Tag Archives: tissue

D & C

D & C: (n) a surgical method for the removal of diseased tissue or an early embryo from the lining of the uterus by means of scraping.

After thousands of essays, I have arrived at the letter D.

And D is not dainty.

D is daring.

D feels a dutiful decision to be direct.

So D begins with D & C.

Taking on one of the more controversial subjects of our time, D startles us with deadly determination.

Did you read the definition? “The removal of diseased tissue or an embryo from the lining of the uterus by scraping.”

Could anything more simply capsulize the debate on abortion?

There are just some individuals who believe there’s a difference between disease and a fertilized egg and there are those who certainly contend that a woman should have the right to decide what remains in her uterus, whether it be disease or embryo.

Perhaps they could just give us the dignity of making the two processes somehow different. Maybe one could have a name which is separate from the other. Otherwise, the same process that removes disease abolishes embryos.

Is there any way to gain intelligence, or shall we say, wisdom, from this matter?

Let’s consider this:

Maybe, if it’s as bad as it sounds, it might be worse than we portray.

Or maybe, as horrible as it seems, it is actually less offensive in application.

I guess each person has to decide.

And since we live in a land of freedom, that contemplation belongs to the woman with the beating heart and the thinking mind.

That is the way of a democracy. Such a form of government does not function on morality, but rather, liberty.

And sometimes the pursuit of liberty can insult our morality.

 

Birth

Birth: (n) the emergence of a baby or other young from the body of its motherDictionary B 

So when women on television programs were pregnant, it was usually for only one episode, and then the baby would miraculously appear, beautifully swaddled and powdered.

So when I leaped into the real world of birthing humans, I was astounded at how much of the animal kingdom we maintain–both in the process of conception and the juncture of evacuation.

Because even though we talk about the glories of romance, human sexuality, when it’s in the process of performance, doesn’t look that much different from two dogs in the back yard, which we try to separate by spraying them with the hose.

And when I was present at the birth of my sons, I was astounded at how much blood, fluid, tissue, smells and general frightening ugliness occurred, just to remove a human being from the body of another human being, so we could all utter a very nervous cheer as we stared at the helpless glob of flesh.

It was terrifying.

No wonder Jesus suggested that since we had no control over our birth, no planning over how it was to be executed, and certainly no vote in the genes that we retain, that it might be nice somewhere along the line, to welcome an opportunity … to be born again.

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Biopsy

Biopsy: (n) an examination of tissue removed from a living body

Dictionary B

I got sick.

I mean, really sick.

There are so many times that we are convinced that we are ill or have contracted some mysterious disease, or contend that we are presently “under the weather” that we fail to recognize what it means to be in trouble.

The body is a great megaphone of its own condition.

In other words, when you’re ailing, every single part of your anatomy sends a memo, an email, and even tweets, “Danger.”

There’s little doubt.

I found myself in the hospital under the care of a lovely female doctor from China. She was beautiful in all ways. We immediately struck a chord of friendship, even though by cultural standards we had little in common. For some reason, she liked me, and I certainly appreciated and loved her for her soul and gifts.

She scheduled a series of tests. I could tell by her demeanor that she was worried that I had cancer and that we had caught it too late.

I will never forget lying on my hospital bed the night before my colonoscopy, alone in the dim lights with a few machines whirring and tweaking in the background.

It was just me…and me.

I thought about my own death.

I thought about dying soon.

I realized that to a barbarian fighting in Gaul in 32 B. C. that my death was insignificant, whether it happened next week or forty years from now. After all, what’s forty years to a Gaelic barbarian who’s been dead for over 2,000?

Of a certainty I was going to die. The question was, which ailment, disease, condition or speeding bus was going to perform the task?

Gradually, peace settled into my soul. It was a peace accompanied by an unexpected comedic, jovial sense of well-being.

For certainly, unless an angel of God was going to enter my bowels and produce a miracle overnight, what was in me was soon going to be made evident–and all I had left was the class and style that I could muster, to deal with the biopsy.

As it turned out, there was no problem and my young doctor came bouncing into the room with tears in her eyes, speaking half English and half Chinese, which I translated as “all is well.”

Yes, my friend, all is well until all isn’t well.

Between those two stations lies the possibility for some beautiful living.

 

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