This may be a post to file under “too much information”, but seeing as we’ve posted 400 times in the last year it’s probably way too late for that. We had another medical procedure in our family today, but this time it wasn’t Rudy. While some of the folks in my office thought I was taking advantage of a 3-day weekend, my day started off with a 30 minute procedure on this table.
Very quick and efficient as far as doctor’s appointments go…yet permanently life-altering. Not sure if we’ve mentioned here before that a heart condition was arguably only the second biggest surprise surrounding Rudy. His penchant for beating the odds was there from the beginning given his deft maneuvering past countermeasures deemed 98% effective. But 2% probability is still probability. Shortly after Livy was born we had discussed taking more permanent steps, but that fell in a crack somewhere on “the list” between going to the dentist, updating the will and cleaning out the rain gutters. But trust me. We’re done.
Perhaps our family’s immersion in the medical world this past year has us in a place where such a procedure is discussed with surprising candor. A generation ago I suspect Daddy would have just been feeling under the weather for a day, but I learned that Trish felt differently when the kids greeted me in the driveway a couple days ago with giggles and all kinds of curious questions. Amazing how brutal things can sound when medical terminology is replaced with the lunch-table vernacular of elementary school boys and a conception of surgical precision has seemingly not progressed much past that of a Civil War field hospital.
In the consultation prior to my procedure protocol demanded that the doctor explain the finality of what one is about to undertake and assess whether the patient truly feels he is done procreating. In my case, his quick glance at the medical history alleviated any need for further questions (“Let’s see you’re 42, kids aged 12, 10, 7 and……..9 months! Sign here!”)
In one of the brochures they gave me to read, I was advised to take stock of my current offspring and determine whether my life would feel incomplete without any more. I don’t think it was to be read as a joke book, but I did find it funny. I was urged to take some time and take stock of the situation and my hopes and dreams. I have to confess, I didn’t do much of it then but this weekend of reclining and recuperating also affords some time for reflection. Final score: 3 boys, 1 girl. In terms of the Geyling family, amidst siblings who appear marginal in their ability to produce male progeny, I have done my part in producing three capable of carrying on the name. In terms of the species, I have done my part to propagate exceptional traits in my offspring—one of intelligence, creativity and rhythm; one of athleticism, charm and humor; one of grace, beauty and artistry, and one with matchless tenacity and perseverance.
PS. Note to any dinner guests in the near future—you might want to decline the peas.