Well. It’s the night before the bits-n-pieces that constitute my manhood go under the knife. I suppose I should be anxious or nervous or curious about how it’s all going to pan out, especially considering what specifically lies in the crosshairs of the surgeon, but really I’m just pissed that my workout routine is going to be completely derailed, potentially for a full month. ALL THOSE TREMENDOUS GAINS, FLUSHED RIGHT DOWN THE TOILET! I know, how terribly self-absorbed, but com’on, I’m friggin’ 34 years old. The clock is ticking and it’s only a matter of time before I’m driving a Buick into oncoming traffic and shitting myself. Gotta make hay while the sun is shinin’ and use this body before it all goes to hell. Honestly, though, exercise is a huge part of what keeps me from caving in on myself like a dying star, so the dread is legitimate, but I’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. Andrea says I’ll be fine.
Speaking of the sun shining, I’ve been eating up summer 2018 like Ron Swanson at a strip club breakfast buffet, spending as much time outside as I possibly can. The time hasn’t been spent exactly how I anticipated it would be, but it’s been glorious nonetheless. Aside from nurturing a metallic-bronze glow poolside at my aunt & uncle’s place, the majority of my fun-in-the-sun has been shooting photos of cars for the auto dealership group I work for. I’ve always had a passing interest in the craft of photography, but never really dug in until I invested in a decent piece of equipment last year. Since then I’ve been muddling around with the thing, but the fact struck me that I had an opportunity right in front of my face to polish my skills. I’ll get more into that later, though. Point of the story: I’ve purposely steered clear of monitor time to bask in the fleeting season, which has resulted in a lack of blog entries, but as usual, I digress.
To more seriously address the topic at hand, I don’t see any reason for trepidation in regards to surgery time. I have a resounding faith in individuals who have a developed expertise, which is undoubtably what a surgeon is. Sure, as with anything, some are better than others and everything is susceptible to the human element, but ultimately, I always trust the seasoned hands of a professional with the priceless assets of both education and experience on their side. When the alternative is considered: an ignorant peasant (me) second-guessing abilities and anticipating a negative outcome, one really doesn’t have a choice but let go and maintain faith, at least if some semblance of sanity is to be maintained.
My only real fear is obvious: this surgery is no guarantee that the chances of us conceiving a child are greatly impacted. As I spoke to the last time I broached the topic, I’d like to think both Andrea and I have a positive outlook in regards to the future of our lives without a child of our own being the crux, but the uncertainty of the situation builds an anxiety that compounds with each appointment, procedure and passing day. The weight of it all can be burdensome, even when fielding kind inquiries from well-wishers.
When discussing the potential of us not having a child, people inevitably bring up adoption. I don’t cling too strongly to any of my opinions, leaving them open to reassessment in order to maintain their flexibility, so this stance could certainly shift given the outcome of the next few years, but adoption doesn’t interest me. It’s not the politically correct thing to say, but the fact that everyone these days seem to speak like they’re running for mayor, even when expressing very personal thoughts in an intimate setting, is something I loathe and wish to avoid. Perhaps it’s another example of self-absorption, but in the spirit of full transparency, the idea of looking into my child’s eyes and not seeing the physical manifestation of the joining of my wife and I deeply saddens me. I long for a little creature that embodies all our combined quirks, flaws and characteristics within an identity uniquely their own to love and nurture.
I realize adoption doesn’t completely eradicate that notion. The opportunity for Andrea and I to pour our love and support into a new life would ultimately prove to be an infinitely rewarding and fulfilling endeavor regardless of the circumstances, but I’d be lying if I said being denied a child of our own would be interpreted as anything but a personal slight from the hand of God. I’m a simple guy. I try to live by the mantra, “to want is to have weakness”, meaning that I do my best to exercise appreciation for what I have rather than want for what I don’t, avoiding living by comparison and carrying with me only what I find essential through life. Emphasis on, “do my best”. With Andrea by my side, as much gratification as I get from my job, I honestly believe I could lead a satisfied life doing landscape work, but my dream, as mundane as it is, has been raising a happy family in a stable home, leaving the next generation better suited to take life by the balls. Again, adoption doesn’t negate this dream, but it surely compromises it and to have such a simple wish, an only wish, potentially compromised after all I’ve endured in my life, hurts more than I can express in words. It’s weak. It’s selfish. But it’s the truth.
So yes, I do maintain that Andrea and I will come to terms with whatever life ushers in. Not only that, we will flourish. But there will surely be some crippling kicks to the dick along the way (apt analogy). I’m not sure what’s in store for us, but I acknowledge all the potential outcomes of this situation no matter how painful. I feel doing so only heightens the joy of hope realized and dulls the ache of disappointment. Tomorrow is simply another step towards discovering the life intended for us. Another step down a path that has yielded me so much to be grateful for. That’s something worth celebrating.
Big picture, this procedure is no big deal and I’m at no serious risk. I know a lot of folks that have had to deal with problems FAR worse. That hasn’t stopped some from sending along their thoughts and best wishes. I may not be great at being a warm person and accepting the love that comes my way, but I remember every single kind word. I’m a huge believer in actions trumping words, so the fact that I have rarely lived up to my own expectations in reciprocating that kindness brings about a great deal of shame and regret. I’m deeply sorry, and I’m trying to sort it out, but I hope some of you read this and know how much it really means to me. Thank you.
Anywho, the next time I see y’all, I’ll have a freshly polished pair primed and ready for procreation! I’ll make sure to bring it up and make you feel as uncomfortable as possible. I should probably spend some more time editing this, but fuck it. Take it RAW! Cheers!