Tag: Body Image

Scars

Scars

Well, it’s official. I will be getting at least one new scar on my body to add to my collection. The opening act (so to speak) of my second go-round will occur a fortnight from now. A surgeon will make an incision, go in with a camera and some sort of tool to remove what was found on my liver, then send a sample of what he cuts out to the lab for analysis so a follow-up treatment regimen can be suggested. Good news or bad news, I get at least one new scar on my torso to add to my collection.

The first scar (discounting my circumcision) came about when I was roughly a month old. The connection between my stomach and my small intestine was not opening properly, causing me to throw up whatever I was eating. The doctor went in through what is now a 4-6 inch scar just below my rib cage, corrected the fault, then sewed me back together again. Through the years, I’ve been a little self-conscious about that scar, thinking at one time that it would be a deal breaker when it came time for me to “Go a courtin'” the young ladies.

The next time I went under the knife was in May 1992. May 8, to be precise. I recall being home the next night, zonked out of my gourd, trying somewhat successfully to watch Bruce Springsteen’s network TV debut on Saturday Night Live. That journey started in the early morning hours almost a week earlier when I was in exquisite pain from what turned out to be passing a gallstone. Long story short, my doctor sent me to a surgeon who performed laparoscopic surgery to remove my gall bladder. Four smaller scars, only one visible yet today. Aside from the scar, I gained weight (about 30 pounds – typical of patients whose gall bladder had been removed) and I gained an Ob/Gyn. Seems that at the time, Ob/Gyns would pick up a few extra dollars by running the camera inside the patient.

The surgeon doing my next procedure was highly amused when I told him the story.

After moving to Texas, I got another scar on the front of my torso from having had a hernia repaired. It’s a scar that can hardly be seen right on the “Bikini Line.”

There are two other scars, both on or in my backside. I had a cyst removed by one of the least personable doctors I’ve ever met. He was one of the best surgeons available where I was living. Hands down. He had no bedside manner, though. I recall a couple of things from that operation – the phlebotomist installing the line used to feed my anesthesia bent a needle getting me set up – and telling a nurse trainee who had come in to give a talk about proper nutrition that one of the most important food groups was Tabasco. I may have been in pain, but I still had fun.

I had not seen it, but considering what I felt, the scar left from taking out the cyst is the largest of the scars on my body.

The most recent surgical scar can only be felt, and only the surgeon has felt it. I’ll just leave it at that.

So, there’s another scar coming. I’m prepared. What happens afterward, well, I suppose I will find out in the next month or so.

Be Seeing You!

Round Two

Round Two

Sorry.

I’ve been away from my desk for most of the last month due to a battery of medical visits and a row with the insurance company. Well, yes, I had some other concerns as well. More on that later.

July is one of those months when I need to visit at least two doctors and go get a test for the third.

I went in for labs for the first doctor’s visit (my primary care physician) a week before seeing him. I could call him a right, jolly elf because of his stature and his demeanor, but that would be unkind of me. Over the past several years, I have come to respect him. He’s a good man who gave me a clean bill of health.

Two days after going in for labs for my PCP, I had labs in anticipation of a CAT scan that happened a couple of hours after seeing my PCP. I had an appointment to see the Doctor who had ordered the CAT scan a week after having it done. The day after the appointment to see my PCP and to have the CAT scan, I had an MRI for the third doctor – the surgeon who did a quick resection of part of my rectum because of a small bit of localized cancer found when I had a colonoscopy two years ago. All three doctors have been keeping an eye on me – promising that they would do so for five years after the initial discovery of the mass on my rectum.

With a clean bill of health from my PCP and nothing said by the surgeon ordering the MRI, I presumed that my visit with the Oncologist would be the third part of a trifecta of good news from the medical establishment.

As Maxwell Smart would say, “Missed it by that much!”

Apparently, the Oncologist and the radiologist she used for the CAT scan found something suspicious on my liver.

So, apparently, I’m off to round two.

The Oncologist has ordered a new MRI, followed a week later with a visit with a different surgeon, followed by… well, I guess I’ll have to see what the surgeon has to say, first. The Oncologist and I are optimistic that this particular little bump in the road will be easily taken care of and that I will likely die at the age of 102 at the hand of a jealous lover.

There are a couple of things that I am/am not looking forward to. For one, I will likely have one more scar to add to my surgical scar collection. (Five so far, three in places where I’d rather not show – not including where I was circumcised.)

The other has to do with my hair.

Will treatment for the second round lead to the loss of hair on my head (so I can cosplay Lex Luthor), and if it does, will I lose hair on other parts of my body (so I can fit in better with folks at a naturist resort)?

Another consideration – if I am going to lose the hair on my head, should I get a haircut first?

So many questions. I’ll catch up on the possibilities later.

As far as the other stuff I mentioned at the top of the page, well, I won.

The insurance claim I had from the windstorm on the first of March has finally been resolved.

I finally had the last word with the company that sold me the solar panels on my roof.

And the dog Filbrix is in good health according to the vet.

The only outstanding problem has to do with hundred-degree temperatures. Thankfully, the air conditioner still works. Otherwise, no problems.

Be Seeing You!

The Naked Truth

The Naked Truth

If you are offended by nudity or the mention of nudity, you may as well turn around and wait for my next blog – probably having to do with micromanagement (or mismanagement – your choice).

I’ll wait…

We’re probably safe, now. Let me begin.

I got into a conversation on Facebook here in the past week having to do with planting cucumbers. According to someone’s book of lore, cucumbers are best planted in the early morning hours on the first of May by a naked boy. That’s just a couple of weeks away. Since the better half likes cucumbers and I’m usually up before the sun, I thought that I might just try planting cucumbers in the early morning hours of the first of May. Having the prescribed “equipment,” I qualify as a boy. Besides, I thought the first Saturday of May is usually designated as World Naked Gardening Day. Never mind. May first is on a Sunday. So why not? Unless one of my neighbors decides to stay out and watch me (which I really doubt as I don’t believe any of my neighbors read this blog), I might just go ahead and plant those cucumbers as prescribed.

The dog Filbrix will likely go out with me as she usually has business in the wee hours of the morning anyway. She watches me shower, so no big deal for her.

Well. The conversation on Facebook took the turn one would usually have when the conversation on Facebook turns toward being out of doors in one’s birthday suit. The story of when and how to plant cucumber seeds came from a woman of my acquaintance and the next thing I know the conversation became a bit risqué with what I would call “the usual comments” people have when nudity is mentioned. There are lots of grins and giggles, along with raised eyebrows and declarations that being outside in the nude is something which just isn’t done.

“If we were meant to run around without clothes, we’d have been born naked!”

Yeah. Right.

As I’ve aged, my attitude toward nudity has shifted. Maybe I should say that my attitude toward my own nudity has shifted. Part of that has to do with some of the scars I have accumulated over the years as a result of modifications made to keep me alive. Those scars aren’t necessarily pretty, but on the other hand, I’d much rather have them instead of having to go through the suffering I would have had had I not had them. Too, I’m a tad heavier than maybe I should be (Iost 35 pounds last year, but still, another 50 pounds over what I consider to be an ideal weight). I may not be an Adonis, but I am secure of who I am in my own skin.

While I’m secure in my body image, I am not going to demonstrate my security in public. Now, there are times when I step out of the shower, hang up my bath towel and not bother to dress for a few minutes – or even a few hours. I’ve been outside in the buff in a private setting, have been skinny dipping, and have even visited a naturist resort. Going outside in the early morning hours to plant cucumbers in my opwn back yard while wearing my birthday suit would be a lark.

Besides, the dog Filbrix would likely need to go out to relieve herself at that hour. It’s what she does.

Laugh if you will or consider making a snarky comment. It is considered to be socially acceptable to laugh or make snarky comments about a male thinking of going au Naturale. “No photos. Please!” is the usual line. Our “hangy down parts” are not considered to be photogenic anyway – unless of course, those parts are inordinately large.

Again, I’m no Adonis. I’ll settle for who I am and for planting cucumbers in the dark!

Be Seeing You!