I'll Spare You the Details

President Lyndon Johnson famously showed off his gall bladder surgery scars to reporters in the mid 1960s when I was a small child. The press had a field day. Such a vulgar man. How could the president, the most powerful man in the world, lift his dress shirt, and show reporters his ample mid section. Gross.

Gross, for sure, but I understand the impulse.

Maybe I too am vulgar and gross by nature. Or maybe there's something else going on when the president lifts his shirt and shows off his scars.

Johnson later said he wanted the country to know that he was fine. People worry about the health of the president--his well being impacts the stock market, the news, daily watercooler chat. The former president believed showing the world his healed scars was an act of reassurance--instead it became a big joke.

In the week since my own hernia repair surgery, I've had to repress the urge to ask everyone I see, "Do you want to see my scars?" What's going on in my head? I haven't popped a vicodin since Monday so I can't say it's the drugs talking.

For me, showing my scars justifies my current, albeit strange behavior. All week long I've done nothing but sit around, read, watch TV and eat. I even started playing video games, and am especially enjoying Bejeweled. No work, no exercise, no projects, nothing. How to explain this out-of-character behavior? I just had surgery for goodness sake! How long will that excuse work?

I am surprised that my body really seems to need this down time. I expected that two days after the surgery I would feel like doing my normal activities--all those restrictions were for softer people. Yet, turns out the man of steel has feet of clay after all. I'm kind of shocked. Makes me want to show off those scars even more!

It's amazing the physical changes I've endured this week. From swimming 4,000 yard workouts, running twice weekly 10ks, and doing reverse dips off a weight bench, now I strain to stand and I'm not allowed to lift more than 15 pounds. Earlier this week my walk resembled Mr. Tudball from the old Carol Burnett show. One week I'm physically fit, the next I'm a shuffling invalid. "Look at the scars, they explain it all," I think to myself.

I'm not used to physical limitations. Yet, in this my fiftieth year of life, physical limitations are becoming increasingly familiar. My eyesight is failing. And my hearing? Forget about that sense, too!. Is a walker all that far away?

Fortunately, some of the limitations I'm experiencing are temporary. I am on the road to recovery, which is reassuring. In fact, I should be better than ever because my surgery fixed a congential defect. However, I can't help but feel that these aches and pains, the trips to the hospital, conferring with doctors, will become ever more common, ever more familiar as the years roll forward.

Thank God I'm feeling mostly fine. My mind is as sharp as ever. I'm not too bad to look at even if the hair is more sparse--and increasingly gray. My wife still loves me and my children still talk to me. My mind still creates new ideas. And, if pulling all nighters seems impossible, there still seems sufficient strength in this body to get most jobs done.

This week I learned, however, not to take my abilities for granted. They sometimes need a rest--and may or may not come back once they're gone. My prayer is that as life becomes more challenging, that I have the wisdom to deal with these challenges, and the confidence to know that less is much more than nothing.