The Procedure of Which We Should Not Speak

8:15 a.m. – As is the customary morning ritual, I head to the bathroom to relieve myself with snarling teeth exposed. A few grunts later I make it to my bar and begin to formulate my anxiety tonic. Three ounces of smooth calm later I’m ready to go.

8:35 a.m. – I am dropped off at the clinic and make my way up the elevator while conversing with a man who has half an ankle, the result of a motorcycle injury. After discussing the pros and cons of negotiating eight hundred pound motor-beasts I walk from the vertical transport, down the hall and to the office.

8:50 a.m. – I’m in exam room number one. Before me sits a mechanical chair that looks like a hybrid stepchild from the union of an auto mechanic’s duty bay and an OBGYN’s rummage sale. There she is the extraction seat: piston levers, leg stirrup holders, swivel base, and padded cushions covered with that butcher paper that they lay on the equipment so you don’t either give the next guy something or receive it from the last patron.

8:55 a.m. – What an interesting position to be in, laid up in the hydraulic lift seat, legs in the stirrups fully exposed. I can’t help but have flashbacks of the many un-relatable conversations I’ve had with women as they’ve discussed and remarked about pap smears, yearly examines, and the strangeness of porn-like medical posturings. I turn my head east and see a television monitor and various elongated tubes and wires and thing-a-ma-jigs connected to an outlet that all say to me “Hi, we are here to invade your body cavity.” In my mind I hear the frightened voice of Daffy Duck saying, “Mother!?”.

9:00 a.m. – Doctor comes in and mumbles a few cordial words while busily reading my chart and asking where I’ve been for so long. I decided to confess that I’ve been both busy and chicken. Busy with a new job and chicken to submit to the fact that the psychological pain of the extraction-of-which-we-do-not-speak is far worse than the reality. After a comforting chuckle and some reassuring formalities he informs me that he is about to administer a numbing gel into the end of my extremity-of-which-we-should-not-speak. Daffy!!!!??? Help!!!!

9:10 a.m. – Nurse enters and gracefully avoids staring directly at me while making distracting chit chat but I know that those thing-a-ma-jigs are about to be used and I’m not letting anyone out of my sight.

9:15 a.m. – Doctor lets me know that they will be putting in one of those elongated tubes and filling me with some water to get the endoscope in. I feel my insides pressurizing. Just as he’s passing the prostate he says, “Okay, now this is the worse part and …” That’s all I heard before it felt like my entire region-of-which-we-should-not-probe was going to explode in aquatic agony. But, in about three seconds it subsided.

9:18 a.m. – Nurse informs me that I can view the monitor at my leisure to watch them grab the stent. I oblige and watch as this hemostatic-alligator jaw clamps down on the end of the stent’s loop resting just inside my bladder. There’s a certain surreal moment in all of this where you begin to think that you are really watching someone else on TLC and not your own inner workings in full color.

9:20 a.m. – “Alright now, here we go I’m going to pull it out and….” Zip. Pluck. In one swift yank the entire stent is out. The nurse holds it up for examination as if it were a freshly uncorked wine bottle. I cannot describe the feeling. Strange day.

9:25 a.m. – Everyone leaves the room and I’m told I can wipe up and get dressed. I look around the exam room as the buzz turns silent and I realize that I’m all alone with a certain peculiar sense of having been violated by the stent horde. Co-pay collected. Procedure done. NEXT!

9:35 a.m. – I find out that I have calcium stones and that I’ve got to participate in a Litholink Kidney Stone Prevention Program whereby I collect my urine for a twenty-four hour period and FedEx it to a lab. The fun never ends does it?

I just keep reminding myself that I could have a leech on my flank and head back home.

Pondering the Stent Removal

Well, in the morning I get my uretic stent taken out. This wire was inserted into my urinary system while having my lithotripsy procedure. It extends from my kidney down to my bladder. Here's an x-ray of what it looks like. [No, this is not me :) ]

www.path.utah.edu/casepath/GU%20Cases/GUCase5/
ABD%20film%20post%20stent.jpg

Nice, huh? This little medical gadget is there to aid the exiting of kidney stones and fragments through the urinary tract and since the urologist gave me the green light they are now going to remove it. Now comes the tricky part. There is only one way that stent is coming out and no,I don't have a secret hatch or fistibulation hole readily available. So that means that Mr. Manhood and myself had a meeting and have concluded that neither of us are very happy about this event, yet we concede to its inevitability.

I called the doctor and asked if I could have a double martini prior to the extraction-of-which-we-do-not-speak and he approved. Therefore, at 8:10 a.m., in the morning light,I shall be shaking up my pre-office elixir. Over the scent of fresh eggs and toast will be the crackling of ice cubes and the wonderful taste of anchovie-stuffed olives. Perhaps in memory of the great journalist Hunter Thompson's tragic demise I can put on some aviators and a gonzo hat.

To be continued...

The New American Prayer

Oh, All-powerful and All-knowing higher entity-person for which we have no agreed upon name!

We bow our heads before your unknown essence and pray to you/he/she/it in a moment of silence because we know that we have been given nothing of certainty by which we can know you or your purpose, ability, and character.

We adore and praise all of your wondrous and indefinite attributes as we assume their existence because they make us feel better about our world and ourselves as we act spiritually in prayer.

We thank you, and perhaps even ourselves, for creating this world and all that is in it, which stands as an incredibly vague and mysterious monument to the glory of none.

Please forgive us All-powerful and All-knowing higher entity-person for calling you by so many various names and essences as we respect your right to be as undistinguished as possible.

Help us each day to live our lives in an honoring way according to the corruptively ambiguous and contradictory collective writings that we advanced primates uphold as divine.

Amen.

© 2005 Munkeyfu Madness

Waiting on Science and the Theory of Inversion

I've successfully attached this rubber plunger to my belly button and have tied fifteen feet of steel cable to the handle which is firmly secured to my friend Elrod's Ford F-150 trailer hitch so that in the wee hours of the morning when he gets up to go nutria hunting and speeds off into the rigorous and unassuming dew, I will find my skin inverted up and over my lip as I attempt to prove once again that the theory of external epidermal inversion is exactly correct as it relates to being turned inside out by sudden and sharply directed vector forces uniquely and precisely applied.

These Words, Phrases, and Sayings Burn Us! -Part. III

The MHASWSCA list concludes:

7. Right to Your Own Opinion
This particular expression hails from the political arena and attempts to denote an unalienable right to possess an opinion. Here we have another curious saying that falls short of conveying anything of substance. We have a right to have a thought? We possess the right to think whatever we want? Who's attempting to police your mind anyway? How would they even access it since it cannot be known by anyone else but you and God? Only when thoughts are converted into words and are expressed either verbally or by pen can they be ascertained and at that moment they are immediately subject to Law. Hence, the practical reality of 'the right to one's opinion' is merely philosophical posturing that still may result in a sock to the jaw or jail time. We don't have the right to publicly spew whatever opinion we have on any subject.

What would we tell forty-five year old Freddy Freek when he says to us, "Ya know, I believe the true essence of all love and worthy affection are found in my choice of sexual relations with three year old girls. My highest happiness is found in those fantastic love bonds."? Would we honestly say to him, "Freddy, you have a right to your opinion." ? Some opinions are simply evil and as such deserve no light of day much less given the crowning of a 'right'.

8. My Bad
This is said when one makes a mistake or blunder or error of judgment. I really have no idea why adults would choose to sound like non-indigenous vistors to a new planet or infants in a Toys-R-Us commercial. My bad. Your good. Me like. You should.
Surely we can stretch our sentences from kindergarten to complex usage and resist the urge to speak like robotons.

9. Offensiveness
I was going to write about this topic but I suddenly became aware that I might offend someone who has a right to their opinion so I've decided in the name of tolerance to refrain. My bad.

10. Tolerance
It used to be that we used the term 'tolerate' in reference to things that were rudely wrong such as the noxious odor of a flatulent friend or Uncle Pete's drunken hi-jinx at the annual family picnic. However, the post-modern PC police have hi-jacked this word. The interesting part about this kidnapping is that they only seem to be able to tolerate those who agree with them and have a very low threshold of tolerance for those who are intolerant of them. Does this make them offensive?

These Words, Phrases, and Sayings Burn Us! -Part. II

The MHASWSCA list continues:

4. Don’t Go There
No, this isn’t a geographical proclamation it is a conversation directive. DGT comes to us from the open-minded free speech crowd as they attempt to control the direction of closed conversations. When one receives a DGT it is a clear indication that you are being shut down like an out-of-code diner whose meter is minus a few quarters.

5. Issues
I use to think that issues were reoccurring magazine subscriptions; however, now they are everywhere. Issues are pesky little thought patterns and deep-seated abnormalities that manifest themselves as behaviors that those who interact with you have to deal with. Gone are the notions of ‘sin’ and ‘wrong’ and ‘you are a freak’. Our post-modern love fest has brought us the psychobabble-infused notion of ‘issues’ fresh from the therapy session. I’ve been told that even my dog has issues since I had her spayed. Poor Rose.

6. Agree to Disagree
This lovely conclusion remark gives me a rash. I say X, you say –X and we agree that that has taken place. Let’s run past that again shall we? You say one thing and I don’t agree with it, so our conclusion? We concur that we disagree. Exactly what on earth have we said in saying that?! Blue is blue. This one is straight out of the politically correct oh-please-can’t-Rodney-King-be-right suitcase.

I disagree with this gem, but then again, I have issues.

Whatever.

More to come...

These Words, Phrases, and Sayings Burn Us! -Part. I

In the name of the Most Hated and Annoyingly Silly Words and Sayings Committee of America(MHASWSCA),I submit to you this list of gems:

1. Whatever
This classic quip speaks volumes about the apathetic and you-are-irrelevant-please-shuddup jolly rangers. When you refuse to communicate in a mature and interested fashion keep this Hall of Fame classic in your pocket for solid blathering rotation; a true favorite among the ME generation.

2. Talk to the Hand
This beauty is the kissing cousin of ‘Whatever’ but seems to find its roots in the ghetto byways of Urbana. Outstretching one’s arm and extending your palm (fingers up) into the opposing side’s face as yet another gesture of irrelevancy. “Hi, Uncle Fred, you don’t exist. My ears are blocked. Nana-nana boo-boo.”

3. ADD/ADHD
This tag finds its birth in the psycho-scam known as Attention Deficit Disorder. Hoodwinking hundreds of thousands of parents and educators into believing that their children possess some sort of genetic problem by medicating them with shaky meds and unproven danger drugs, this tagline is deeply disturbing. While some children do indeed have true organic brain deficiencies they represent an extremely small minute percentage of the population.

Discipline has been replaced by medication no matter what the screaming willy-wogs would like us to believe as they parade around in their Self-Esteem Uniforms peddling the latest positive integrationist nonsense.

He who spares his rod hates his son, But he who loves him disciplines him promptly. Proverbs 13:24

Where’s the loving woodshed when we need it?


More to come ...

The Resident Suffering

We commonly recoil at extreme physical forms of suffering -sharp shards of glass scraped on the skin shredding it like raw meat in a meticulous butcher’s hands or poker hot cigar stubs pressing against one’s cheek all bring shrills to our spines and a very real sense of horror to our minds. Even chronic back ailments or well-placed paper cuts find our toes curling and the hair rising up like newly erected phone pole lines on the backs of our necks.

But today I was thinking about a more prevalent suffering, one that is more hidden in form and residence. Our trails are laden with lateral hazards, snares and traps and ditches and silent coves, good for hiding out or resting just before the bitter heat and utter coldness tests our hearts as we put our packs back on and set afoot yet again.

It’s much harder to judge the intensity of these sufferings because each one is tailored in the heart and no two contexts reveal the same reaction. Corrupted nature meets insufficient nurture causing Samsonite to produce more luggage and few carts.

Each of us has his own evaluation and internal exam filtering his input and interactions and sending in custom reports of the day’s travels. Bearing our own burdens is enough to crush the strongest backs and yet we are called to carry other’s burdens as well.

Unshared thoughts and procrastinated promises that call in sick regularly.
Affection vacuums that clean out a longing heart.
Continual shredding.
Intense loneliness amidst a crowded home.
Little boy blue robbed of his cat and cradle.
Thoughtless greetings.

Some sufferings are steady and slow in their erosion. May God help us endure the weathering hike.

Divine Duty

There is an obligation in duty and only those duties that are divinely dispensed deserve allegiance. If that is true then the pursuit of such duties requires that one have this depository readily available to them lest they be found floundering. By logical necessity an absolute criteria must exist whose borders are carved outside of our thoughts and whose content is clearly attainable and self-evident or we must adopt, by the same logical necessity, a subjective chameleon that is in essence nothing more than a nihilistic slab.

What is even more interesting is to observe that once one has these duties identified, the impossibility of proper execution without Divine aid and transformation becomes immediately obvious. The ever-present cliché "No one is perfect" resonates loudly in duty's hall. This only intensifies the truth of our need of a Savior, one who can accomplish what duty demands and rescue us from ourselves. And what of those who deny duty’s existence?

When the objectiveness and absolutism of a Divinely ordered duty is placed as a doorpost to our human activity it, by its very nature, has no bias. It stands tall, lurking high above our heads, stamped eternally from generation to generation becoming the ‘I AM’ by which all things are examined.

All granite columns that anchor the gates stop all galloping steeds.

On Weather's Constant Parade

Endless vapor falling from clouds turned cold and gray.

Liquid lament.

Piercing winds diving eastward on serpent backed rails.

These are the days that only fueled hearths can sooth.

Creative Hands

Steady and well-trained hands moving - the motions are rhythmic and mechanical yet personal and adjusting. From cold aluminum shafts and spun skeins emerges a tapestry finely knitted together. Out of the almost robotic redundancy patterned to perfection comes a new snuggle piece. It reminds me of the amazement I have when I watch someone play a musical instrument.

There are times when the mechanics of bowing or the technique of fingering simply seem to be completely unrelated to what your heart hears as the melodic course streams through you. To be taken to North American valleys and the forever stratosphere and to love lost depths or triumph gained by exercising string vibrations or the concurrence of certain octaves creatively fashioned, sets me to mind as I see a new hand-made blanket arrive fresh from its needled incubation. There seems to be a certain disconnect between process and piece and yet they are one.

Staring at the new hatchling it’s funny how I feel as though I would be violating a certain pact, unmade yet understood, if I were to take that blanket and allow myself to be covered by the beauty of her first warmth. When the craftsman makes a piece specifically for a definite person it seems adulterous to sneak in a comfy wrap or snuggle prior to the inauguration meeting when the recipient meets product.

So as the rain continues to fall and the night air is chilled, I’ll just admire from afar and gently brush my palm over the fine fibers. We do have a way of trade marking our creature comforts particularly when they have been woven especially for us by steady and well-trained hands, and who am I to intrude?