Friday, November 9, 2007

Dazed and Confused

I've had my share of odd days, but today may be one of the strangest. For one thing, today is the anniversary of mrpeenee and R Man. Twenty-six years ago tonight we hooked-up, as the youngsters say, in the backroom of a bar in New Orleans and started the complex navigation to the lovely happy life we have now. Coincidentally, I was 26 years old, so tomorrow morning, I will will have had him in my life longer than I lived without him. In all those years, I have never had any hesitation in saying he is the center of my universe, the joy of my life, the cream in my coffee.

After a late lunch this afternoon (at Chow, of course. I recommend the pear cobbler) we went to shop for tile for our bathroom renovation and then on to R Man's appointment with the cardiologist for an examination. I'd have to say that was the point where the day tipped over into the bizarre because that was the point where the good doctor announced R Man had to go immediately into the hospital for angiogram. An angiogram is where they stick a tube up through the artery in your groin into your heart in order to shoot radioactive dye into you to see if your arteries are blocked. I was well and truly flipped out when they wouldn't let us just walk across the street to the hospital, but made us wait for a wheelchair to transport R Man over there.

It turns out that a regular part of these angiograms includes an angioplasty where they do actual repair work. Once they have a look-see at how badly the pipes are plugged up they can sort of Roter Rooter out the cholesterol crud that's blocking the way and then you go home the next day and subscribe to AARP. Except for R Man who has such severe blockage of two arteries and a major branch that he has to have coronary bypass surgery tomorrow. Maybe Sunday, they're not sure.

My approach to bad news is to just ignore it, to stick my fingers in me ears and sing "Lalalalala, don't hear no lesbian subplot" until it's over. Having disaster strike like a brick falling on one's head is better suited to that system than a growing problem one should be planning for. Still, even for me, this is all pretty breathtaking while I think R Man is sort of numbed. Three hours after standing around admiring expensive Italian glass mosaic tiles, they're prepping R Man for surgery and and hour later the cardiologist starts off his little talk to me with the phrase "The good news is...." There is no sentence in the world that starts off with those four words that is ever going to go in a direction you want it to.

Everyone at the hospital seems somber, but not worried (except me and R Man) so maybe coronary bypass surgery is not such a big deal, but that seems sort of unlikely.

Anyway, so, once upon a time, R Man and I had our first night of wild weasel sex under his roommate's fur bedspread (I believe the fur was shaved rat, but it was very romantic, never the less) and 26 years later, tonight, I was cutting up shrimp with artichoke hearts from his hospital tray to feed him his dinner. That was sort of romantic, too, and R man said it was very tasty, but you know, it's just not the same.

Life's funny that way.


  1. Oh dear. I'm sending you both all the love and prayers I can give.

  2. thanks sweetie, I genuinely appreciate it.

  3. Wow. What a special day!

    I will not go into my usual tirade against western medicine; let it suffice to say that both of my elderly parents have gone through these procedures, and they're still here. For better or worse.

    It seems that one of the reasons why this day has been given to you is to make you pause and take stock. One must, every so often, as well you know. You (and R Man) have much to be grateful for, starting with each other. Another thing that might be gleaned is how our identities change through the years, and how we must strive not to lapse into complacency. Being more fully present is never a bad thing, though people seem to resist it.

    So, just a little reminder to cherish each other, and yourselves. (You know I'm an ordained minister and have presided over a number of weddings---the last being a lesbian couple who have since had a baby and split up---and this is just the sort of sincere sentiment I would try to get across!)

    Anyway, you KNOW that you're both in my thoughts.

    (And "Lalalala, Don't hear no lesbian subplot" almost made me fall out of my chair!)


  4. I think it's the curse of our generation. I have many friends around our age group that are still with us because of these procedures. Don't be fearful, be thankful. Prayers, for R man and for you sweetie.

  5. Goodness, Mr P

    I'm earnestly sending you and him both "possitive energy" (as a flakeier friend of mine once used to say)
    out there.

  6. I went through a similar thing with my husband of (then) of 18 years (one day we were painting walls of the new house we had just bought, and he was complaining of a little stomach ache. The next day he was in the ICU for massive blood clots). Surgery saved his life. but I'll tell you, Having someone who is one of the pillars of your life, be in a life-threatening condition, knowing you could lose them, it changes everything. I don't have to strive to be more fully present anymore. I know now that this moment is all we really have. Hope he sails through surgery beautifully, and that you have 26 more years together.

  7. Being late to learn of this, I'm glad that the surgery has gone well.


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