traversing life successfully usually means doing what needs to be done when it needs to be done. living in saint louis, there is extra truth in this statement twice a year. the first is doing what needs to be done to stay cool in august and the second is doing what needs to be done to get through allergy season.

yesterday was marty's birthday. she turned 38. the first words said in our home on the day of marty's 38th birthday was, "dad, i think i'm going to vomit." it was said by alex who was at the time of his utterance laid out next to me. we had both been cast from our usual sleeping spots and were sleeping on the futon in the ping pong room. i was displaced by anthony (who has been very camped out in my spot as of late) and alex by a rogue spider we're having problems locating.

after alex said he felt like he was going to puke i threw the sheets back and stumble-tripped downstairs pushing on the walls with my hands to keep me vertical. marty's brother taught me something about parenting. he said that when you hear the words THINK coupled with PUKE or VOMIT you should run. you should run very fast. and get a bowl. and put it in front of the complaining child as quickly as possible. the last time he heard those words and didn't run fast, he spent the next twenty minutes of his life spooning gelatinous chunks of mostly digested food out of the many creases and folds of his child's bed.

and for the more superstitious folks out there, this initial comment of the day did not dictate the day's mood. fortunately. and i think i did good on presents. there may be some she actually doesn't return.

monday night i became sick quite suddenly. because of a meeting i briefly went to work tuesday morning. i then came home, went directly to my room, got in bed and went to sleep.

the kids had a snow day and were home from school on tuesday. marty invited a bunch of ladies and their kids over to play. i would occasionally get pulled from sleep because of screaming or laughing or loud running down the hallway. one time i stirred from sleep because of talking, close-by talking. i opened my eyes and lifted my head. standing around my bed were ten to twelve kids all eight years old or younger. they were all staring at me intently like i were a classmate's curious show and tell bauble. bella was standing next to my head talking to all the children like she was leading a group of medical interns on rounds. she was saying: of course when she said the word diarrhea, a few of the kids standing around the bed screwed up their faces and said "eeewww" and took a step back. if i were them i would have found my mom and asked to go home.

from the time i was 27 to 37 i went to the doctor once to twice a year. usually it was for a sinus infection or chest congestion that wasn't going away fast enough. the last time i went to the doctor it was for a ruptured bursa (sp) sack in my knee, an injury i obtained while chasing my kids on the skater ramps at city museum. i waited six weeks before seeing my doctor. i thought the knee would have cleared up given that much time and when it didn't i went in. my doc quickly diagnosed the problem and said that sort of injury takes 6-8 weeks to heal. after serving this diagnosis he started flipping through my chart and asked how old i was. i could tell by the tenor of his voice that he had bad things in mind and i quickly and sternly replied that i was not yet that old. sensing my tone he said i was coming due. next time i said. next time he said. yes, next time i repeated. what i knew and what he did not know was that there would not be a next time.

i've talked about this topic before but i bring it up for two reasons. first, and something i didn't realize until recently, since my doctor threatened me with a gloved and Vaselined playdate i haven't had a day of illness that has required the help of special medicine or professional care. and it's not that i've needed it but have just avoided going in. it just hasn't come to that. and secondly, a doctor i know recently confided to me that there is currently a debate among the medical community on the need or efficacy of this procedure. i happen to know a little bit about another such debate and feel that it is only prudent of me to conduct some research into this matter before allowing additional psychological damage be done to my body or person. i mean, now that i have brought two beautifully uncircumcised boys into this razor-happy society, i've been in the market for a new social-ill to give time to. i think we may have a player.

and when marty asks what i'm waiting for i tell her i'm waiting for technology that will tell them what they need to know while sitting on the other side of the room. when she says that that ain't gonna happen quick enough i tell her i'm then waiting for the spousal training program where she can be trained on what to look for. i'd surely be willing to conduct her breast exams in return. much more than just preventative health care would come from such an insightful and empathetic program.

i began my first day of forty sick. i'm not in tune enough with my body to know if it was rebelling against leaving my thirties or being pissy about entering my forties. either way, the coughing and hacking kept me home. i wasn't about to go in public on my first day in a new decade sounding like a feeble old man.

marty spent much of her day out and about giving me an unusually quite house to recuperate in. i puttered about trying to catch up on my chores which piled up given my on-the-couch state the day before. intermittently i sat down at the piano. i'm learning to play jingle bells so i can support alex while he sings 'jingle bells, batman smells' on christmas day.

my folks were coming down for dinner. when they arrived marty and the children were still out. we sat and caught up for a bit. when marty and kids did arrive my dad told bella that it was thirty-nine years a some months ago that they went to the pound to get me. i added it was good they were ok with taking home a mutt. bella gave the two of us a practiced eye roll.

we went to my favorite eatery at the moment. it's a persian place on south grand called kabob international and their food is ridiculous. the maternal owner seems smitten with our children and dotes on us like we were kin. anthony was drawn to a ramp connecting two rooms that had beads hanging in the doorway. he kept animatedly running through them with his arms waving until he lost his balance and face-planted into the bar. also eating there was a neighbor with his two sons (a week earlier i saw his wife eating there as well). we exchanged pleasantries and our adoration for the food. when i said i was here for my birthday he said he was here a month earlier (nov 7th) when he turned forty. crazy little world.

for dessert we went to ted drewes. drewes sells custard year round and custard and christmas trees during the holidays. the place is a scene straight out of christmas story with old-school traditionalist on the hunt for that perfect christmas tree. they have everything but the barrel-fire to keep the workers warm. no matter how cold or late it is our kids always fight to eat their various concrete mixtures in the parking lot, lazing about on the car. this night we went home.

when we walked in the door the house was richly decorated with helium balloons. there were scores of them throughout each room. they weren't there when we left. marty and the kids had spent much of their day down the street at a friend's house. they were drawing my cards and readying these balloons which the mom agreed to decorate our house with while we were at dinner. these are the touches in life that let you know you are part of something.

after eating dessert and sending grandparents home and getting children to bed, i called my friend snake in colorado. he had sent me an email earlier in the day and i was months overdue in returning a call to him. we caught up and compared our thoughts on the boons and bites of aging. i ended the call by saying "see ya dave" which is probably the first time i haven't called him by his snake moniker since our friendship began some thirty years ago. this could be one of the bites of forty.

marty and i then sat in front of the fire, each looking minutes from bed. instead we held our comfy spots and talked for over two hours about when we were young and re-visiting how we met and the nuances and fortunate twists that surrounded our coming together. this more than any other component of my life makes being forty not only ok but actually better than being thirty-something or twenty-something. i think i'm going to be ok with this leg of the marathon.

today i begin my fifth decade of life on this planet.

and i do so in illness. i hope this isn't representative of the decades to follow.

upon learning that i had photographs of my surgery, a good and dear friend of mine succintly told me that he was boycotting my site until i made them available for viewing. this does seem to be my week for getting slapped about content wise. i've been planning on sharing them but have only recently become mobile enough to work at my desk and reach my scanner. but i am now able and ready to freak you all out. actually, aside from one pic, they're more awe-inspiring than gag-reflex inducing. but, to be kind, i'm hiding them and you have to click to expose each one. additionally, i'm including a gore-meter with each set so you can control your experience, seeing as much or as little of my insides as you'd like. something interesting to note is all of these pictures were taken underwater because that's just how they roll these days. to achieve this they put a turniquit above and below my knee, and then pump it full of water. i guess, this helps them get around a bit easier. it also explains why the images are so crisp.

click on the below headings to display the corresponding image.

i didn't take my first shower for six days. the only reason i bathed on the sixth day was i had to leave my bed and my house for a follow-up with the surgeon. the nurses had told marty that the incisions couldn't get wet. they suggested she use saran-wrap to cover the stitches to bathe. so while i was still in bed marty wrapped my leg liberally with the clear sticky plastic. when done, i crutched my way to the bathroom and started the water.

getting into the bathtub proved tricky since i couldn't put any weight on my right leg. after studying the tub obstacle i realized i could sit on the side of the tub and lift one leg over the rim and then the other. once both were inside, i just had to stand up and balance on one leg. the tub was slick which made pivoting on one foot for soap and shampoo precarious. also, closing my eyes and washing my hair also challenged my ability to stay upright. seeing me wobble marty reached a hand in and held me under the shoulder to help keep me from tipping one way or another. while she gripped my armpit and i washed my parts she noticed the saran-wrap mummy-job began collecting water so with her free hand she pushed the water free and pressed the wrap flat trying to keep new water from getting in. with great and coordinated effort we got through this initial cleansing.

four days later i was slated for shower number two in that i was going into the office. this was a trial run of sorts to see how much labor would go into getting out the door for work since marty will be delivering me to work after dropping the kids at school. marty and i discussed the failings of shower one. i told her we should call my mom to see if she still had any of the shower seats my grandparents used while living my parents. marty said we'd be fine.

this time i encased the knee more securely adding layers or saran-wrap and stretching them tighter. i hobbled to the tub and pulled the curtain back. in the bath was an igloo cooler we use for camping. my bathing seat. grinning, i disrobed, started the water and did my funny sit on the tub ledge and teased my legs over the side trick. now this time instead of trying my one-footed balancing act, i just had to move from the edge of the tub to the top of the cooler. i grabbed onto the washcloth holder and lifted myself high enough to make the switch. marty was there again with her hand under my armpit helping me get situated. as i started lowering myself on the cooler i looked at the dirty white lid and commented to marty that i didn't know what was dirtier at this moment, my ass or the top of the cooler. laughing, marty said she just spent twenty minutes cleaning it (you must consider that this plastic box has spent many a night sitting outside in the woods). but i got seated and then i got clean. and with much less fuss than last time.

when i was done and began exiting the tub i realized i would be going into work with a deep and concise impression of the IGLOO logo stamped into my right buttock and a ruler, of all things, stamped on my left. at first i was mystified what the purpose of having a ruler molded into the top of a cooler was but as i stood in front of the sink running my fingers over the small hashmarks and numbers indented on my buttcheek i surmised it was probably for measuring fish. i imagine i was the first igloo cooler customer to ever solve that puzzle in that exact way, but i bet i'm NOT the first customer who could have measured fish with their ass.

i haven't showered in three days. aside from a cumulative twenty minutes spent on crutches going to and coming from the bathroom, i haven't even been out of bed for the better part of three days. and now, on the fourth day after surgery comes the great unveiling of the bandages. bella has asked to be there when it happens. she also said that i may need to close my eyes because she fears i may not be able to handle what i see. sad thing is she's right. sadder thing is she knows she is right.

so enjoy your clean bodies and able joints for me today, and possibly tomorrow as well.

and, yesterday was my two year anniversary at the new job. i spent the vast majority of it sleeping. how inauspicious.

for those wondering, my puke-free streak remains in tact.

multiple people warned this was in jeopardy, medical professionals and citizens alike. so far i haven't has as much as a single tremor in my tummy. regarding the operation, it was a success. i have one brand-spanking new, taught and tight ACL ligament on loan from the hamstring of the same leg. two downers did arise though. one is not only was my meniscus not salvageable, the damage was more extensive than the MRI revealed so i ended up losing more of it than was initially thought to be in jeopardy. secondly, because of the failing meniscus, a quarter-sized hole developed in the cartilage supporting my upper leg bone. from the OR, the surgeon called marty who was in the waiting room and explained this last point. he said he could attempt to repair it but the extra work would prolong my recovery period (which was initially at six months), and right from the start, the leg would not be able to bear weight for six weeks (from an initial projection of 2-3 weeks).

for as mixed as all this news is, i'm so elated someone, a great someone, finally got in there and looked about. this problem has plagued me for twenty years. i won't get into how our healthcare system exacerbated my condition. if you're personally curious about that, you can ask me directly. but i do see that a good side to having waited is that the technology has immensely improved over the years. i received exceptional care from a pleasant, knowledgeable and empathetic staff at the Washington University Orthopedic Center. truly top-notch, exceeding just about every expectation and hope i had.

the last time i had knee surgery when the anesthesiologist put me under he prepped his needle, told me to count backwards from ten. i made it to seven. this time a very pleasant and lovely lady, erlene, came and said it was time.

TROY
so, am i going to stay on this bed or do i have to get in another one?

ERLENE
you have to get on another one.

TROY
are you all going to lift me onto the new one like in the ER show?

ERLENE
this isn't television and i don't get paid to lift grown men.

TROY
ahhh come on. i was looking forward to that.

ERLENE
sorry sugar. you're on your own.

it seems erlene was jocking me because i tapped out about six seconds after her last comment.

and upon arriving home, the kids have been great. bella reads to me in bed while scratching my head and alex lays close to me talking at great length so i don't get bored. tonight, we chatted about his up and coming birthday party. he asked if i'd be able to play ogre with all the kids. i said i was afraid not. in seeing how much this saddened him, i told him that i would instead tell all of his guests a big and long ogre story. the excited smile across his face told me this would be a worthy replacement. he told me in return that regarding all the kids in the house he would tell them, "this is my dad. you can look at him, but don't touch him." if this isn't a sign that you've arrived, i don't know what is.

for those who called and sent notes. thank you. i'm appreciative.

here's a riddle. what is it that you walk into and crawl out of?

give up?

the answer is an orthopedic clinic. and i'll be visiting one today. i've had knee surgery before but never as extensive as what i'm in store for here (acl reconstruction & meniscus repair). people have been mostly kind in sparing me some of the more concrete details but in the last few months i've heard phrases like, "repurpose a portion of hamstring" and "only need to drill two holes". and, given that for two hours tomorrow parts of my body are going to be drilled through and repurposed, i think i'm going to take the rest of the week off.

unless i say funny things while drugged in which case i may make an appearance.

our home's sick policy:

if i can't see it, you can't sell it.

obviously, this is marty's sick policy because mine is a little more like:

if i can smell it, hear it or sense it you're staying home, and far enough from me that you can't touch me. if i can actually see your illness, you're going to the emergency room ... in a car that is not mine.

when i was a senior in high school i blew my right knee out while playing flag football in gym. when it happened i had a sense for what occurred but my gym coach told me i simply twisted my knee and to walk it off. that's just what i did, finishing out the school day and then working a night shift schlepping yogurt on CSU's Campus West. when i woke in the morning i was unable to move my leg at all and the knee joint was the size of a grapefruit. at the time i was living alone in my parents house, my folks having already relocated to saint louis. using the cord, i pulled the phone to my bed and called the neighbor lady who was charged with helping me in the event of trouble. she was a nurse. she was attractive. and i was naked. but she came over, let herself in and with averted eyes helped get me to the hospital.

my dad flew in for the surgery which was deemed a success but my knee never worked the same again. in the fifteen years since i've had a number of minor traumas to it and have seen many doctors many times. they all did the same thing, flex my leg this way and that and tell me some rehab and muscle work would fix my woes. being the one experiencing the failing joint, i've long known this could not be the case. this last summer the debilitation reached new heights and for every hour of tennis i would play, my knee required three days of rest. so i did some research into sports medicine orthopedist in the area and found one who does work for the saint louis rams and blues. i had my appointment yesterday.

first they took several x-rays of my knee. next, two resident interns came into the room for a preliminary examination. the lead guy asked me a few questions before putting me through the paces every internist before him had. in the end he clapped his chart shut and said he was confident some rehab would do the trick. they excused themselves saying the doctor would be in momentarily. i sat up dour. my mind churned frustrated thoughts.

the door opened again. a large, handsome man walked in giving me a firm handshake, the two toadies trailing him. he asked me about ten minutes worth of questions then had me lay back. he had a bunch of extra motion-tricks in his bag and after a few minutes said, "i think i know why your having so many problems, you have a torn ACL." i looked at the resident in time to see the blood rush from his face. the doctor seeing this, turned to him and jovially asked, "you saw this right? i mean look at this thing." the pale-faced youth managed a choked, "well yeah ... i mean no ... i mean he didn't say all that stuff about the buckling." dude, why the hell do you think i'm at an orthopedic surgeon!?!? and please note the bonus eight minutes your elder took to ask the guy he's never met about a fifteen year problem. trying to put his miss on me ... arrogant prick. the doctor turned the dropped ball into a teaching moment, showing them what a failed ACL looks like. the three of them took turns manipulating my two legs. the doc was smiling. i was smiling. and why wouldn't i be, this was my first group action ever. i could have kissed that tall, nordic god square on the mouth.

to the cutting board i go, delirious with joy!

yesterday upon waking up the first thing i heard was marty walking down the hallway calling the following out to the house: this is alex's fourth day home, bella's second and my first. i think marty is feeling the pinch of having so many cantankerous and inflicted humans milling about her home. especially since when bella cuts class she conducts her own school in our ping-pong room. while in teacher mode she expects to be called Mrs. Fun. however, if you cross her or make light of a provided assignment a more apt name would be Mrs. Pissed-Off-And-Surly, although no one is brave enough to say that to her face.

the people i live with are sick. the whole lot of them. it started weeks ago and has been evolving through the ranks with great alacrity. when this happens i possess great skill at avoiding the funk my people carry. i wash my hands with greater frequency, interact with people using more care, pop echinacea like tic-tacs and sleep in remote parts of the house. last night while slumbering on my futon/couch something stirred me from sleep. i opened my eyes to find alex's awake face inches from my own. he had curled up next to me on the small futon space.

hey aleo.

hi dad.

what's up?

i had a bad dream.

i'm sorry to hear that.

then he quick-sneezed, dotting my face with phlegmy shrapnel. and just like that i joined the infected masses. in the future i'm going to start sleeping in the car ... and with it parked in a neighboring zip code.

for the past ten years i've been reading of scientific studies contradicting long-standing health beliefs. after analyzing the breadth of data, i've concluded that by taking all my past and present vices (i.e. fast food, drinking, smoking, masturbation) and weighing them against my positive practices (i.e. dietary moderation, sobriety, cardio-vascular exercise, masturbation) i should live to be as old as if i had never done any bad or good things in the first place.

when i'm on my game and living life according to troy, saturday mornings begin with a 35-mile bike ride through some of the most finely paved and tree-lined streets my city has to offer. between the newish job and even newer baby life according to troy has gotten slightly manipulated and disfigured. until now.

the renovation began with a doctor's visit late last year. specifically when my physician walked into the exam room, his eyes focused on the chart he was leafing through.

DOCTOR
so mr dearmitt. if my math is right it says here that you've gained seventeen pounds since i last saw you (more leafing) fourteen months ago. this can't be right can it?

TROY
yeah, i'd suggest a new scale.

DOCTOR
so what's going on with you? where's this weight coming from?

TROY
would you believe it's muscle-mass?

for the first time his eyes leave the chart to look me up and down. he then resumed reading the chart saying, "No, I wouldn't". that is where my recovery began. six months later, i'm back down a belt-loop and am comfortably slipping into my nine-article wardrobe. the best of all news is through spinning three times a week i finally felt my conditioning was back to a point where i could resume my saturday treks. on the first morning i suited up to leave, alex upon seeing me said he wanted to come. i explained that this ride was too long for him to pedal himself. he quickly, desperately almost, said he could ride in the bike carrier. i explained that i would be gone for several hours and he would get bored. he quickly said he would not get bored, promised even, and could he please, please, please ride in the rickshaw carrier. ten minutes later, i'm hooking the carrier to my bike (this child is dangerously cute). while doing so, i speculate, with occupant, it is about the performance equivalent of dragging a roped cinder block behind me. and i get this fifty pound break on my first return to the road.

i gotta say alex was a champ. while we didn't make it the full thirty-five we did do thirty and it wasn't him but me that made the choice to head home. the added weight and extra pee-in-the-bushes stops bumped the usual two-hour ride to a whopping three and half hour event, but it was wonderful. truly. every comment and expression alex made was one of enjoyment and appreciation. he even took about a thirty minute nap towards the end.

the one and only possible downside to the morning was i started getting the sense that some of the people seeing us were quietly cursing my parental selfishness, saying ...

look at that man! making his child ride in that uncomfortable bike contraption just so he can go out and ride his fancy bicycle. big important man and his big important exercise. the nerve of some people.

in response to these folks (or this neurosis) i've already affixed a sign to the back of the carrier. it reads simply: he asked to come.

marty told me of a news report she heard discussing open-flatulence policies. as we know in america, public and especially audible dispersal of one's bowel-air is collectively frowned upon. but, china, marty tells me, is a country that believes holding one's gas in is an unhealthy practice and they have, as a society, agreed that any pent up air is to be loosed on the room without reservation.

first off, i agree it is unhealthy for one to sit on a giant ball of methane for a workday, but can one not argue that it is also unhealthy for others to breath what was just in someone else's colon? i reckon the studies have not been done, but i gotta think too much second-hand ass has some real down-sides. why is something so unfit for your rectum so ok for my nasal passages and lungs. a part of this logic is escaping me. furthermore, i'd like to say it is clear that none of these folks in china have ever worked with some of the system administrators i have because i know a couple of fellas who could single-sphincterly change a nation's politics and do so in short order.

lastly, let me share a friendly life-lesson i've picked up in my travels; if you meet a guy with an oscillating fan beneath his desk, pointing outward, get the hell out of there because trouble is a brewing. this warning goes double after lunch.

right now it is thursday morning, 6am. the last meal i had was monday night, 5pm. since then i've consumed less than 500 calories. and i feel great. i think nicole richie used a diet like this. i say this not because i'm losing weight like nicole richie but because i'm starting to look like nicole richie. and just in time for the holidays! lucky break.

i gotta tell ya. whatever this funk i have is, it's weird. not only can you not eat, you don't even want to eat. and (once you clear out your digestive tract) you feel and function fine. someone ought to look into canning this bad-boy. and speaking of cannable-goods. alexander naturally has about 5% body fat (3% since getting this illness) and can wear nothing but underwear in a freezing-cold room and feel like a white-hot charcoal briquet. it's bizarre. and it's spooky. and, it's wonderfully marvelous, especially in the night when he is close and one of the house-comforters is not.

"A sphincter is a circular muscle which normally maintains constriction of a natural body passage or orifice and which relaxes as required by normal physiological functioning." - wikipedia

a body has many sphincters but at the end of the day you only care if one of them is working as advertised; the anal sphincter. this is one of those hyper-smart organs that can discern what's what with great alacrity and precision. right now, three of the five sphincters in my home are malfunctioning at the hands of some twisted and humorless virus. mine is one of them. bella's is another. and alex, well poor alex has all sorts of evil stuff going on.

as a parent of a school-age bella, the stakes of having an unpredictable digestive illness such as this are much greater, because she greatly delights in sharing everything about our home with her classmates (i mean does the child have no sense of propriety). so if my sphincter were to deceive or fail me while, say, sleeping on the couch and bella came to learn of this misfortune, she would be sure to regale her wide-eyed, floor-sitting schoolmates with the story about how everyone in her house is potty-trained except her baby brother and father. please wish me luck in holding the line.

and for those keeping score at home, i still haven't puked.

alex puked at 11pm. then again at 12:30am. bella woke up coughing at 12:45. marty rushed to her side, choke-up bowl in hand. she asked bella if she was ok. she said she was but just had a dream she was about to throw-up.

this does not bode well for my night's sleep or my 30-year record of a puke-free troy.

i don't exercise to look and feel good, but rather so i don't look and feel bad.

about ten years ago i worked with a guy who had a urinary-tract infection. for the sake of this telling, let's call him matthew. we were collaborating on a project during his ordeal and in addition to witnessing a lot of fidgeting and quiet curses, i received many vivid descriptions of his ailment.

during one of his many doctor visits he complained that the prescribed medicine wasn't work...

any of you catch the latest round of women against public milkings? my favorite quote was from this en-lighted pioneer of human rights out of kansas ...

I was offended and it made my husband very uncomfortable when I left the magazine on the coffee table.

which was almost trumped by ...

Another reader said she was "horrified" when she received the magazine and hoped that her husband hadn't laid eyes on it.

i assume by these women having this magazine in their home they are about to become or recently became a mother, which makes the reaction all the more surreal. i mean if this is your position on the matter shouldn't you be in a confessional asking forgiveness for the tingling sensations you occasionally experience 'down there' instead of pining your time away educating yourself. and, perhaps your husband's discomfort stems more from the fact that you never leave the house, granting him ten minutes alone with your bleeding-edge girlie mag because i'm going to go out on a limb and say these men just may not be receiving an adequate amount of intimacy in their life. but then again, leaving the confines of your safe and always dressed home may expose you to someone wearing a strapless halter or biking shorts thus casting you further into your psychological tailspin.

i'm finding it hard to go on too much about the never-naked ladies cited in this article because i out-loud laughed more in reading it than i did watching four hours of kevin smith candidly answering questions from college kids. well that's not true, but i did laugh quite a bit, alone in my office and was thankful no one popped their head in to ask what was so funny because lord knows what ogling such outrageous pornographic materials in the workplace would do to my career path.