Banished Gallbladder and a Surgeon's Dream

Today I kicked my gallbladder the to the curb. I said, "We've been great together, and all, but I think it was time I told you: All you do is make me cry and I don't think this is a healthy relationship. Goodbye."


Then I was wheeled into the surgery and I will never see it again.


I actually wanted to see it, though, like for real.


I wanted to poke it!


When I told the surgeon resident and her trusty med school side kick they both thought it was really funny and had a hard time pulling faces and I explained that I've seen tons of cadaver guts but it would be sweet to see my own organ outside my body. No promises were made, however, and somewhere in 90 minutes it took me to wake up after surgery m y gallbladder was sent to the pathology department for someone else to poke.


:(


TMI WARNING: Don't tell me you haven't been warned because I just warned you. Plus, I choose not to be accountable for what I say whilst drugged up. This is total word vomity freedom, baby!


They wouldn't let me check out to go home until I could prove that tinkling would be no problem.


It took nearly four hours and almost two bags of saline solution.


I've gone five times since coming home.


I could have been not peeing in my own bed.


Unfair!


So, I used to TA for Human Anatomy. It was my dream job! I absolutely love teaching and the human body; so teaching the human body on dead human bodies to living human bodies was like gold!


Love!


The muscles in the forearm are sort of hard to see because a.) there are a million of them, and b.) not  everyone has huge, burly forearms.


Tip to anyone taking anatomy at BYU: they always pin a couple forearm muscles on the midterm and final and they always choose to do so on the tiniest cadaver.


Luckily, there are stories and rhymes and other study tools to help remember those little, nestled muscles so it's not that hard once you are familiar with the actual names of said muscles.


Latin and Greek = Awesome


Anyway, on to my story.


Once upon a time I was a TA and we were fast approaching the midterm. I was worried about my class and really wanted them to succeed so I had opened my very limited schedule to do some extra study time in the open labs exclusively for my students (and whatever friends they decided to bring -- I'm an equal opportunity TA). So we go over everything from the first half of the class: axial skeleton and skull, appendicular skeleton, upper body muscles, lower body muscles, central nervous system, and peripheral nervous system.


We studied for a long time and didn't reach everything, but boy did we go over those forearm muscles!


That night I dreamed a dream.

I dreamed that I had been teaching my students the names of the forearm muscles and decided that cadavers were all fine and dandy, but the best way would be to actually show them! No one volunteered to be vivisected, so I cut open my own arm. In my dream I was surprised that it didn't hurt at all and there was no blood. The complete lack of fat and total definition of all the muscles, nerves, and vessels didn't make my bat an eyelash.

So I teach my students, craning my arm around so everyone gets a good view and so I could teach the whole thing while it was still attached to my body. It was hard to do so with only one hand to point to everything, but I managed. Plus, it was totally awesome to point to a muscle and then make it twitch or see how it worked to help move my fingers or wrist! Sweet!

Then it was time to go home and I really didn't want my skin hanging around and not protecting my exposed muscles from viruses floating on the breeze. So, I asked the surgeon in the next room to come close me up.

She refused!

She told me that since I had done it myself against her adamant advice not to do so (I sort of remembered that but had been so jazzed at the thought of teaching on a real arm that I had ignored her) she was not going to help me close up my flopping skin.

I did it myself.

Boy is it difficult to stitch your arm skin together with only one hand!

But it was a really cool dream.

Ummmmnummnomnomnom!!!

Reminiscence

I miss this boy!

...His parents, too...

Blowing kisses. 




Cool Dude 

 

On Validation

I love this video.

Basically, I love it because I use validation as a verb in my common vernacular. I love to validate others and feel fuzzy when they validate me.

As a painfully shy, socially inept teen I began to notice common social courtesies that other's would bestow on friends or those they wished to impress. Compliments and other forms of validation were high on the list.

So I began practicing the art of compliments. At first I would just try to think up something nice about another person. Then I graduated to voicing my observation and accompanying nice thought. This was tricky, however, because there isn't always an appropriate time to tell someone that you think they have a well-shaped nose.

I struggled.

So I began focusing on my non-existent conversation skills. Simply carrying on for a few minutes in oratory exchange outside the required discussion of school work etc. was quite a challenge.

I struggled.

So I decided to revert. After observing a group of elementary kids interact I realized that kids just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. Take this kid for example. I practiced just letting words flow from my loose lips.

I embarrassed myself often.

But I made progress.

As I transversed each social experiment, I was careful to pay attention and incorporate things that had worked previously. I would tell a joke, show my interest in what someone was saying by asking questions, and offer compliments. In fact, it is a rule of mine to never suppress a compliment or a kind word that might lift another. This is just as important as keeping rude or judgemental comments inside.

There is no telling when someone is really in need of some validation for their talent, fashion sense, work, or the shape of their nose.

What is Charity, Anyhow?

I think this was my very favorite talk of this General Conference.


There is no limit on what can be said of tolerance, patience, and true understanding. Christ does not judge without knowing the full story. He does not withhold his blessings due to perceived differences. He treats us all fairly because He knows why we are as we are.


I do judge without knowing the full story. I do withhold my service due to misunderstandings and incongruencies of thought. I cannot be truly fair. I cannot help but to be less than charitable in my thoughts and actions. Particularly when I feel the sting of having been judged poorly myself.


Yet, I recognize differences, ponder on them, and find that I love people more for the things that make them different from me. If there is some way in which I can be of service, offer an uplifting word, or simply wait for an opportunity, I try to do so.


It is a small start, indeed, but I hope to one day understand charity as Presidet Thomas S. Monson does:

My dear sisters, each of you is unique. You are different from each other in many ways. There are those of you who are married. Some of you stay at home with your children, while others of you work outside your homes. Some of you are empty nesters. There are those of you who are married but do not have children. There are those who are divorced, those who are widowed. Many of you are single women. Some of you have college degrees; some of you do not. There are those who can afford the latest fashions and those who are lucky to have one appropriate Sunday outfit. Such differences are almost endless. Do these differences tempt us to judge one another?
Mother Teresa, a Catholic nun who worked among the poor in India most of her life, spoke this profound truth: “If you judge people, you have no time to love them.”5 The Savior has admonished, “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you.”6 I ask: can we love one another, as the Savior has commanded, if we judge each other? And I answer—with Mother Teresa: no, we cannot.
The Apostle James taught, “If any . . . among you seem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man’s [or woman’s] religion is vain.”7
I have always loved your Relief Society motto: “Charity never faileth.”8 What is charity? The prophet Mormon teaches us that “charity is the pure love of Christ.”9 In his farewell message to the Lamanites, Moroni declared, “Except ye have charity ye can in nowise be saved in the kingdom of God.”10

I consider charity—or “the pure love of Christ”—to be the opposite of criticism and judging. In speaking of charity, I do not at this moment have in mind the relief of the suffering through the giving of our substance. That, of course, is necessary and proper. Tonight, however, I have in mind the charity that manifests itself when we are tolerant of others and lenient toward their actions, the kind of charity that forgives, the kind of charity that is patient.


I have in mind the charity that impels us to be sympathetic, compassionate, and merciful, not only in times of sickness and affliction and distress but also in times of weakness or error on the part of others.


There is a serious need for the charity that gives attention to those who are unnoticed, hope to those who are discouraged, aid to those who are afflicted. True charity is love in action. The need for charity is everywhere.


Needed is the charity which refuses to find satisfaction in hearing or in repeating the reports of misfortunes that come to others, unless by so doing, the unfortunate one may be benefited. The American educator and politician Horace Mann once said, “To pity distress is but human; to relieve it is godlike.”11
 Charity is having patience with someone who has let us down. It is resisting the impulse to become offended easily. It is accepting weaknesses and shortcomings. It is accepting people as they truly are. It is looking beyond physical appearances to attributes that will not dim through time. It is resisting the impulse to categorize others.

...

In a hundred small ways, all of you wear the mantle of charity. Life is perfect for none of us. Rather than being judgmental and critical of each other, may we have the pure love of Christ for our fellow travelers in this journey through life. May we recognize that each one is doing her best to deal with the challenges which come her way, and may we strive to do our best to help out.

Charity has been defined as “the highest, noblest, strongest kind of love,”12 the “pure love of Christ . . . ; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with [her].”13
“Charity never faileth.” May this long-enduring Relief Society motto, this timeless truth, guide you in everything you do. May it permeate your very souls and find expression in all your thoughts and actions.



What's Playing on the Tube?

When I was a kid we didn't have a TV for what feels like most of my childhood.

Then, one fine day, my parents purchased a little 9" television with built in VCR! It was supposed to keep anyone from resorting to murder (mostly my parents) as we took a road trip from Illinois to Oregon via Utah. The TV was propped up on the cooler between the driver and front passenger seats and plugged into the cigarette lighter. We were traveling in style!

After the vastly successful road trip (the most I can remember is that no one in the family could eat gummy bears until about five years later -- but that's a story for another time) we had a television again!

It was small, sure, but the screen looked really big if you got really close and the important buttons were on the front so it didn't matter if the remote was lost. We got about four channels on that TV: NBC, CBS, PBS, and the local religion channel.

When the regular networks were really stinking up the air, we would watch the religion channel as a last resort to continue basking in the soft glow of consumerism at it's finest. That's when I was first introduced to church on the television.

What a novel concept!

Worship in your pajamas or underwear if you choose! Why didn't we, as LDS, get to do that on Sundays?!

As it turns out, we do. Twice a year! I just didn't know about it when I was a kid because the church had a satellite dish so we got to go there on Saturday as well as Sunday to view the General Conference messages in the chapel. My mom would sometimes let us bring library books, coloring books, and quiet toys to keep us occupied during those long meetings. And in between sessions: pot luck time! All in all, it was pretty great.

Tabernacle on Temple Square

But, there's just something to be said about listening to prophets of God speaking in your own home via technology that you use every other day of the year. Inviting the gospel into my home through such mundane means seems to consecrate those vessels and serve as a reminder for what amazing things technology can accomplish. It's just sort of special.

When Natural Monkey-Man Flings Poo, Throw Love In Return

There exists a disconnect between physical desires and spiritual needs.

My dad likes to say that natural man basically has the instinct of a chimp or bonobo. We are all naturally capable of being sweet, lusty, and ingenious, but also spiteful, calculating, and vicious. 

For various reasons it is hardwired into these temporal bodies to behave instinctively to secure the most beneficial outcome of any situation for ourselves.  That is part of the reason why it is so difficult to reign in physical desires and make way for spiritual needs to come first; it is contrary to natural man's instinct.

My whole life I have felt these two aspects of myself battling for control over my person. Quite often they are in sync; neither needs to gain power because I'm just plodding along without challenge. Sometimes the spirit side of me shares a glimpse or two of what it is to be eternal.

More often than I admit, natural man takes over and starts flinging poo around like there's no tomorrow.

In the aftermath of such an incident, regular me has to clean it all up. Sometimes there's no excuse that can be made for the bad behavior and all I can do is shrug and hope that anyone else involved can understand. Most of the time I simply attempt to exclude myself from social situations when I feel those instincts bubbling up to the surface.

I don't notice guys. Particularly not guys who are noticing me. It's a blind spot I've always had. The truly sad thing is that I've always been depressed because I can't notice them noticing me so I downplay every social situation where it may be possible to be noticed in attempts to avoid getting my hopes up and then dashed to pieces.

Are you still following me?

Let me break it down: I can't tell if men are interested. This makes me sad. I feel rejected before ever feeling accepted. I instinctively try to protect myself from the emotional trauma of rejection by downplaying any instance where a young man might be interested.

It's cyclical and horrible and not very healthy. Lying to oneself is treacherous business.

This is where that inner monkey/natural man comes into play.

I begin to lash out with poisonous cynicism that taints my interactions with others. I dwell on past hurts, mostly self-inflicted, and can barely get through an hour, much less a day, without some kind of upheaval. After a while I am so exhausted by the constant tantrums that I just go numb and can't feel much of anything.

That's when my other self comes in to tidy the rooms of my mind and heart; to let some light in and push back the ugly side of natural instinct. This takes a lot of effort but keeps me occupied. I try really hard to be of use to others during this time.

Once things settle down a little and I give in to the luxury of introspection, the thoughts often come back in their tiring manner and start off a new cycle of self doubt, destruction, and repression.

It's too tiring to continue. 

My new goal: learn to love that monkey inside of me and embrace the human experience instead of attempting, and failing, to hide the fact. I am a human being with very real, passionate feelings of anger, love, hurt, envy, appetite, sloth, greed, and pride.

Each of the seven deadly sins, and then some, are alive and kicking inside of me, rest assured. I am no saint.

The only way to gain some solidarity is to recognize and accept the good as well as bad and love myself despite it all. Otherwise, I will be a constant disappointment to myself.

And so, because I know my weaknesses all to well, here is a list of things I can do well:

Listen to people: worries, problems, fears, good news, ideas, fancies, and general conversation.
Offer useful advice and serve as a cheer leader in the purest sense.
Cook: anything and everything I decide.
Bake: anything and everything I decide.
Work hard to accomplish a specific goal.
Create: anything and everything I decide.
Focus on the task at hand with dedication.
Humor: I laugh very easily.
Enjoy nature; even the less beautiful places and things.
Offer compassion and understanding; empathy.
Love: it is extremely easy for me to find things to love about others, no matter who they are. It's something I've been practicing for a long time. I think it is time to turn this skill onto myself.