Thank

This year, after very little consideration, we have decided to relocate Thanksgiving.  Once its vitals are checked, we will move Thanksgiving to a more hospitable date on the calendar, one not mercilessly sandwiched between the holiday sprawl of Halloween and Christmas.  Because of the mid-November snow, coupled with the fact that my small children have literally lost their minds to holiday fervor, we just kind of gave up.  From out of the attic the decorations came down, from out of the basement the tree came up, and so here we are.  Sorry, Thanksgiving.  Maybe next year.

Actually, another reason we’re skipping Thanksgiving is because I’m having surgery.  Later this week I will undergo a parathyroidectomy, which sounds worse than it is.  I hope.  Regardless, I scheduled this procedure on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving to minimize my time out of the classroom, and also so I would have a pretty good excuse for missing Black Friday shopping.  The down side is that I really won’t be presentable the day after.  After all, no one wants to eat dressing with the guy who actually has medical dressing on his throat.

Now, some of you are probably thinking, “Gee, we’re related, we’re friends, we’re colleagues, and THIS is how I hear you’re having minimally invasive surgery to remove a parathyroid, a body part that sounds made up in the first place?  I read about it on the Internet?  Wow.  That’s cold man, that’s cold.”

And you’re right.  I should have called.  But it’s a minor surgery, and just where do you place it in the conversation anyway?  “Oh, yeah, by the way, I have an overactive parathyroid and it’s causing calcium to get leeched from my bones.  Over time it could cause osteoporosis and kidney stones.”

 Kidney stones?  Are you kidding me?  No one wants to hear about kidney stones.  I’m sick to my stomach just writing about them.  Kidney stone talk is how you end conversations, not have them, so I just didn’t tell very many people.  Besides, this method is much more efficient.  Instead of going through the whole boring story dozens and dozens of times, I just have to write about it once.   So, you know, you’re welcome.

I did mention the surgery to an old friend a few weeks ago, and his take on it was interesting.  I assumed, after going through the whole spiel, he would respond with a, “Well, good luck,” or a “Hope things go all right.”  Instead he made a rather acute observation. 

“Modern medicine.”  He began.  “A hundred years ago you would have just ended up with osteoporosis.”

And he’s right.  In fact, had I not gone into the doctor to get my cholesterol checked in the first place, it’s possible I would have gone most of the rest of my life with elevated calcium.  The symptoms I do have—fatigue and irritability—I had always just chalked up to being the father of two small children while also trying to teach high school English.  It never occurred to me that I might be exhausted because part of me just wasn’t working right.

Thus, the events leading up to next week have been enlightening on one hand and humbling on the other.  For example, I have learned that when it comes to navigating the labyrinthine world of medical insurance and hospital visits, do not make assumptions. People are just people, regardless of their profession, and sometimes people make mistakes.  At the end of the day, it’s your health.  This means advocating for yourself and paying attention to the details; two things I’ve never been good at.

On a pointier note, I’ve also learned that when a nurse inserts a needle into your arm to get you prepped for a CAT scan, you might just have a needle hanging out of your arm for a while.  I had assumed that once injected, they would be pretty close to putting other things into my body, too, such as the iodine uptake.  This was not the case.  I just went back to the waiting room for about fifteen minutes with a needle stuck in my arm.  That was gross.

The process has also been humbling, however, because each time I went to a new doctor I had to fill out some kind of medical history form, and each time I was struck by how little of a medical history I actually had.  In my thirty-eight years, I had suffered no broken bones, no hospitalizations, no prescriptions.  Although I was inching toward my fifth decade on the planet, I was, on paper, ridiculously healthy. 

This disclosure is not meant to be boastful, and it’s certainly not meant to sound trite.  In fact, the exact opposite is true.  Throughout my multiple appointments and tests, I’ve come into contact with many, many sick people.  I have shared waiting rooms with bodies worn out and spirits worn thin. 

Someday the body might be mine.  Most likely, someday it will be.    

 In the end, part of what makes it all so humbling is that I have not really earned this health.  It has just been a tremendous gift.  It has been a remarkable gift that I’ve spent way too much time taking for granted.

  That is the real reason Thanksgiving has been relocated. 

  Thanksgiving is today.