Smoke Detectors and 3 a.m. Phone Calls

        A couple of years ago we built a room onto the back of my house. My mother, who suffers from Parkinson's Disease, needed more space to maneuver than what my 40-year-old, three-bedroom, two-bathroom bungalow allowed. She now has a spacious area with an ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) compliant bathroom.

Because the construction required permits, there were several inspections throughout the building process. The final inspection, to receive the occupancy permit, included the entire house which meant we had to have a smoke detector in every room except the kitchen, according to city code. So, my contractor installed one in each bedroom, the hallway, and the living room. He removed the one from the kitchen that went off every time I fried bacon.

Some of my detectors are hardwired to the electricity and some are battery operated only. The ones not hardwired have ten-year internal batteries that can't be changed. Older detectors have nine-volt batteries that fit into snug compartments. When the batteries get old the smoke detector starts to chirp every few minutes.

Invariably, the chirp will start in the middle of the night, when I'm in my REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep cycle, and continue relentlessly until the battery is changed. Ripping it down from the ceiling and throwing it across the room will also stop the chirping, but the damage to the wall may not make it a worthwhile solution. I'm convinced the noise is one of the devil's means to make even the most devout Christian cuss like a drunken sailor.

A couple of weeks ago my Aunt Nancy called me at 3 a.m. from her condo. She was by herself while my uncle, Rob, was in Michigan for his mother's funeral. For some reason the ring tone on my phone was set to eardrum popping level and I bolted upright in my bed. The hose from the CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) machine caught on the corner of the nightstand pulling my headgear sideways. Water spit out of the nose cushion onto my cheek as I tried to figure out what was happening. The "Strum" ringtone continued.

I grabbed the phone, unplugging it from the charging cable before the phone stand tumbled to the floor. I saw that it was Nancy and answered with a breathy, "Hello?" I was still not entirely coherent.

"Renate!" Pause. "It's Nancy!" she huffed.

"Yes, my caller ID indicated that." I huffed back. In the background I heard a loud CHIRRRP!

Nancy huffed again, "One of the smoke detectors is chirping and I can't figure out which one it is!" CHIRRRP! "I took the one down in the hallway, but I can't reach the one in my bedroom!" CHIRRRP!

"Can you get a broom and knock it down?" I asked already knowing what the result would be.

"Well, let me see." Grunt. Huff. Grunt. Bang, bang, bang, CLATTER! "It's down." Nancy said between heavy breaths.

"Yes, I heard." was my reply as another CHIRRRP! echoed through the phone speaker. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

All the traffic lights were green as I cruised down University Parkway at 3:30 a.m. and pulled through the gate of the condo complex where Nancy and Rob live. I got there in record time and heard a loud CHIRRRP! as I walked in the door.

I grabbed the step stool and climbed up to take down the offending detector in the hallway. They had both been put back in place with the hope the CHIRRRPING! would stop. I pulled it from its harness, unhooked the wires, and opened the battery compartment. Yes, it was hardwired and had a battery, which confused the bejeebers out of me. CHIRRRP! I shuffled the step stool into the bedroom and followed the same procedure. CHIRRRP!

"Ok, this is ridiculous!" I whisper shouted, because it was 4 a.m. after all, and people were sleeping in the building, blissfully unaware of the chaos in unit 512. I took down the third and last detector in the front bedroom. CHIRRRP! "You have got to be KIDDING ME!"

I looked down the hallway again, puzzled. They should NOT be making noise. Wires were hanging from the ceiling and still the CHIRRRP! continued loud and strong. Then, I looked down and spied the carbon monoxide (CO) detector plugged into the wall. "I wonder . . .," I said to myself. Reaching down, I yanked the contraption from the wall and noticed a battery compartment. CHIRRRP! I opened it, pulled the battery out, and waited . . . and waited . . . Ah, Silence . . .Yup, after all the drama and frustration it was the CO detector—that didn't need a stepladder to reach it.

My aunt looked at me sheepishly and said, "Well, we found the problem."

At one point, while I was climbing up and down the step stool pulling down and putting up the smoke detectors, I noticed they were expired. The CO detector was expired as well. I grabbed them all, threw them in a trash bag, took them to my car, and put them in the garbage can at the end of my driveway when I got home at 5:30 a.m. It was pick up day. Silence never sounded so good. I went back to bed and gave up after an hour when sleep didn't come. It was going to be a long day.

Two weeks later, wires still hang from the ceiling at Rob and Nancy's condo. The detectors will be replaced but they are waiting for their handyman to return from vacation. In the meantime, I hope the place doesn't catch fire. 

I'm back to sleeping through my REM cycle and have activated the "Do Not Disturb" (I'm calling it the DND) feature on my iPhone.