A Blank Canvas

My brother Marv and I are adopted. We are biological twins and we were adopted together (a package set, I like to say) when we were a month old. I don't remember ever feeling this was unnatural knowledge to us. Our parents were completely forthcoming in making sure we knew this when we were young and there was never a time in my life that this knowledge was shocking. I did not feel like an unwanted freak; hence, a credit to my parents who were completely transparent in teaching us this was a completely natural act. This was demonstrated entirely in making us feel particularly wanted and loved--we absolutely were.

It was really no surprise we may not have sprung forth biologically. Marv and I were tall, blonde and blue eyed. Our family were all shorter in stature, brown eyed and dark haired. Unless the mailman was involved, it was pretty obvious we were not progeny from this tribe.

We were adopted in the early 60s and at that time, details from the biological parents were allowed to be fairly vague. It was a blind adoption so I don't know my biological parents (and don't really need or want to). This was never an inconvenience until I started going to healthcare providers. As you know, when you visit a practitioner, they riddle you with questions about family health history. I am a blank canvas; these questions are a complete unknown. I often just write "N/A-Adopted" across the section.

I've been fortunate that I've never had a health issue. I've never had surgery, been hospitalized, been to an emergency room nor had any serious health issue. I've taken a pharmaceutical twice in my life; once for three days when I had a slight case of pneumonia and bronchitis in 1994 and again in 2005 when I had back spasms and I was given a muscle relaxer for two days. My blood pressure is akin to a corpse. I am curiously (and probably wrongly) healthy.

I have only one genetic barometer for health risks and that is my brother. He is also unreasonably healthy. He does suffer periodic back problems. On my last physical exam, my doctor told me I had signs of early arthritis in my spine. Clearly, Marv and I are prone to back problems. Outside of that, our future health risks are complete unknowns.

There's something freeing in not being constantly mindful of certain health concerns. You go forward with each day openly, unencumbered by the spectre of health worries. That is a liberating feeling.

On the other hand, I am mindful that I could drop dead tomorrow of a pre-existing genetic condition. I don't dwell on that. It's pointless to do so. Yet as I get older, the notion does linger in my mind. I'm not in the best shape. I don't get the amount of exercise I should. I don't always make the best nutrition choices. I mean, I should be focusing on doing the right thing to offset the unexpected when it eventually rears its head. I think about this more and more and I should.

I had a reminder last night. I was in Baltimore yesterday and when I arrived back in Manhattan last evening, I exited Penn Station in the cool evening air with a strange light head. I had an unnatural sensation in my chest and abdomen. I was uncomfortable. So much so, that I decided not to take the subway and decided to part with some coin for a taxi home. As the cab flew up The Westside Highway, I was suddenly seized by pressure in my back, my chest and my abdomen. I felt warm and dizzy. I rolled the window down and breathed deeply. I labored under an acute fear that I could be having the symptoms of a heart attack. I suddenly had the thought I could succumb in the back of a cab on the Westside Highway (which struck me as very pathetic). I asked myself, should I ask the cab to go to Colombian Presbyterian Hospital instead of my apartment building? Do you err on the side of caution? Is this just anxiety? It was a weird moment. You don't want to overreact but you also don't want to risk ignoring something that could be serious...especially if you are a blank canvas. I remained quiet.

As I debated my actions, the cab pulled up in front of my apartment building. I got out slowly, the discomfort spreading across my body like a rash. I knew Fang was home so in my prideful fashion, I knew I just had to get upstairs and he would attend me if an emergency was at hand. And dramatically, I knew if I collapsed in the lobby while trying to get there, the always reliable Juan would rush to my aid. I got to the elevator and pressed the button. My abdomen was convulsing. What the fuck is happening?

I got into the elevator and then, involuntarily, I passed the mother of all farts. It was boisterous and very, very angry. It was so loud that it made me laugh and jump at the same time. Suddenly the pain that had infused my being and made me so fucking anxious completely passed. I was flummoxed. That incredible pain...was gas? Seriously?

When I got into my apartment and relayed this story to an anxious Fang, he paused for a minute and then said, "You farted in the elevator? You stunk up the elevator? That's rather inconsiderate!"

Marv loved the story when I told him about it today.