On same-sex marriage

History

I had gay roommates in college.  I have lost track of them over the years – as I’ve lost track of almost everyone from my college days – but we were good friends.

I became acquainted with the gay community where I went to school and I found them to be warm and accepting.   I believe that many other communities of people, from corporate communities to social groups to churches, could learn a great deal from the basic acceptance granted and enjoyed by a group like that.  Of course it’s not universal, there are just as many disputes and negative relationships among gays as anyone else.  But at that time, I remember only friendship.

In my professional life I have known many other gay people.  I have hired them, worked closely with them, partied with them and been near them as they lived and even died.  They are like everyone else in basic life functions.  I have loved them and still do.

One time when I traveled walked through San Francisco Airport, I wept over the sheer carnage of the AIDS epidemic, looking at the quilts with people’s names on them draped on the ceiling.  That display haunted me and it still does .  These are people, and people matter to me.  A lot.

Like everyone else, I have relatives and friends who are gay.  We recently hired a gay man to design our bathrooms because he was good at what he did.  I think no less of any of these people.

Now, this is not to say that there aren’t distinguishing attributes among gays, particularly men.  There are.  But for me that has not been reason for hatred or bias.

And though there are gay people, as there are straight people, with whom I have trouble relating because of personality clashes and trustworthiness, I have no particular disdain for gays as a group.

I believe, therefore, it’s a true statement that you will look in vain for the gay person I do not like because of his/her sexual orientation.

That preamble is necessary because of the climate that surrounds the same-sex marriage debate.  It’s not nice, and I’ll write more about that below.

My stance

So where do I stand?

I don’t support it.

Not on religious grounds but on the grounds of biology.

I reserve the word “marriage” for unions that naturally produce offspring.  This definition is not something I came up with; it’s worldwide and across time.  Muslims, Hindus, believers in all kinds of gods and goddesses have a common practice – men marry women.

No doubt a culture that allows and embraces same-sex marriage can be found.  But they generally die out; no babies.  And I know no one who wasn’t born of a male-female sexual union.  I have never met a former test-tube baby.

Do not read fertility into that definition.  It’s about biology, not fertility.  And not religion.

Whether or not a couple has the ability to bear children, the presence of the biological equipment to do so constitutes “marriage”.   Again, there are all manner of variations to the state of human bodies causing heterosexual couples to be unable to have children, and indeed they can decide to not have children.  But heterosexual they must be for it to be a marriage.

Now, the case in my state of Massachusetts, Goodridge v. Department of Public Health,  was a case worth making.  People who love each other should not be hindered by default law from visitation or any other supportive activity.

So I believe civil unions are a great idea, not only for gays but for all kinds of people, monastic communities, etc.

Addressing the vitriolic 

Saying anything about this topic is incendiary right now, but I would rather express the freedom to write this than live in the fear of recrimination.

I’ve read my very argument herein described as “stupid” and have read hateful words by people who don’t usually hate.  The a-hole word is also slung around a lot.

Now, it’s not that anger isn’t a really good high – it is!  But when the adrenalin wanes you crash only to view the damage you’ve done.

Whether you believe it or not, I do not hate gay people, never have and never will.  Those casting hatred or stupidity or moral inferiority on me for having and expressing my views are really describing themselves when they say what they say.

I’m not uneducated, uninformed or less moral than those who disagree.  We. just. disagree.

And if I’m unfriended or otherwise ostracized, that’s probably a good thing.  Real friends can agree to disagree.

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All heart, a process observed ..

The Story

Now I know what a heart attack feels like.  I had one this past Saturday.  The doctor at the ER said I had flunked a self-inflicted stress test.

From experience, if you say “chest” followed by “pain” you will get the attention of anyone in the medical profession.  And boy, do they have a program for you.

This time, I happened to have been moving my daughter and son-in-law into their new apartment.  They had been living with us for around 10 months, and it was a great thing for them to find a place and move in.  My daughter has always been a voracious reader, and that means she has tons (literally) of books.  They were all in boxes, having been shipped from Texas.  So I moved many boxes of those books up three flights of stairs.  It was a workout and I can’t say I took it easy.  We had to get it done in a short amount of time; the moving van was only rented for a few hours.

As I did the work, I didn’t feel particularly winded.  I mean it was hard work.  The sensation of my heart beating in my throat only reminded of Junior High School gym class when they made all the kids run the 1/2 mile.

But when I stopped, getting into my car to head to the store with my wife, a pain I have never experienced overwhelmed me.  It was angina, a throbbing, stabbing sensation going into both shoulders and neck.  And yes there was also pain in the heart area.

My wife urged me to leave my car at a strip mall so she could drive me to the hospital, but in my stubborn, angry mind (hey, I had things to DO that day and more the next), I insisted on driving home and going to our local hospital, Milford Regional Medical Center.  Yeah, I know, pretty stupid, but I was a heart attack rookie.

And, once I got home, I also figured I might as well smell and look a little better than I did, so I took of my sweaty clothing and got dressed in something clean and more comfortable.  Yes, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s true – I will probably insist on shaving the day I breathe my last.

After I mouthed the magic words “chest pain” in the ER, they immediately shuttled me into a room, gave me a quick EKG, took some blood (later I found out it was a test for troponin, a set of proteins the heart gives off when it’s repairing itself).  And they admitted me, telling me I would take a high tech nuclear stress test the next day.  I was actually psyched because I would get work out and show these guys just how fit this 60-year-old was.

Now I don’t really get along too well with hospital stays.  For one thing, you can’t get sleep.  They wake you up to take blood and things like that.  In fact I noted that every needle that entered my room also entered my body.  Destiny I guess.

My wife and I had a good time with our admitting nurse, who asked all kinds of required questions.  She asked if I had any piercings and of course I pointed to my IV.  And she asked if there were any procedures that I would object to on religious grounds.  Abortion, of course.

And I made famous friends with all my care providers.  In retrospect that was the best reason for going to Milford Regional.  SWEET, AMAZING, WONDERFUL people.

I think denial is generally  a useful phase during any traumatic process.  It allows you to joke (well I joke in any case) and turn down the worry valve.  So when the EKG result and the initial blood tests came back negative, all signs were that it was just a strain of some kind, maybe muscular.  My cholesterol level, less than 100, was particularly impressive, I thought.  I didn’t know that the troponin tests would continue every 6 hours till something was either seen or not seen.  And something was seen.

At the 5:00 PM test, the levels were raised, but no one told me.  Then, at the 11:00 test, well, about 30 minutes afterwards, my wonderful nurse Allie came back in and told me the levels had been elevated for 2 tests in a row, the stress test was canceled and I would have to start receiving blood thinner shots in the stomach.

My only frame of reference for shots in the stomach was amniocentesis, wherein they stick a LONG needle into the womb of a pregnant woman to sample the amniotic fluid.  So I thought LONG and I thought painful.  Then Allie came in with a 1/4 inch needle and quickly plunged it into my stomach.  I didn’t even feel it.  Still, it was technically a needle.

Well that blood-sampling/blood-thinning exercise went on for 2 more cycles after which I was told that my troponin level had receded, indicating my heart was done repairing itself for the time being.

The cardiologist came in the next morning, Sunday, and told me the drill that was to come.  I indeed had had a heart attack and they wanted the best test for assessing the damage.  That was going to be cardiac catheterization, where they insert a tube through an artery and snake it up into the heart area, injecting dye to show the relative health of the heart arteries.  It’s not new, and Milford Regional does 200 or so a week (wow).  But, Milford Regional does NOT do the next step – inserting stents into the thinned caverns of one’s arteries.  If that was called for, I would be sent to UMass Memorial in Worcester.

The other two course of action following the catheterization were drug therapy alone and the invasive bypass operation.  I did NOT want a bypass as it would impact my life in a very major way and hey, I’m busy.

Call me vain or over-hygienic, but I like to wash my hair.  And I did NOT do so from Saturday morning till Monday night.  I felt like a grub.  Call me vain or over-hygienic, go ahead.

So Monday came and I got a echo cardiogram in my room using a mobile device.  It was pretty painful, the technician giving it warned me she would be pressing down and she was a woman of her word.  But she told me some funny stories too, like the lady whose echo cardiogram she had done when she was brand new to the work who had received a transplant and whose heart was nowhere to be found … in the usual area.  That was funny, but she was terrified of being fired till the lady informed her, with a grin.

Then they brought me down to the Cath lab.  There were many, many attendants all doing vital things to prepare me for the procedure, which lasted about 20 minutes once it started.  Amazing.  Even more amazing to me was the picture I saw of my arteries, with my cardiologist saying “See .. there’s your problem”.  Wow.  It was a clog in the northern tributary of what looked like a major artery.  And there was another artery branching off right at the same spot.  It was perfect for stent placement, so he said.  So they bundled me in many blankets (I had a johnny on and that’s all) and drove me over the Worcester County roads to UMass Memorial.

There was a definite difference in the people manners of the caregivers there.  They weren’t nasty, just all business.  But that was okay with me at this point.

So I waited about 2 hours for my second catheterization of the day, they shooed me in much like the other team had in Milford and did the deed.

Oh .. during the procedure they give you some funny juice through your IV (of which I had 2) which makes you dream of idyllic scenes from your childhood.  Except at the point of the stent being opened using the mini balloon that they use, I became instantly awake and “with it”.    I think there was a flow of blood where there hadn’t been one in quite a while.

Then they had me wait till the location of the inserted catheter had been pressure-sealed, did one more round of blood tests and sent me home to enjoy a new exciting battery of medications, the side-effects of which I am still chronicling and assessing.

Once home I did a body scan to pull off all diodes left behind.  As far as I know there still might be a few.

And my wrist hurts; I’m not supposed to rotate it.

The Introspection

There are perspectives to be observed here.  One very common one is one you are likely using right now, reading this.  It’s someone else, it’s NOT you.

Well, this time it was me.  And it was personal, serious and impossible to ignore.  If I have to communicate anything with you, it’s the certainty that you WILL have your own experience(s) like this; it is unwise to read others’ stories as I once did.  I learned a great deal from this; and one thing is that I could have learned a lot more about this before it actually happened.

I think it’s normal to ask “why” questions when this stuff happens.  Part of it is to develop a strategy to prevent recurrence, but part is also an attempt at making sense of personal events that could well be worse than they were, and .. next time .. probably will be.

My “risk factors” were really two for heart disease – heredity and stress.  100% of my ancestors on my mother’s side had heart disease, so that makes me statistically predisposed.  And the stress of working in software is renown.  In a cynical way, I was paid a good salary to get a heart condition.  Not nice to think of, but true enough on one level.  Of course stress is everywhere; there is no escaping it.

I also have a job as a pastor, which I love to do because it helps people.  But it makes me very exhausted sometimes.  I try to delegate, but there’s only so much I can hand off.

And, yes, of course I did not eat heart-healthily.  That has already changed upon arrival at home.

Another part of the analysis process is deciding if there were warning signs.  My biggest problem there is that I endure all kinds of stomach pain all the time.  I have lots of gaseous issues, acid issues and GERD.  No one I talked to could tell me how to tell the difference.  But I will never forget the angina; it’s very distinctive.

I had done very stressful exercise in China in October, climbing a mountain with my friends from the IBM Beijing lab.  No problem, no pain, just strenuous exercise.

Finally, there is the spiritual side.  I believe in a God who judges people, not people who judge people, that’s not the same.  And though I believe God is long-suffering and merciful, His mercy has bounds and when bad stuff happens, I believe it’s astute to pray about its spiritual context.  It’s not so much “what did I do to deserve this” as “what needs work in my life to avoid this in the future”, kind of the same question asked concerning physical changes.  And, I have not stopped asking that question, longing for a reply that will be clear and directive.  God loves people and so that is to be expected.

All in all, I am very, very grateful for how fast this was dealt with and yes, I need to slow down, both God’s and doctor’s orders, to recover and heal.

And I am warmed by all the love of friends and family.  It all comes back at times like this, with phone calls, cards, advice and all kinds of loving gestures that the sensitive people around me do almost without thought.  I couldn’t have a more loving family, and that’s just very special.