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.
(9 comments)
Monday, September 25, 2006
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.
(*sigh*)
Soon, but not yet.
(8 comments)
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.
(*sigh*)
Soon, but not yet.
(8 comments)
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.
Awesome.
(8 comments)
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.
Awesome.
(8 comments)
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. . .
(5 comments)
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. . .
(5 comments)
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. . .
(6comments)
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. . .
(6comments)
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 myfavorites 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. . .
(4 comments)
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
(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. . .
(4 comments)
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!
(9 comments)
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!
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