes. I just find the personality transformation of my trauma interesting. Do we have to experience true brokenness to understand, value and identify with the broken?

“Develop enough courage so that you can stand up for yourself and then stand up for somebody else.”

– Maya Angelou

What a year 2020 has been. While we have all had to cut back on our outings and travels, we Linscotts have enjoyed more of the outdoors. We even climbed a New Hampshire mountain! But, “Home for the Holidays” is a fitting theme for the few cards we will mail and this digital “card” on the Internet.

We’re not an outdoorsy family. We are not campers, or hunters and you won’t find us fishing in a backwoods pond. For the most part, our idea of roughing it is staying in a hotel without a smart TV. But I must admit, it has been nice picnicking near rivers and finding trail networks. We’ve spent more time enjoying the small circle of our awesome neighborhood and even hosted movies on our front lawn.

    Robin and I are very thankful that Shara, Jake, Emma and Ethan moved into our basement apartment after selling their house in January. A planned short stay while they built their new house has turned into a much longer stay because of the pandemic grinding everything to a halt. They might feel stuck here but we are so blessed to have them with us. While my transplant recipient status has severely limited my options, Emma and Ethan have kept me sane and smiling. The Grooms have land but are on hold for a bit while everything comes together and builders get caught up.
   Having the Little Ave Linscotts a half mile away has also been a lifeline during the times we’ve not been locked down. Our adventuring group is usually 9 unless Doctor Daddy has been able to join us. In his third year of residency, Josh’s schedule is difficult. We look forward to years 4 and 5 when he gets to have a better schedule. (Yes, Urologists have 5 years of residency instead of the normal 3 and then have a 2-year fellowship after that.) Kristen and Josh are expecting another baby boy in February. We’re so excited!

    Jake and Laura are doing well through all of the pandemic changes and their jobs are stable, thankfully. We see them from time-to-time, mostly when we can gather outside.

    We were so blessed that our church family was able to gather outside, in our city’s beautiful park setting, enjoying beautiful weather every Sunday July-October. It has been so encouraging to see how God has enabled us to shift gears quickly to meet the growing needs in our community. Our faith family inspires and blesses us so much. We’re about to enter year 8 at FBC Westbrook.

My health has been good with a new challenge here and there. Thankfully, my transplanted liver is healthy and strong. This additional 20 pounds of COVID weight is not good and needs to go. But, every day is a bonus day!

    We are all praying that 2021 will be a better year for all of us but, one thing we know for sure, God will give us the strength to face whatever is ahead! You know that, right?

    Much Love! Scott and Robin Linscott

By Scott Linscott

Here’s what I need, America. I need an empty, clean airport and an empty plane to take me to another empty airport where I can pick up my clean rental car with no human interaction. Then, I need Walt Disney World to open Magic Kingdom just for me. Is that too much to ask?

Robin, my wife? The reality is that she might soon be too much of a risk for me to bring if the virus numbers in Maine keep climbing. She’s a teacher. She doesn’t know it but I’m looking for a good deal on a cot for the garage and a winter sleeping bag for her.

What about all the Disney employees, you ask? Of course, they must all quarantine right there in their stations for 14 days before my arrival. Again, too much to ask?

How’s it going for you? I haven’t been in a Walmart, or any big store, since March 12. That’s 244 days. I went inside one little hardware store for a quick errand once. Do stores have anything new? What would I impulse buy? I’d probably buy one of those 10 gallon jugs of cheese balls.

We ate outside on the deck of a golf course restaurant once this summer, back when Maine was one of the safest places in the world. I ate a rubin sandwich. Oh man, was it good! Yesterday I read that Maine now has the highest transfer rate in the country at 1.43. That means every person who gets Corona gives it to and average of another one-and-a-half other people. It’s called “community spread.” I am not sure where they find .43 of a person, but I am not a scientist.

We had a big election. It was fascinating to watch. I flipped between 4 news stations to compare coverage styles because, having my undergrad degree in Journalism, I am a bit of a nerd in that area. I prefer the BBC because, in my opinion, the major American outlets have become mere arms of ideologies. Back when I got my BA it was very, very bad to be openly biased, but now, it’s just the norm.

I had an appointment with my liver transplant doc on Monday. We decided it was best to do it by telephone. It lasted about 7 minutes because all my blood numbers are perfect and, other than all my whiny complaints, I feel great. We set my next appointment for October 2021. Thank Corona that I didn’t put in 200+ miles of driving for that!

We transplant recipients have been through all these cautions before. Our houses have had hand sanitizer on the kitchen islands since back when Corona was just a type of beer.

Anyway, I’m going a little bit crazy. Other than being naughty on Thursdays, when our church hands out food boxes, I pretty much only mingle with the same 10 people who know all my jokes.

I figure that Mickey Mouse is someone wearing a huge mask so he’s safe. Heck, the same goes for Pluto and Goofy and Minnie and the Tweedle brothers too. I can go hang out with them, right?

Where do I start? Should I call Mickey directly? Should I call JetBlue? I have a lot of details to coordinate.

Is there anywhere I can go to escape this mess? I’d like to go to Guatemala November 28 when our oldest AMG girl is getting married. Nope. Flights to Dubai are cheap and luxury hotels are $40 a night but Robin vetoed that one too.

Disney is my most realistic option. I’m thinking I could be in for a long winter.

By Scott Linscott

I wonder how many individual wood pellets come in a ton? If you haven’t seen wood pellets, they look like rabbit food pellets but they are made of sawdust and mill scraps. We burn them in a wood-stove thing to stay warm in the cold season. In Maine, the cold season is about 8 months per year.

I wonder why the word “cold” means “brr” and “cough cough achoo.” I have both types of cold this morning and pellets are burning.

I wonder what all the New England Patriots haters are thinking now that they’ve seen the new look without Brady. And, I wonder what this year’s division champion t-shirts will look like.

I wonder if cereal is actually breakfast soup.

If animals could talk, I wonder which ones would be the most rude? I definitely think that cats would be the rudest. I’d tell you what I think cats are saying but I try to avoid using profanity for the most part.

Sometimes I wonder what my daughter’s Golden Retriever is thinking. I suspect she has a five word vocabulary: “food, in, out, play, people.” The first four are obvious but the last one might be her favorite. Bailey wants to meet every human she sees and drags us to them. When she sees a people she responds with the strength of a Fryeburg Fair oxen team.

It’s okay 9 out of every 10 times but when we meet weird people who don’t like dogs it gets downright awkward.

I wonder what Pompom is saying when she runs at other dogs barking her 11-pound head off. I know she is either yelling, “hi, friend” or “hey, what’s your name? Can I sniff your ears? Want to chase me? I like chase games. Is this your human? These are my humans. Want to come see my house?”

Unfortunately, her tone is more like, “I am coming to kill you. I am a mighty warrior. You should fear 11-pound me!” She needs a gentle but firm punt.

If I had a big dog and a little dog came running at him, I would let nature take its course. She really needs a big dog to give her a lesson in respect. She has forgotten old man Manny. He was an old chocolate lab who put her whole head in his mouth and sat her down.

I wonder why it has been 10-20 degrees below normal here in Maine? I wonder where I file my complaint?

I wonder why voters respond to all the “she’s the devil” advertising that both sides play continually. I think all it does is convince us all that both candidates are the devil.

I  wonder why some people are all nervous about the government getting access to pictures of our faces when we use online facial recognition. Have none of these people heard of state IDs, drivers’ licenses and passports?

I wonder when our pellet delivery is going to happen today. All I know is that they are coming today. Morning? Afternoon? I have no idea. All I received was the message that they are coming today. If only we had some type of device where we could put in an address and get an estimated time of arrival. If only that device was then able to, say, send some sort of instant message to say, “your delivery will arrive at approximately…” Imagine what a world it would be if we had such technology.  If I jump into the shower they will arrive at that moment, for sure.

We had a great weekend and got lots of stuff done in preparation for winter. Robin made ice cream with neighborhood kids and sent it home with them so I wouldn’t eat it. Phew! Church in the Park was awesome yesterday. And, believe it or not, I actually gave one of the neighborhood kids a tennis lesson Saturday morning. I think it’s been 20 years since I last hit a tennis ball!

I hope you have a great Monday and are able to resist being dragged into the culture of rage that is our current reality. Look for the good and focus on that.

#everydayisabonusday