On Dying, Dr. G, & Team Yes

Here is an actual voiceover from my favorite television show:

“inch by inch she works her way along his bowel, until she hits…pay dirt!”

No one will ever love your bowel this way. Not even you.

But, Dr. G, Medical Examiner, WILL.

I don’t know why I enjoy watching this show on Discovery Fit and Health, a station that I’m pretty sure only Oprah and I ever watch. I DVR it and then I leave it on while I’m doing household things like tidying up or making dinner.

I think this is part of it – I have spent a lifetime building up my YES team. Everyone needs a YES team. They’re the people who when you say, “Am I good enough?” – the answer is always YES. For them it is a no-brainer. They think your question is preposterous and that is exactly why they belong on your YES team.

My YES team is very small (I think most true YES teams are). It consists of my wife, my bulldog, and a few close friends. You might say, how on earth can you include a bulldog on your yes team? It’s not even human. I would say if you can include an infant, you can include a dog. In fact, my dog is far more capable of showing refined tastes than an infant. She – the bulldog – has more than once walked away from the television set when the show “Pit Boss” was playing. It was as if she was saying, “that piece of sh*t is a set-up.” I couldn’t agree more.

So, I’m a fighter, which is a decent quality. And I’ve got this really great YES team. I find these two things are very necessary components when going after the truly and ridiculously difficult artistic pursuits I’m after. Forget artistic pursuits, these are some of the necessary qualities to cut through the bullsh*t of life in its entirety.

But, what about after death? I won’t be able to fight much then. And my YES team will either be dead, as well, or so old and feeble that they can’t make it to the morgue to oversee the proper handling of my body after death. I mean, everyone wants dignity, I think in both planes – the living and the afterlife.

So, if my YES team can’t be there that means -eck- I’ll be in the hands of strangers.

Lord knows, in my living years, I’ve been in the hands of many a callous healthcare professional and many a callous stranger. (I’m thinking of that six month stint I had online dating!) I can’t say I blame those callous healthcare pros having to deal with everyone’s aches and pains all day, but just because I don’t blame them, doesn’t mean their apathetic handling is okay.

What if, once I’m dead, I get assigned an overworked, stressed out, M.E. who thinks it’s alright to place his soy latte takeout cup on my exposed chest while he pokes around in my skull with a scalpel. I won’t be able to call him a douche from the afterlife. At least, I don’t think so.

What if the M.E.’s tech assistant is an overworked queen from Texas? What if every day the tech assistant regales the doctor and the staff with his offensive stories about picking up trailer trash, emo boys, at the local gay bar and then bending them around like gumbies before having to shower and come to work all over again. Sure, it’s inappropriate work conversation. NSFW, the internet might call it. But, in this particular morgue, the callous M.E., who just picked his soy latte off my naked right breast to take a sip, is too afraid to tell the queenie tech to shut it. He’d rather listen to his obscene gay-capades because the alternative is confronting him. The M.E. knows confronting this queen might lead to the tires of his BMW getting slashed. He doesn’t want to risk it. It’s enough to make you roll over in your grave. If you were in your grave and not on a lab table in front of these pathetic individuals.

Basically, my soul, floating above my body, is being tainted by this lack of concern and sour chit-chat while my pectoral muscle is being marked with frothy milk. Isn’t that a nice visual?  Isn’t that the way you’d want to go out?  No.  No, it isn’t.

It just ain’t right.

None of this would happen with Dr. G. She would take great pains to pay attention to my every detail. She would inspect my bowel, “inch by inch” and I have no doubt she would keep her latte in the break room.

In a world that seems unduly harsh with people leaving disgusting comments on the awkward youtube pages of experimenting children, it’s refreshing to see this overly educated, do gooder, MD caring about dead bums, hos, infants, the elderly, and sudden death middle-agers – all with the same amount of precision. All with the same amount of care.

I mean, I wear the shoulder part of my seat belt because of Dr. G. I’ve had my belief that you shouldn’t take everyone at face value confirmed by Dr. G. I know what a Y-incision is because of Dr. G. And I can’t help, but think that the Y-incision is a sign…

…that if I could add a celebrity to my YES team – it would be Dr. G.

Sometimes in life (or in the life following immediately after your death) all you need is a decent person around you. I felt this same way when visiting Canada for the first time. Everyone says hello – and it was just so…decent.

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