This Fragile Body of Ours

My primary care physician is a pretty alternative sort of guy. He and the other doctors in his practice are pretty slow to prescribe antibiotics. That’s just how they roll. In many respects, I am sure the average American would find their practice quite controversial. I like them. That’s just how we roll in my house.

Today, I am feeling quite fragile. Not frail, mind you, but fragile. I have an infection that has humbled me. It has reminded me that, no matter how often I may wax philosophical or ponder my spirituality, my body is flesh and blood apparatus with quirks and weaknesses that can prove fatal. We are all built this way.

I feel crappy, of course, because my body is fighting this infection. It came out of nowhere, but it means business. My elbow is in excruciating pain. It is inflamed. It is red. It is hot to the touch. I can barely flex it. Moving it in either direction hurts. My youngest has bumped it twice, and both times I screamed. I don’t scream. I yell. I moan. I curse like a sailor. I don’t scream…scratch that. Apparently, I do. I scream under certain circumstances.

It took my doctor all of about three minutes (seriously) to tell me that I’d need an antibiotic. He prescribed some other stuff, too, but the antibiotic is what got me. He told me I had to get a double-dose into my body as quickly as possible. He told me I had to stay in bed. When he said he wanted to see me again in two days, I told him I had stuff scheduled at work that might not let me see him until Monday. He very frankly told me that I would just have to skip out on work for a bit then. It helps to know this guy…being that blunt and pushy isn’t his style. I freakin’ got the point. I’ll be at his office first thing on Friday.

I am not quite sure how or why this happened. I am still grappling with an intensely spiritual moment that I had, so being smacked upside the head this way has just served to provide me with a little more perspective. I am flesh and blood. My body is an exquisitely intricate and complex machine, but it is still 75+% water. It is still completely susceptible to organisms that are infinitesimally smaller than I yet far more powerful in the right numbers. I can break. If I break, there is no guarantee that I can be repaired. If repaired, there are no guarantees that the repairs will last. This is my body, and, regardless of the flights of sci-fi fantasy that we may see or read, there are no replacements. There are no surrogates. There are no alien-human hybrids into which my consciousness can be beamed. I have one body. And it is fragile.

My littlest celebrated a birthday today. His father was fully present even if he had to hold back. The reality check has me focused on what matters most to me. My wife is starting to fall asleep in our bed. She took incredibly good care of me…simply because she loves me. My oldest bravely and privately cried when his brother got his birthday presents from us: two special “solo” dates…one with his mother, the other with his father. My oldest cried because he wants to be alone with me, too. Another reality check. Some things and some people just need to be more of a priority.

My wife and my sons love me. Deeply. We will not be here forever. Some day, our bodies will all ceases to have functioned. This is reality. It is not morbid. Embracing this reality and this fragile body of ours simply means that, perhaps, we can learn to focus a bit more on the present moment. It will not last forever.