Peter Keating: The Tumor

I have an MRI scheduled for Thursday evening after work at the earliest possible time I could guarantee Brian could make it. I didn’t want to wait too long to have the test done but I need to know that my husband is there. I am terrified of needles and someone will have to hold me still while they inject the contrast for the scan into my vein.

I have always been a big baby about needles. The first time I remember receiving a needle was a traumatic and shocking moment and the experience has not improved from there. It does not help matters that I was sick and hallucinating at the time and I thought the old women in the hospital with blue hair were trying to eat me (in hindsight, I realize them telling me that I was “sweet enough to eat” was a lie intended to calm me down and not a promise of events to come). As an adult, I no longer blame those women but I do think that experience explains why I will never be a blood donor despite a belief in my family that blood donation is a patriotic and Christian duty. I suspect the Red Cross would rather not get my blood considering the ordeal I would likely put them through.

Brian will have to be there in order for anyone to survive.

The MRI is looking for a tumor my doctor suspects is currently growing on my pituitary gland and secreting hormones that should not be secreted. I am actually starting to hope that the tumor does exist. I’d rather know what is wrong than anything else. And I’d rather start treatment right away. In this case, ignorance is definitely not bliss.

I decided that naming the potential tumor that is lurking inside my skull would be a very good idea. I wrestled with the idea of naming it for several days as I don’t plan on keeping it inside of my head forever and perhaps I should not provide a tumor with its own identity but I ultimately decided that while the tumor is in me, it is not part of me and therefore should not share my identity with me.

I named the tumor “Peter Keating”.

My husband, who is not well read and who is not an objectivist, was very confused by this. I think he was also confused at the naming of a potential tumor but I’m fairly certain the tumor is there.

Perhaps I’m just putting the cart before the horse by treating a potential tumor as if it were here but at the same time, naming the tumor seems to make it better. As if by naming the tumor, I control the tumor. I control how long the tumor is here and I control what effects the tumor has on my life. It is almost as if I am Adam and God has given me the task of naming all creatures I am to have dominance over. I plan on dominating the tumor.

The fact is, without some sense of control, the possibilities of this tumor are terrifying. And while I know at some point I will have to be able to surrender the idea that I can have control or I will be humbled by something unexpected, but at the moment, I feel like a sense of control is a good thing. It gives me something to cling to.

The Hard Part of Marriage

The most difficult aspect of marriage is realized around the same time that you realize you want to shed some aspect of your life. You can’t. You are now unable to shed the skin you are in when it becomes itchy and uncomfortable. You can no longer escape your bad decisions when they no longer suite you. Your bad decisions now belong to someone else and in turn, their bad decisions now belong to you as well.

In my pre-marriage life, I used to take solace in the fact that I did not choose my family. The egg and sperm that I grew from did not choose each other, they just happened to both be lurking in the same uterus at the time of my conception. I did not pick my parents but they were still my family. And by not picking my family, it became so much easier to distance myself from them or discount them as people. I may be sharing genetic material with them but they chose me.

As a married woman, my family now is my husband. And I did choose him. I decided to marry Brian just as Brian decided to marry me. I decided to love him and build a life with him. I decided he would be my family. And for that reason, I am not able to discount him or distance myself from him for the simple reason that it was all my choice. I am married to both Brian and his decisions.

Sometimes this scares the crap out of me.

When we first completed our walk down the aisle, I suspected that the most difficult aspect to relate to the fact that I would be having the same sex every night with the same man for the rest of my life. And as the play-ette I was in my single days, this was a bit concerning. There would be no more bad day sex with an ex-boyfriend. No more mid-week booty calls. I would be having sex with Brian until we were either too old to have sex or until one of us died. Surprisingly though, thus far, it hasn’t been that bad. In fact, I find that I like it and the lack of a chase for sex means I have more time at night to moisturize, therefore maintaining my youthful appearance for as long as possible.

But along with the consistent sex comes the consistent marriage. When Brian does something dumb, I can’t just walk away. I can’t through the towel in because I’m pissed off that Brian didn’t get my car fixed in a timely manner. When he comes out with a statement involving a bad idea being “really great”, I will still have to deal with the aftermath of that idea in the morning. And when I do dumb things, which I do constantly, I can’t just walk away from it. Suddenly, I have discovered that I must deal with the consequences of my actions.

My life choices for the first time have truly become life choices.

Life as a single person is transitional. Your friends, your job, your hobbies – these all can be replaced and no one needs remember but yourself. After marriage, someone will remember all of these things and more. My life story has now become so entwined with Brian that now he is my life story and I am his.

It seems the binding of marriage has hit me in ways I did not know how to prepare for.

Tales from the Honeymoon: Half Moon Cay

Brian and I returned from our Honeymoon two weeks ago and it has been rather odd getting back into the swing of life. I burned our dinner on Sunday night and laundry has been a challenge. It was a much needed break for us and I’m glad we waited to go on our trip.

The cruise was amazing. We saw so much and we met lots of interesting people. The weather was beautiful and there was always something to do. We actually had to be deliberate about finding time to not do things and to just sit and be. It was great.

When we arrived at the port in Miami, I was amazed by the ship. I knew it was going to be huge but I didn't quite know what to expect. I felt so small walking onto the ship and I thought I was going to spend the entire trip lost and confused. We sailed on the Carnival Triumph which I was told wasn't even one of the biggest or newest ships in the fleet. The ship had a "World" theme to it so there were the Paris and London Dining rooms, the Rome Lounge, the Hollywood Disco, The Oxford Bar, the Venetian Room, and the Tokyo Underground amoung other places. Each of these rooms or locations were inspired by the cities they were named for, some more effectively than others. The ship also had gift shops, an art gallery, more bars than I knew what to do with, mini golf, an internet cafe, a spa, a gym, a theater, a library, and housed 1400 crew and 3000 passengers. Wow.

We visited four ports during our trip. Our first stop was Half Moon Cay in the Bahamas. Originally it was a pirate island but now it is privately owned. Only 45 acres of the 2000+ acres are developed so it looks like a rainforest magically appearing in the ocean when you approach it. The sand is so soft and the water is breath-taking clear. The downside to the island is that everything was run by Carnival so it wasn’t quite as intimate as the other islands; everything left a corporate taste in your mouth.

We went snorkeling at Half Moon Cay. I wasn’t sure if I would enjoy it as I am not a very strong swimmer but I found I was able to hold my own. In the water, there were mostly white fish with a blue-black stripe. Looking down at the water, they were easy to spot and see the outlines but from under the surface, it was difficult to see more than a dark line pass before your face. Brian discovered that the fish loved hotdogs as they all swarmed around him, fighting for a piece of the hot dog he was dropping into the ocean. I wasn’t a big fan of feeling the fish flick around my legs but it was an interesting experience to have.

I was also amazed at my ability to swim in the ocean. For a long time, I thought it was physically impossible for me to enter a body of water and manage to keep my head above the water but it wasn’t a struggle. Brian was able to explain to me how to make it easier because he could finally see what I was doing in the water to keep afloat without me thrashing around like a mad woman for air.

Another special thing from the trip was Brian with his shirt off on the beach. His skin is so fair and he burns so easily that he usually avoids spending time outside with his shirt off. But we kept him well slathered with sunscreen and he actually did better in the sun than I did. There are a few pictures of us together in our beach attire that I think I will always cherish.

By the end of the day, we were exhausted. My legs ached from walking and swimming but it felt so good. Our three o’clock nap was amazing and we had a dinner that tasted like heaven.

I’ll be posting pictures in here eventually but we still need to get them off of the camera.

What does that ring really mean?

On Monday through Friday, my husband wakes up and takes off his wedding band. It is as much apart of our routine as making dinner or visiting my grandparents. A new work day means that for the next eight to nine hours my husband takes off the visible symbol that he is mine and I am his.

For the vast majority of my husband’s time outside of the house, in a strange way, I do not exist. Women do not notice his wedding band because he does not wear it. And in an outsider’s perception, I only exist once I am mentioned.

Of course when he returns from work, his wedding band goes right back on his finger. Or at least right after he takes a shower. I do not doubt my husband’s dedication to our promise when the ring is on or off of his finger.

I find myself asking the question though – if a wedding band was not on my finger, would a stranger realize that I am married? If I did not wear my ring at work, would I feel less married? Does the ring make the marriage?

If the ring does not make the marriage, then my husband spent quite a bit of money on an engagement ring and wedding band that he did not need to.

In a strange way, a ring is almost like a human shield – the ring should be saying “your advances are not wanted”. But why do we need a little piece of metal to say that to others? Why are we not capable of saying it ourselves? Or maybe the ring is saying it to us, as in “their advances are not wanted”.

Anniversaries

Note: While a good part of me is desperate to give a scathing review of Britney Spears and its impact on pop culture and another part of me feels obligate to write something about September 11 and what it means to remember, I have decided that I will not be touching those topics until later in the week. There is still too much hype from Britney and it is so cliché to write about September 11th. I don’t believe that I can address those topics in a meaningful way at this time so I decline to do so until I feel ready. But trust me, I will.

On Saturday afternoon, I found myself shopping in Macy’s for dress clothes for Brian with my father which was not something I had planned to do. I had planned to go to my parents’ house, have my mother iron Brian’s new dress shirt and then head home but my mother’s quick departure to a hair appointment threw a wrench in those plans. I was grateful when my father offered to show me how to iron the dress shirt but one burnt fifty-five dollar French cuff shirt later, I was wondering if I made the correct decision.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, Macy’s was having their Labor Day One Day Sale on Saturday which meant prices were great but the lines were massive. We managed to find something similar to the burnt shirt in the very last one in Brian’s size. The line seemed to go on forever and very quickly, I found myself engaged in awkward conversation with my father.

My dad is not really a much of a talker in the best of circumstances. He’s a quiet guy, insightful. He’s the type of man that you have significant conversations with at home or in a nice restaurant on a predetermined date. He is not the type of man who wants to have a great conversation in line at a Macy’s. Whereas I’m the type of girl who does want to have those conversations.

We very quickly burned through the conversation he was willing to make. So I moved on to birthdays, anniversaries, upcoming significant family events. It just so happens that my parents’ sixteenth wedding anniversary is in two weeks so I asked my dad what he and my mom would like for a gift.

I was quickly alerted that this was an inappropriate question for me to ask. My father, apparently, believes that an anniversary is a private, intimate event between two people. An anniversary has nothing to do with anyone other than the two people who were involved.

I was shocked. And mildly insulted.

In a strange way, I realized that the words coming out of my father’s mouth went against everything I was raised to believe. And somehow, I felt like I was being left out in the cold by my family.

As a child raised with just a mother, I knew any marriage she was able to make was also a marriage with me. A potential husband for her was a potential father for me. We were a package deal and there was no way to separate us. My mother’s second husband adopted me following the wedding, making him the only father I have ever known. The marriage that took place in September of 1991 marks not only the beginning of my mother’s life with my father but the beginning of stability for me as well. Their anniversary is far more than just them.

Even more importantly, I was hurt as a Christian. A wedding between a man and a woman is not a rope with two strands but a rope with three strands representing Man, Woman and God. My father seemed to be leaving God out of his marriage. I also believe that a marriage is an event with in a community and therefore, shouldn’t the anniversary of that marriage also be an event within a community? If it does not continue to have that significance, then why do we take the time and effort to engage in premarital counseling through the Church, have the wedding ceremony take place in a Church and then invite a multitude of family and friends to the event? It seems to me that in order for a marriage to be successful, a community needs to stand behind it and in it. The support of other followers of Christ is what separates Christian marriages from our contemporary counterparts.

I’m still not sure what I want to say to my dad on the matter. I did some sleuthing and discovered where they are celebrating the day with a meal. It’s my intent to do something nice to mark the day, regardless of his desire for my involvement. Maybe its stubbornness or maybe it is a desire to be more Christ like in my actions. I have yet to determine which option it is.

A Year Ago Yesterday

A year ago yesterday, my mother-in-law passed away. I didn't know at the time that someday I would refer to her as my mother-in-law but I had a very strong feeling at the time that something wonderful was about to happen between her son and I. I believe that in many ways, Beth's passing was a catalyst, bringing Brian and I together and setting many wheels in motion.

So much has changed since she left this Earth. We are all a year older. We all look different. Most of us have new haircuts. Brian and I were married. Kelly and Jason (Brian's middle sister and his best friend) were married. Beth's grandchildren were homeschooled. I found a new job. Kelly moved out. I moved in. Kelly was promoted at work. Don met new people. I went camping for the first time. There was good and there was bad.

Yesterday was still a Morgan Day of Mourning. It marked the beginning and the end of many things. I remembered Beth by trying to do something nice for other people. I baked desserts for the PBU back to school bbq my church had. I did not attend as I don't think I could have maintained the niceness. I also read the section on mourning in Muddhouse Sabbath. I thought about the ways we mourn as Christians fail the families of the loved ones who passed. I remembered a promise I once made to Beth and took some first steps to maintain it. I held my husband and I told him how loved he is. I made dinner for my family and enjoyed spending time with them.

I'm still sad my babies will never know their Grandmother and that the stories that will be told will be largely inadequate.

Camping Again

After the last trip, I wasn't entirely sure if I would find myself at a campsite again. Well, that might not be entirely true. I knew I would find myself at a campsite again. I just wasn't sure I wanted to become one of those people who identify camping as an interest. I've always been slightly weirded out by the people who love to go camping. Don't get me wrong, it was not a horrible experience, but it certainly wasn't staying in a five star hotel. Which would have been quite nice and greatly appreciated.

I've always identified people who were camping enthusiasts as people who were fine going without a shower for two weeks. In other words, anyone who liked camping was a dirty person. A dirty dirty person. And really, who wants to be friends with someone whose personal hygiene habits were questionable at best.

Unfortunately, I eventually discovered that my husband is a camping enthusiast. And while he does shower daily while camping (therefore, not dirty), he still likes to go camping. And camping is not a five star hotel.

I'm also not sure that one can really call themselves a camping enthusiast until they are okay with calling a hole in the woods a "bathroom" and are okay with sleeping on the ground instead of an air matress.

When I made camping reservations for the weekend, it was very important to me that not only were there showers and actual toilets available for my use but that we were less than one hundred yards away from said facilities. And I bought a new air pump for our air mattress.

How Quickly Ghosts Return

I received a phone call from an ex boyfriend last night. Not that a call from an ex boyfriend is all that unusual. I've had a lot of ex boyfriends and I am still friends with the majority of them. After all, I dated them for a reason and usually the reason I wanted to date them is reason why I want to maintain a friendship after the fact.

This ex boyfriend and I have a lot of history. I truly believed until a year ago that he and I were going to get married. Now I'm married to Brian. The ex and I have had the oddest relationship since day one. The first time I met him, I fell in love with him. I came home and told my mother that I had met the man I was going to marry. Mind you, I was 16 and he was 14. He is one of the rare people in my life that I know I will love forever regardless of the ways we have hurt each other in the past and the ways we will hurt each other in the future.

His phone call terrified me. He didn't know I was married. And there was something in his voice that scared me as that revelation I was made. I know him the same way I know Brian. Which is also very scary.

Six months ago, I thought I was never going to see him again. Now he calls and says he's been thinking about me. I almost gave up everything for him and now he's thinking of me. Great. Day late and a dollar short my friend.

My marriage is my priority. I hope he understands that nothing can change now.

Our First Wedding Picture!!

I am very very excited. Chris Tress, our photographer/boyfriend of a bridesmaid, did an amazing job with pictures... and I've only seen two of them so far!! He captured the way I think Brian and I look inside, which is amazing.

Isn't my husband amazing? I am blessed

Babies

Our pastor and his wife announced yesterday in church that they are expecting a baby in February. They are currently in the process of adopting a little boy from Guatemala so they will suddenly jump from 1 child to 3 in just six month.

I'm jealous.

I know Brian and I promised each other that we would wait four years before we started trying. We want to be sure that we are ready for babies but we also want to be sure that we have time to be a couple. A baby would change everything in ways that we are not prepared for. A baby is more than we can handle.

Still. I am jealous. I want to experience the world through the eyes of a child. I want to watch in amazement as a little person grows and changes in front of me. I want to fuss over bonnets and little shoes. I want to laugh with a little face.

I know I am not ready.

I know that my priority at the moment is to be a good wife to Brian and to be a good person to myself. I know it is not realistic, practical or ideal. I know at the moment I have a strong preference to be Crazy Aunt Dorie instead of "MOM".

May 16 aka 31 days

Last night I watched my almost husband sleep on the floor in green pasley boxers that I bought for him at Christmas as I half read Anne Lamott and I half listened to a thunderstorm roll into the Levittown skies.

I call Brian my "almost husband" because any other term available to describe his roll in my life seems horribly inaccurate. "Fiance" reminds me too much of Seinfeld and "maybe the dingo ate your baby" and I really don't want to be thinking about Julia Louis Dreyfuss when I think about my mate. The term "boyfriend" seems to downplay Brian's roll in my life as if he was a leftover relic from my college days with no actual commitment on the horizon. Which he is not. Thank you very much. I cannot yet call Brian my husband because the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania and my mother object on the grounds that our legally binding promise has yet to be signed. They apparently do not agree with my belief that engagement is just as binding as marriage.

Almost Husband it is.

Another accurate way to describe Brian is to refer to him as my better half. I do not say that to degrade or berate myself but as our premarital counselor so nicely put it, I have "tendencies" towards "agressive, dominant" behavior and intolerance, and Brian, well, he does not.

She also tried to tell us that the personality test which supplied the information was only a snapshot in time but I would be lying to myself if I did not admit that the statement is accurate on a daily basis.

Clearly, my almost husband is better than your almost husband. Mainly because he puts up with me.

Brian continues to amaze me each day. He has a wonderful ability to see through my, ahem, shit in a way that no one else can. And I have a lot of shit that needs to be seen through. I don't like to think of myself as someone who fronts, but I do know that I tend to only show one aspect of myself at a time to people in the outside world. All of it is accurate, but I'm still not showing everything. Okay, so maybe I front. My front is so good that even I forget that I'm fronting. At times, my front is like a creeping ivy that has overtaken a house and only a certain almost husband seems to be able to see through that ivy to the potential that lies beneath it.

Brian keeps me nice. I don't mean that in a way that implies that he pays for everything (although he does pay for quite a bit more than I do). Brian is my personal editor through life. He edits my post it note directions for our family with "please" and "thank you" and "have a nice day" and ":)". He stops me from leaving post it notes that say "take out the g-ddamn trash" for the wonderful family members who live with us. He let me buy a big soft comfortable mattress even though he would rather sleep on a plank. Why? Because it made me happy. He humors me. He willingly goes to my alma mater to visit my college friends even though he thinks the college I went to was weird and the people I knew were even weirder. He looks for ways to make my life better.

I tend to freak out on him because the dinner table isn't set, I have at least three more load of laundry to do, and he's been home for three hours longer than I have and all I wanted to do was paint my nails.

Thank god he lets me.