I heard a story a while back that I thought was pretty great.
It seems that a young boy’s sister was pretty sick, and needed an operation to save her life.
One complication that they were having prior to the operation was finding a suitable blood donor.
No one had compatible blood.
But, when they checked her slightly older brother, they found, to their excitement, that his blood was the same type and could be used during the operation.
When they went to him to explain the situation, they told him that they needed his blood to save his sister’s life.
He stared into the grownup’s eyes for a moment, and then quietly said that he would do it.
They drew what blood they needed from the brother…and when the operation was over, and the sister’s life was saved, they went to him to tell him the good news.
“Your sister is safe! The operation was a success! You saved her life!”
A look of relief came over his face. It was as if the weight of the world had come off his shoulders.
And then he had a question….
“When do I die?”
He thought they were taking all his blood to save his little sister…and was ready and willing to make that sacrifice.
That’s a great story.
I’m going to the doctor’s office for a “procedure” this morning.
I won’t go into details about what the procedure entails…or even what it’s called…but I will say that it’s about having children…or not having children.
OK!! It’s mostly about “not” having children…not having any more children.
I’m not going to ask “When do I die?” when the deed is done, either.
It’s not that big a deal.
Actually…it is that big a deal….some stranger messing around with me is a big deal.
I don’t relish the thought of somebody…even somebody with some training or maybe a certificate of some type….messing with my special purpose.
For the sake of my digestion, I’m going to tell myself that it’s not that big a deal.
Apparently, it is a really quick procedure.
That kind of bothers me, too.
I’d like it to be over fast…but it would be good if the Dr. would take his time.
He (or she…and that’s another thing to worry about) should be really careful down there.
I’d tell them, if I get a chance, “Hey…it might not be a big deal to you, but it’s a really big deal to me. Be careful down there in my secret garden. Be careful.”
Jenny’s had 4 children.
That’s a big deal.
I can walk into this appointment in my flip-flops, and snip, snip….I’m done.
I better be careful what I whine about because compared to having a baby, this deal is easy.
But, dang….it’s kind of scary.
“Get away with those scissors!! Get away with those scissors!!”