Love Story (not inspired by Al Gore)

So in this post I made several days ago after returning home from a lovely visit to the ER, I referenced a Mr. Theodore E.

Since I really have the urge to post, but am not in the mood to go into anything super deep, I will tell you about Theodore.

Theodore E. and I were introduced early on Easter morning the year I was twelve-going-on-thirteen. That would make it 1989. (I know, I know, I just made some of you "feel old". Suck it up.) We had a casual acquaintance for some time, and he mostly sat around and watched me write bad middle-school-angst poetry and listened to me practice the viola.

Then, in early August of that year- I had finally turned thirteen, although that matters little, really, in the telling of the story- I fell ill. Actually, I felt like shit. I had a horrible pain in my lower right abdomen, and after doing the requisite blood-count test and poking me in the "does-it-hurt-there?" manner, the pediatrician I had seen decided I needed my appendix out. Now. He sent my mother and I to the Emergency Room at Central DuPage Hospital, with my mother, being my mother, making a detour through a McDonald's drive-thru for a Diet Coke to "settle her nerves" on our way there. Not long after arriving at the ER, the doctor on duty agreed with my pediatrician, and sent me up to get prepped for surgery. My father had meanwhile been paged (you know, in the days before cell phones?) to the hospital. We lived quite close to the hospital, so while I was in surgery, my parents decided to go home and tell my sister what was going on, and get some things for me, especially my favorite nightshirt, and some books. When they asked me what would make me happy and more comfortable, I, on a whim, requested the company of Theodore E.

So Theodore E. came back with my parents, and spent the five days in the hospital with me, as I convalesced. We bonded over bad hospital food- which I offered to him since I wasn't up to eating it most of the time anyway (he refused, smart guy that he is)- and the bad TV my roomate insisted on watching almost all the time. By the time I ended up back in the hospital three weeks later with an infection (my surgeon sucked purple donkey balls- but that's another story for another six or seven posts), it was a given that he would be my most constant companion for the duration.

Our relationship had begun to blossom.

By the time I hit high school, Theodore E. was everywhere with me. He accompanied me to Interlochen the summer I was fourteen, and he and I celebrated, rather grimly, the one-year anniversary of my scandalous appendix surgery. He came on family vacations with me, and even summer church-related activities, such as Confirmation Camp and Leadership Lab. One summer, two friends of ours, both named Jason, spent two months in South Carolina for something church-related (I can't remember what), and when they admitted that they were nervous about going because they didn't know anyone else, Theodore E. decided to go along as their chaperone. The next summer, one of the Jasons spent it in the Phillipines doing mission work. This time, out of my own concern for Jason, I sent Theodore E. with him on my own initiative. The high point for both of us, however, was the week we spent in France with members of my French class, very close to the end of Senior year. My French host-sister was enchanted with him, and he almost didn't leave Tours at all. Which was a relief for me, mostly because I needed someone I could lean on during the long bus rides between Les Chateaux de la Loire. Sometimes I got a little selfish about our relationship.

He, of course, went away with me to college. That was a slightly tumultuous time, but he never left me. When I returned home without a degree, he was the only one in the house not bitterly disappointed in me.

In the intervening years, I can't say that there has been much excitement. I left him for awhile while I was dating My Ex, in an effort to prove to him- twenty two years my senior- that I was an adult. That was a waste, because really in the end, My Ex needed to be the one to learn to act like an adult. But Theodore E. took me back, sweetly and quietly, as was- and still is- his style.

For several years we just kinda hung out. Not much. He did come to Palestine with me last fall, but due to increasing age and frailty on his part, we decided it was best that he stay in the office/apartment in Yatta, instead of trying his hand out in Tuwani. Neither of us thought he would survive the kids very well. He came home a little dusty, glad he went, but not having seen much excitement.

Then came my brief hospital stay that kicked off the fun and games pain and bullshit of the last almost-four months (yep, next week, on the 20th- mark your calendars, kids!- it will be four fucking months). Not knowing I would actually end up admitted, I didn't think to have Theodore E. come with me to the hospital. And because once I was admitted, we were unclear on the length of my stay, and all sorts of other confusions, he never made it there. I was unhappy about this. Although I'll admit that intravenous morphine certainly distracted me a great deal from his absence. So lets just say that after the fact, I was unhappy about this. When I got home, I was never happier to wrap my arms around him and whine till I was blue in the face. Which, at that time, didn't take long.

So on Sunday, when I was faced with a visit to the ER, I decided to be prepared. If I was going to be admitted, or even if I was just going to be faced with some kind of heinous treatment, I wanted him nearby. Luckily, that day I was in and out in less than an hour and a half, but I was relieved to know he was waiting in the car. And he was all warm, too, from sitting in the sun, when I finally got back to him. Next time I am hospitalized, there better be a Theodore E. present, 24/7.

And for your viewing pleasure, here is

( the inimitable Mr. Theodore Edward Bear )

Yes, yes, I know. I am the biggest dork in the world to name my teddy bear "Theodore Edward Bear" ("Theodore E." is just his rap name). But I was young when I came up with it, and it just seems to... well, fit. I mean, just look at him. And yes, I sleep with him. Its actually a very hard physical habit to break. If there is no bear, and no person with whom to spoon, you will walk into my bedroom to find me hugging a pillow in my sleep. Its very odd. Not that this is an invitation to walk into my bedroom while I'm sleeping. Just wanted to make that clear.

And yes, I also had to take a picture of him 'specially for this post. With how camera-mad I was last summer and fall, its weird to have let it go. Its just that for a long time now I've been distracted, and for several of those months I didn't even really care. And certainly, during the hostage-crisis time, I didn't get out much. So there have been pictures sitting on there since Christmas, including some really poor shots of my best friend's wedding in Seattle. Which I won't post, because A) they're really bad shots, B) she's got a whole flikr account of them now from other folks, and C) I don't have her permission. But since we're here, I'll leave you with a couple other pictures that were on my camera when I uploaded this one.


( Walnut Room at Marshall Field's at Christmas )

( Snoqualmie Falls, outside of Seattle, taken while visiting Seattle for aforementioned wedding )

( brother-in-law and dog- one looking demonic, the other looking skeptical (I'll leave it to you to decide who is looking what) )

And I think that's all I'm going to regale you with today.