Maybe I'm Slow

I should have figured this out a long time ago. Oh wait, I think I did. It must have slipped my mind. I should be thankful for gentle reminders. But I'm not. So here it is: My body was created perfectly.

What? Is that laughing I hear? Go ahead and chuckle. I'll wait. But it is true.

So what does this perfect status mean for all intents and purposes? In order to maintain this flawlessness, I have to keep everything in working order. I cannot allow substitutions, alterations or changes. To do so creates a substandard machine. Seriously. If I remove parts or add new ones, my physical body rises up in rebellion. It fights to keep out foreigners. I am filled with tiny insurgents who know how to get the job done.

Dramatic? Yes. But it is the only way I can explain why my physical self does the things it does. Currently, I am living in all out revolt mode. I should have seen this coming. It isn't as if I didn't know better.

Do I sound like I've had a revelation? Because it feels like I have. I suppose I should back up a bit. When God created my very being, he gave my all of the parts necessary to have a smooth running life. I'm talking about my physical being. I am designed to operate efficiently. My intricate parts work together in harmony for the health of all organs-without foreign assistance. All are necessary.

Around the time I was 15, a medical doctor deemed that I should have my tonsils removed. I don't recall that they were a problem. Sure, they would swell from time-to-time. But that was part of their job. My tonsils were hard at work trying to remove foreign substances like viruses from my body. Because they performed so well, some dr. guy decided they were a problem. He wanted them out.

Truthfully, from what I remember, the real reason was because my sister was having hers removed. We sort of had a family history that necessitated tonsil removal. My brother was 3 when he had his yanked, my older sister was around 15. She had a terrible time with it. So when my younger sister presented with whatever symptoms the professionals judged "fix by surgical removal," they also decided to kill two birds with one stone. Let's go ahead and pull out Joanne's tonsils while we are at it. She will likely need it done sooner or later.

My first indication that my body wasn't happy about this intrusion, was immediately after I was given an injection of morphine. In violent protest of the impending surgery, my stomach attempted to rid my body of this nasty chemical. It didn't realize, this was not a normal ingestion. It had entered unnaturally via a vein. In spite of its valiant attempts, it couldn't do what it tried in vain to do. In the end, the medical profession won out. My tonsils were removed and I was sent on my merry way.

My body did not like the loss of one of its members. It was sad and rejected.

(Not being fond of overly long posts, I've decided to extend this epiphany over several days. I do think it will all make sense if you can make it to the end. Thank-you for your patience.)