Meditation Two: Anatomy of You and Me
Your heart is a river that flows from your chest, through every organ.
[Death Cab for Cutie]
On August 17th, I received my first [of many, I am sure] stethoscope. It is surely not the most expensive one, nor is it particularly special for any reason other than that it is mine. It has a small brass nameplate with my name on it. It is the stethoscope with which I will learn, next semester, how to do physical diagnosis, with which I will find, for the first time, the Triangle of Auscultation on a live human, and with which I will gain the basis of knowledge I will need for the rest of my life.
My dad called the other day, and I was wearing my stethoscope, taking the blood pressures of everyone in the room. He asked if I had listened to my own heartbeat yet, and I said "Of course. That's the first thing I did." Listening to one's own heartbeat is an amazing thing in itself. It is comforting to know that--somewhere under those layers of skin, muscle and all that fucking fascia--another muscle is keeping me alive, making the syncopated beats like jazz.
Joey came to visit this week and was immediately enamored with my stethoscope. He listened to my heartbeat, and I to his. I have listened to his heartbeat many times, with my ear to his chest, listening to the quickened pace after the frenzy of afternoon sex or the slowing cadence of sleep, but it is different with a stethoscope. All ambient noise turns to that ocean sound you hear in a seashell, and the beat is magnified until it surrounds you. You can hear the blood rushing in and out, being pumped everywhere at the speed that is almost incomprehensible, and returning to pick up more oxygen so our toes don't fall off. I contemplated the privilege of a stethoscope. Many--maybe even most--people will never hear the hearts of their lovers so clearly and definitively as I was able to hear Joey's.
In the end, the beauty of our anatomy is so much more than the sum of muscles, nerves, arteries, and veins. Our bodies are magestic and perfectly planned, showcasing a level of organization that spits in the face of entropy when all 39 muscles of Joey's back, shoulder, chest, and arm reach forward to scoop me into his body so tightly, so sweetly, so perfectly I start to cry.
[Death Cab for Cutie]
On August 17th, I received my first [of many, I am sure] stethoscope. It is surely not the most expensive one, nor is it particularly special for any reason other than that it is mine. It has a small brass nameplate with my name on it. It is the stethoscope with which I will learn, next semester, how to do physical diagnosis, with which I will find, for the first time, the Triangle of Auscultation on a live human, and with which I will gain the basis of knowledge I will need for the rest of my life.
My dad called the other day, and I was wearing my stethoscope, taking the blood pressures of everyone in the room. He asked if I had listened to my own heartbeat yet, and I said "Of course. That's the first thing I did." Listening to one's own heartbeat is an amazing thing in itself. It is comforting to know that--somewhere under those layers of skin, muscle and all that fucking fascia--another muscle is keeping me alive, making the syncopated beats like jazz.
Joey came to visit this week and was immediately enamored with my stethoscope. He listened to my heartbeat, and I to his. I have listened to his heartbeat many times, with my ear to his chest, listening to the quickened pace after the frenzy of afternoon sex or the slowing cadence of sleep, but it is different with a stethoscope. All ambient noise turns to that ocean sound you hear in a seashell, and the beat is magnified until it surrounds you. You can hear the blood rushing in and out, being pumped everywhere at the speed that is almost incomprehensible, and returning to pick up more oxygen so our toes don't fall off. I contemplated the privilege of a stethoscope. Many--maybe even most--people will never hear the hearts of their lovers so clearly and definitively as I was able to hear Joey's.
In the end, the beauty of our anatomy is so much more than the sum of muscles, nerves, arteries, and veins. Our bodies are magestic and perfectly planned, showcasing a level of organization that spits in the face of entropy when all 39 muscles of Joey's back, shoulder, chest, and arm reach forward to scoop me into his body so tightly, so sweetly, so perfectly I start to cry.
posted by Another Chance to Get It Right at
1:25 AM
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