Friday, September 29, 2006

With My Body, I Thee Worship - A Molly's-Eye View

OK, we’re all in for a treat today. Molly read my ‘With My Body, I Thee Worship’ post, and she had some definite thoughts of her own. I asked her to write them down to post here, and she did. So, without further ado, I bring you my wife, Molly Jones. . .


With my body, I thee worship.

I love this phrase because it captures, stunningly, the spiritual nature of my intimate relationship with my husband. When one speaks of worship, something holy is being talked about. Sex, holy? Oh, yes; so, so yes. It is from, through, for, with and about God (communion of persons; an image of Christ and His Church).

People know this intuitively. Sex is one of the deepest pleasures of human experience (some would say it's the deepest pleasure). Being conscious of that truth, I can give myself completely to my husband. We are refreshed, renewed, and, in a real way, more tightly cemented together. We marvel together at how it just keeps getting better and better.

Not without struggle and work, though – “Would you please stop reading those sex books; they make me feel slimy”; “You want to try what?” Oh, okay; I’ll give it a try. . . And a few weeks later – you know, I kinda like that!

You see, it’s because it’s not about me, it’s about my husband – how can I show my love for him? Just like worshipping God is not about me, it’s about God. Of course, there are distractions, irritations and setbacks, but they’re ever so brief because the good is so very good. Neither of us can stand to hang around in the muck for very long.

To me, “with my body, I thee worship” means all the time, not just in bed. Kinda like worshipping God is not just in church, but it’s how one lives. So, with my body (and really, my whole self), I work very hard at domestic stuff – cooking, cleaning, laundry – and with my mind and my voice, I work at expressing honor, dignity and reverence in how I think and speak about my husband. (It just makes me cringe when I hear women disparage their own husbands.) You see, my thoughts give rise to my actions. . .

But we aren’t this ‘ideal’ couple; we don’t live ‘in the clouds’, and we’re not meaning to be ‘holier-than-thou’. We’ve just been given a great grace. . .

Vince Lombardi said, “Fatigue makes cowards of us all” (hey, with five sons, we talk about football a lot at our house). A while ago, I just got tired of cooking (I’m sure Des has mentioned all the cooking I’m doing to support his weight loss), and I was getting resentful and martyr-y; it actually went on for a day or two. Quite ugly, really; I don’t like myself when I’m selfish. I don’t even remember how we got out of it. Maybe he was responding in kind and it shocked me, maybe I just got some extra sleep, or maybe we had some wonderful intimacy. . . but we got over it.

The thing is, it’s also a great grace just to see things for what they are. “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” And the truth is, I love my husband, and he loves me. And my love for him is a conscious choice every day.

Someone asked if I feel the same way about Desmond as he feels about me; probably not the same – we’re different people. I love him as an expression of who I am, and he loves me as an expression of who he is.

But, “with my body, I thee worship” – yes; oh, yes!


Wednesday, September 27, 2006

How I Got This Way - My Spiritual Journey

It seems the time is ripe for me to lay down for blogging posterity the salient features of my own spiritual journey. It’s a fairly long, convoluted story, but I’ll try to beat it down to manageable proportions for your edification and enjoyment. . .

I grew up in a pretty plain-vanilla mainline-Protestant church; I suppose it would be called ‘theologically liberal’, but of course as a kid growing up, that label wouldn’t have meant much to me. We heard all the usual Bible stories, and about the life of Jesus. Looking back, it laid a good foundation on which to build, but at the time, it was mostly just ‘cultural background’, sort of on the order of Beethoven’s symphonies.

When I was in high school, I began to wrestle with the ‘big questions’ – does God exist? What’s the meaning of life? How should I live? Why? Or why not? And such as those.

Our church had an active and engaging high school youth group, and several of my closest friends also belonged. We did a lot of interesting activities together – service projects, plays, and all manner of things – but, when it came to the ‘big questions’, the answers I was given were oddly unsatisfying. “Be nice to people”; “Serve your fellow man”; and things of that order. Fine things, all of them, but they didn’t really get at the questions I was asking.

The summer I was 14, I went to a church camp sponsored by the state conference of our church. There I had what I can only describe as a personal experience of God. Suddenly, all the Bible stories, everything I’d heard over the years – it all made sense. This was it! Once I came to know in person the God who was behind it all, everything fell into place for me, and all the ‘big questions’ were getting suitable answers as well. Does God exist? – well, having experienced him personally, the answer seemed kind of obvious. What’s the meaning of life? – well, if God exists, that answer would seem rather self-explanatory. How should I live? – again, having met God personally, it was clear that I should live my life in accordance with the God of the Universe.

And it was also clear that this God had revealed himself concretely in the person of Jesus Christ. Suddenly I understood that Jesus wasn’t just a ‘great teacher’ – he was God-in-human-flesh. I didn’t have any idea of the ‘theology’ involved, but I understood in a deep way that it was True. And I understood from my own experience that God had sent the Holy Spirit – who I had previously thought of in only the vaguest, most abstract terms – to live within me in some mysterious and exciting way. I didn’t know any of this from being taught in a sermon – I knew it from my own direct, personal experience of it.

And I went through high school living this newfound Christian life as best I could, sometimes struggling, sometimes thriving, but always fortified by the knowledge of what I had experienced of Jesus and the Holy Spirit in my life. Every summer, I went back to camp, and got my ‘batteries recharged’.

When I went to college, there was, as there is for most college students, a major discontinuity in the circumstances of my life - I didn’t have the familiar surroundings that I’d grown up with. In particular, when Sunday morning rolled around, I didn’t really have any place to go. I knew that I wanted to continue with my Christian life, but it was not at all clear how I would go about doing that in my new context. I ran into some of my ‘camp friends’ who went to the same school, and they told me about a really cool prayer meeting, and so I went, and I came into contact with the Christian community that sponsored the prayer meeting. But there was a whole Christian ‘life-together’ behind it all, and I was immediately attracted to such an intense way of pursuing the Christian life. As soon as I could, I joined the community, and in one way or another, I’ve belonged to it ever since.

Around the same time, I started dating a girl (not Molly). She was Catholic, and she often invited me to come to Mass with her. I had no place better to be, and besides, I kinda liked hanging around her, so I usually went along. My first few masses were real eye-opening. I’d been prepared for the Mass to be really dead and boring, and barely Christian (such were the portrayals of Catholicism that I’d acquired in my life), but instead, I found it full of prayer, and Scripture was woven all through it. I was actually quite favorably impressed.

I also began my own study on the history of Christianity – I wanted to know more about how this living faith I’d acquired had gotten all the way from Bible times to me. Our community aspired to live a Christian life as much like what we saw in the Bible as we could manage, and I was fascinated by the question of how the ‘second generation’ of Christians had received the faith from the apostles, and how they carried it forward in their own day. I read the early church Fathers, and various histories by authors I respected. And as I did, I became more impressed by the notion that the Catholic church was probably the best I could do as far as being in continuity with all of Christian history.

The girl and I eventually broke up, but by that time, I was already thinking of Catholicism as ‘home’, and in the fullness of time, I was received into the Catholic church.

Since then, my Christian faith has become deeper, stronger and (I hope) more mature. I've discovered the Catholic 'philosophical tradition', and grown in my appreciation of the sacramental life of the Church, but it all comes from a living, personal experience of Christ in my life; take that away, and the whole thing falls.

And really, that’s where I’m at, down to the present day. I’m still Catholic (well, duh – eight kids), and still, with Molly, part of the ‘ecumenical’ lay community I joined when I was in college. Perhaps this will help you all understand a little bit better where I’m coming from, and where I’ve been. . .


Monday, September 25, 2006


Sometime around the year 1420, a monk named Thomas a Kempis wrote a book, The Imitation of Christ, which in the fulness of time would become the most widely-read Christian book besides the Bible. And, in its turn, it also became one of the all-time favorite books of one Mr. Desmond Jones.

The Imitation reads sort of like a medieval Christian Book of Proverbs - wisdom for living the Christian life from a wise old monk. It is simply dense with rich and challenging quotes, several of which have made their way into 'Desmond's Book of Quotes' (not available in stores). One of my favorites, which I commend to the attention of all my blog-friends is this, from chapter 6 of Book 3:

"A wise lover does not so much consider the gift of his lover as he does the love of the giver."

I first came across this many years ago, but it has become one of the favorite 'bywords' that Molly and I will quote to each other. It bespeaks a kind of humble gratitude, which has served us really well in building our marriage over the years.

On the face of it, it's pretty simple, really - sort of like etiquette advice for opening presents on Christmas morning - be grateful for the gifts you get, even if they're not exactly the ones you were hoping for. But you know, Thomas doesn't present it as etiquette advice; he just says, "A wise lover. . ." More like, "this is wisdom beyond what meets the eye. . ." And it works on multiple levels. . .

I'm adopted. At some point when I was in college, I connected the dots, and the realization dawned on me that I had been somebody's 'unwanted pregnancy'. It occurred to me that my very existence was due to somebody I'd never met taking the trouble to see me through nine months of pregnancy. Molly and I got married and began having our own children - 1F was actually the first person I ever knew who was genetically related to me. And all the while, the realization of what it had cost my birth-mother for me to be alive was growing stronger. Until finally, the sense of gratitude for my own existence became my strongest motivation to find and meet my birth-mother.

My birth-mother and I have always had a great relationship. Not so much because either of us are such wonderful people, but because at the bottom of it all, our relationship is one of mutual gratitude - I'm grateful to her for giving me life (and putting up with everything that went into that, including relinquishing me to be adopted by a family that could raise me), and she's grateful, even after all the years, to have a relationship with the son of her womb (and a fine son he is, if I may say so myself). We're both fairly quirky individuals, and there would be a lot to be annoyed with in each other, if we were so inclined, but from the beginning, our relationship has been founded on gratitude, so the quirks just seem really minor.

And all the moreso in marriage. I'm so grateful to Molly for throwing her life in with mine, for the love she gives me every day, and for the richness of the life we share together, that her quirks just aren't a very big deal by comparison. And I know that it works the same way from her end.

It's not just a matter of 'seeing the glass half-full' or 'looking on the bright side', although both of those are good advice. Temperamentally, I'm not a 'glass-half-full' person. But being able to receive with joy 'the gift my lover brings', just because I know how it's expressive of her love for me (quite a separate question from how good a gift it is), brings deep joy to my whole life. Does that make sense?

So I'm not really meaning to hold myself up as a shining example of superior virtue, or anything like that. But I do believe that we've learned something really good and valuable, and I'd commend it to any of my friends who can receive it.


Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Parents Are People, Too

Recently, we were having a, uh, discussion with one of our teenagers, and it became, as such, uh, discussions sometimes do, unpleasant. We were told quite pointedly that, beyond a shadow of doubt, it was clear that Molly and I hated the teen, that we were abysmal failures as parents, that said teen rejected us, our values and everything we hold sacred, and would, at his earliest opportunity, leave, never to lay eyes on our sorry asses ever again. Pretty strong stuff.

And within twelve hours, the same teen approached us, apologizing for his harsh words, asking our forgiveness, and expressing a desire to have our trust, and a good relationship with us. Which, of course, is what we want, too.

This has happened several times, across pretty much the entire range of our children above the age of 14. By now, we are almost used to it. Almost. The thing that has come to impress me about it is how, within a day (or less) of throwing the most vile, hurtful words imaginable at us, the kids will come to us, all contrite, and want us to brush it all aside, as if it had never happened.

Then it occurred to me – even to our teens, we parents are fairly god-like beings, wise and powerful, so capable and sure of ourselves, even above our emotions. It’s easy to see that in our young children, in whose eyes we can do no wrong (sigh; those are wonderful days, and it’s probably God’s mercy that we have a couple of them left while we’re dealing with our teens). But our teens, even while they’re in the process of separating themselves from us and establishing their own individual identities, still maintain a residue of this god-like view of their parents. They believe that we are impassive Olympians, above and beyond the emotional responses of mere mortals. Their insults are supposed to bounce off us, falling harmlessly to the ground, without effect. Our toddlers think we are physically all-powerful, and by their standards, we are. But our teens think we are emotionally impenetrable, that they can throw all manner of abuse at us, and we will absorb it all without flinching.

And, for the most part, that’s what we need to do. But I have begun to make the point to my teens that I’m not quite as god-like and impassive as all that – when I get cut, I bleed a bit; when I get battered, I might show a bruise, and it might be painful for a while before it’s completely healed. I’m not sure they really understand, but it’s probably good to plant the idea in the backs of their minds.

I can recall when I went away to college; my freshman year, my dad would call me on the phone every Friday afternoon, just before dinner. At first, it irked me a bit – it wasn’t always ‘convenient’ for me to talk when he wanted to. It was Friday, I had places to go, etc. Then one day, I was struck by the sudden realization – my dad missed me, and he was concerned for how things were going for me, being away from home for the first time, and all that. It had never occurred to me that my dad might miss me - that he might have any emotions; that I, or my life, might affect him on an emotional level. I mean, I knew I was OK, so what was there for him to worry about, right? Besides, he was my dad; he didn’t have emotions.

And that was a kind of epiphany for my life – the first time I saw my Olympian, god-like father as in any sense a vulnerable human being.

And my teenagers aren’t there yet. They are capable of a lot, both physically and intellectually. They can dish out pain and punishment virtually as if they were adults. But they aren’t developmentally ready yet to think of their parents as human beings. Not yet.


Soon, but not yet.


Monday, September 18, 2006

With My Body, I Thee Worship

A while back, a phrase came into my mind (phrases do that to me, from time to time; it's my cross to bear), and it hasn’t left me alone ever since. I think it’s from an old form of the Anglican wedding service (incredibly geeky, I know, but what can I do?). Anyway, at one point during the vows, the bridegroom says to the bride: “With my body, I thee worship.”

With my body, I thee worship.

There is a real depth there, a real richness, that goes beyond merely “I love you,” or even, “I want to have a life and a family with you,” although those things are certainly included in it. It captures very well how I feel about my wife, and how I aspire to have my life be joined to hers.

On multiple levels, sex is an act of worship – Catholics would invoke the grace of the sacrament of Matrimony. But in a simpler, earthy sense, I can simply say that I mean to worship Molly. Not, obviously, in the same sense in which I worship God – I would mean something like ‘reverence’, or ‘venerate’, or ‘honor’ or ‘esteem’, but none of those words capture the full sense of what I mean the way that ‘worship’ does. Molly is worthy of veneration, just like, say, Catholic theology would say the saints are worthy of veneration, but she is the saint whose life is bound up with mine.

GK Chesterton wrote that being constrained to one woman was a small price to pay for the privilege of having even one woman, and that sense of reverential gratitude resonates deeply with me. Getting to know Molly – really know her – is like being let in on a great mystery. As a Christian, I want to go “further up and further in” – grow deeper in my love of God, and give myself more fully to Him. In an analogous way, I want to ‘go deeper’ in our marriage, and the life we have together. I want to know her better, be known better by her, give my life more fully to her, and that begins to get at the ‘worship’ I aim to give her.

In Holy Communion, Catholics believe that we receive Christ directly into our bodies (there is a very earthy aspect to Catholic theology that I find immensely appealing). In an analogous way, we give ourselves, and receive each other, directly into our bodies when we make love, under the covering of the sacrament of Matrimony. It’s all so rich, I can scarcely say what I really mean.

With my body, I thee worship.



Friday, September 15, 2006

Duty and Love

I am a big fan of the notion of duty. As much as many bloggers place duty and love in opposition, I think that duty is of the essence of love, and vice versa. We take on duties because of love. I will get up in the middle of the night with a sick child because I love my child. I don’t particularly ‘want’ to (especially if it involves cleaning up any fluids emitted from the child’s body); I’m certainly not ‘passionate’ about tending to sick children (someone else might be, but I’m not), but because I love my child, I do my ‘duty’. A soldier will die for his country because it's his duty, but it's his love for his family, friends, neighbors, homeland, whatever, that makes him feel it as a duty. My own father has lived practically his whole life out of a sense of duty, and as I've grown older myself, I am increasingly in awe of how much he loved his family, even though passionate he is decidedly not. . .

We both love the song, 'Do You Love Me?' from Fiddler on the Roof. After 25 years of shared life, mutual service and pulling together in a common endeavor, what do you know - Golde and Tevye find that they love each other, even though they had never particularly thought about it before. I know that that idea absolutely runs against the grain of modern culture, but it contains more than a grain of truth - that marriage is built on a foundation of mutual commitment and, dare I say, duty, much more securely than it is on passion and emotion. And what about 'love'? "It doesn't change a thing, but even so - after 25 years, it's nice to know."

Now, duty can be done in lots of ways – happily, straightforwardly, grudgingly, etc, etc. If my kids are going to whine and bitch about doing the dishes, I'd rather do them myself (except that they aren't about to be let off that easy).

So I guess, at the most fundamental level, my point would be that ‘duty’ has a lot more to do with 'love' (if not exactly ‘passion’) than meets the eye. . .


Wednesday, September 13, 2006

This Week On 'All My Children'

Things with us are actually in a relatively peaceful state, right at the moment. 1F is through with all the court haggling - her baby's adoption is final, and her relationship with the adoptive parents is working out pretty well. She's working, and this fall she's back in school, studying speech pathology. So her life is in as good a place as it's been in a long, long time. It’s a little hard being a 24-year-old college freshman – all her age-peers have long since graduated and gotten on with their lives – but that’s a pretty minor complaint, compared to where she’s been.

2F is still doing well – she’s one or two classes away from getting her initial ‘professional’ certification, which will allow her to make more of a real living for herself. She moved out of our basement ‘apartment’, and in with some single women from our Christian community. When she completes her certification, she’s giving serious thought to doing a year of voluntary missionary work.

Even with 3M, things aren't as bad as they've been. He's starting to see the fruit of the crap he's been throwing around for the last several years, and starting to think that he needs to take a different approach. He actually told Molly recently that he wants to start turning his life around. Of course, we're all in favor of that, and we want to encourage him to do that. But he's spent years forming bad habits that he's going to need to break if he really wants to turn his life around. It won't be easy, and we told him that. But at least the need is recognized, and the desire is there.

In other ways, he’s sort of floundering right at the moment. He can't seem to find a job, but he bought himself a beater van. But he's got no money to put gas in it, so he leaves it parked on the street in front of our house. . . . At any rate, he's only got a month or so to go before his life starts running according to somebody else's script for a while.

4M is back in school for his sophomore year in high school. His date with the magistrate in August went as well as it possibly could have – all the charges against him were dropped, since he’s got no prior record, he’s a good student, and an otherwise upstanding citizen. He’s got ‘points’ against him just sitting there, waiting for him to get a driver’s license, but he’s in no hurry for that right now (and neither are we, given what his insurance rates would likely be). He seems to have been chastened by the whole experience. That would be a good thing. We keep getting flashes of hot-headed defiance from him that we’d rather do without, but some (most?) of that falls under the heading of ‘teenaged male’.

The younger kids are pretty much status quo, at least per this previous post. Growing in wisdom and stature, and all that. But we’ll see what adventures they’ve got stored up for us, when the time comes. . .


Friday, September 8, 2006

An' If My Wife Is Watchin'. . .

Any of you out there ever see The Red Green Show? It's a Canadian show that airs on our local PBS affiliate. I'm not a big fan of TV (a subject for another post sometime, perhaps), but I LOVE that show. I think it reminds me of growing up in northern Michigan. .

I want to do a post to bring you all up to date on what's been going on with our family, particularly those of you who dropped in on the previous incarnation of this blog, who are wondering what ever became of 1F and her baby, or 3M and his various troubles, or 4M and his, um, legal problems. But I don't have time to do a post like that right now.

So, I'll go with Red Green. At the end of every show, Red signs off by speaking through the camera to his wife, letting her know that the show's over and he'll be home soon, with some humorous (or, in Canada, is that humourous?) message. So I'll leave you with a couple of my favorites favourites, just to get you through the weekend:

(after an episode that dealt with some legal problems for Red):

"An' if my wife is watchin', I just wanna say that, when I get home, maybe you could present me with your briefs an' we could discuss a merger."

(my personal favo(u)rite, after a show about a science project gone awry):

"An' if my wife is watchin', I just wanna say that today I learned that there are some things that man is not meant to know. . . An' I'm hopin' that you're not one of 'em."

See you next week. . .


Wednesday, September 6, 2006

The Couple that Does WHAT Together?

Molly and I both turned 50 this year. It's funny, but 50 seems like a taller psychological hurdle than any of the previous 'decade' birthdays have been. I mean, when I was 49, I could say I was "in my 40s", and that didn't sound so old. But there's no way to make 50 sound younger than it is. Oh, well; I can always say "you're as young as you feel," and I feel pretty darn good. I also have a four-year-old and an eight-year-old, so I can't be all that old, now can I?

Anyway, the thing with these 'decade' birthdays is that they always seem to usher you into some new medical regime; I started doing regular physicals when I turned 40. I did all the blood work, peed in the little cup, had my doc and a couple of nurses poke me, prod me, listen to this, that and the other thing, and then, when it was almost over, the doc starts putting on a rubber glove, and tells me to drop my pants and lean over the exam table. "It's time for your very first prostate exam," he said, and he wasted no time getting down to work.

The good news: I have a very healthy prostate. I also have no latent homosexual tendencies; if I was ever 'bi-curious', I'm not any more.

I'm less sure of Molly's after-40 regimen. I think it was around that time that she started getting regular mammograms, but she doesn't talk to me about it much. She doesn't talk to me much about her pap-and-pelvic exams, either, and that's mainly just fine with me.

So, this year, after the doc slips off his rubber glove at the end of the physical, he says, "Hmmmm; you're turning 50 this year. Time for you to get a colonoscopy." Hmmmm. 'Colon'; 'scope' - I think I see where this is headed, and I'm not altogether sure that I appreciate it quite as fully as my doc does.

For whatever reason, by midsummer, I still hadn't scheduled my colonoscopy. I'm not squeamish, and I don't have some 'complex' about doctors or medical stuff; I just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Then, around her 50th birthday, Molly goes in for her own physical, and she comes back with her own colonoscopy order. And it's at this point that you're going to learn about another of the endearingly goofy things that make my wife wonderful.

"I've got a great idea," she says. "We could get our colonoscopies together! Don't you think that would be romantic?"

His-and-hers colonoscopies. . . No, I don't think 'romantic' is quite the word that comes immediately to mind. I'm not sure exactly what Molly is thinking, but I'm conjuring an image of the two of us lying face-down on adjoining gurneys, holding hands while the technicians poke at our hind ends. Shaking my head to clear my brain of that image, I say, "Sure dear; what the heck - we might as well just get them both out of the way, anyway."

So Molly calls the lab and tells them she wants our appointments scheduled together. The scheduler pauses for a long time before asking, "Who's going to drive? You'll both be doped up after the procedure; you'll need a driver." OK, no problem; we can get 1F to pick us up. Then the scheduler asks, "Um, how many bathrooms do you have?" Huh? Why would it matter how many bathrooms we have? "Well, when you're doing your prep work, you'll both need to have pretty exclusive use of a bathroom." Prep work? "Well, yeah, you need to have your bowel cleared out before the procedure."

Now, I'm starting to get a really bad vibe about this. Anyway, Molly says no problem, we've got two-and-a-half bathrooms, so we can each take one and still have one left over for the kids to use. Hmmm; five kids for a half-bathroom. Okay, I guess, if we really have to. So we schedule both procedures for last Friday.

Now, the prep work for a colonoscopy is outlined in two pages of instructions, which, when properly executed, will result in a completely vacant large intestine. It starts a week or so ahead of time; you have to stop eating things with seeds, like strawberries, tomatos or cucumbers. For a day and a half before the procedure, you eat no solids, only clear liquids. Two days beforehand, you make a trip to the pharmacy; the instructions give you a long list of meds to be taken on a specified schedule. In simplified form, this amounts to, "Go to the pharmacy; find the laxative aisle; get one of everything, except two of the most powerful stuff." Then go home and start consuming them, starting with the mildest stuff and working your way up. When your prep work is complete, there is nothing left inside of you.

Molly chose her bathroom, and I chose mine; if we needed to talk, we called each other on our cell phones.

Friday morning, we show up at the lab and check in. They give us the hospital gowns open down the back (well, what did you expect?), take our vital signs, and hit us with the 'happy meds'. Apparently this is a procedure that goes best when you're not quite fully cognizant of what's going on.

The techs come for Molly first, and wheel her off down the hall, while she cheerfully waves and chirps, "Wish me luck!" A half-hour or so later, I hear her giggling as they wheel her back to the waiting area, and we pass each other in the hall as they wheel me down to the lab room.

They roll me on my side, and there's a TV screen directly in front of me, so I can watch the colon-cam pictures while the doc goes spelunking in my large intestine. It's sort of bizarre to think that the cave on the TV is really somewhere up inside my own ass, but the 'happy meds' make it so that there really aren't any associated physical sensations, so it's sort of like a weird out-of-body thing going on.

The procedure went really well - they found one tiny, benign 'polyp', which they snipped right out while I watched on the live-action butt-cam. Other than that, I have a clean bill of colonic health. And Molly's intestines are even healthier than mine. Which I'm sure you're all happy to hear.

When they were finished, they rolled me back to the waiting area, where Molly was waiting for me with dreamy eyes (either she was really, really into the whole 'romantic' thing, or the 'happy meds' were slow in wearing off). The final stage of the procedure involves 'expelling' all the 'air' that had been pumped into our intestines to keep them 'open' for the colon-cam shots. I will say that Molly's intestines are tuned to a somewhat higher pitch than mine are.

So there you have it. I don't know, maybe Molly was right - maybe it was more romantic than I expected it to be; a real husband/wife bonding experience, you know?

Naaaaah, I don't think so!