A Half-Century of Mrs. Translator

Crossposted at Dailykos.com

Yes, indeed, today is Mrs. Translator’s birthday. And how did she spend it? (By the way, she had a day off from work today). She goes out with Eldest Son in the cypress swamps of central Arkansas to work with him in his alligator research.

Yes, on her birthday she put on chest waders and took to the boat to explore a swamp. But that is just like her. Whilst she is very feminine, she is also quite the tomboy. Since she is a biologist (and a herpetologist), hunting for alligators is the perfect way for her to celebrate her birthday.

We met sort of by chance in 1975 at a mutual friend’s house. I was 18, and she was 17. She drove up in her mum’s powder blue Camaro and we started talking. We have not stopped talking yet.

Now it is 2008. Three wonderful sons have been borne through her. I can not think of a better testimonial for her. Eldest had to be cut out. Interestingly, he was delivered by a fellow Kossack, Dr. William F. Harrison, one the most gifted OB surgeons that I have ever had the honor to meet. He also performs abortions, and has found some really bad times for that. He is an occasional blogger, but is always interesting.

Middle son was a hard delivery. He came out in a facial presentation, and they both were injured from it. He recovered from that. So did Mrs. Translator. So we thought. The OB was a friend of two twin sisters that lived next to us in college. He was a good physician, until he got addicted to cocaine and died over it. His last action was to put on his cowboy boots backwards and forcing his feet into them, breaking bones. But at the time, Dr. Greene was an excellent OB.

Youngest son was more of a normal delivery, but because of the old injuries, not easy for Mrs. Translator. He came into the world pretty much OK, but Mrs. Translator kept hitting herself in the head with the light plastic vomit pan, saying “Give me the drugs for pain!”.

They did, and everyone was OK. We all went home the next day and all were fine.

That is until the genetic disorders showed up. Mrs. Translator and I are not, as far as we can tell, related except through marriage. But recessive genes were still there, most likely from both of us.

Eldest son, and Mrs. Translator, show traits attributable to Marfan’s Syndrome. This in not a trivial condition. It looks like Eldest Son’s and Mrs. Translator’r aortae are not about to dissect. For those of you who do not know, a dissecting aorta is sort of like sudden death unless one happens to be already cut open in the chest on an operating table, or you will bleed out in, say, 20 seconds.

For reference, that is what killed John Ritter. He started feeling bad (he had no idea that he was bleeding out), and died minutes later. No time for the paramedics, and they could not have helped anyway. It looks like they are OK from that respect, and they are monitored.

The worst that they experience is the joint problems. One night, years ago, Mrs. Translator rolled over in bed and dislocated a patella. It was standing 90 degrees from where it should have been. Many knee surgeries later, she gets around (witness the swamp), but with pain. She will not take the narcotics, so gets by with NSAIDS.

When Eldest Son was little, we, like all parents, would walk with him between us and “swing” him by his arms. He screamed in pain. We learnt not to do that after the second try, thinking the first one as a fluke. It turns out that the Marfan’s trait makes joints very “loose”, so we were essentially dislocating his elbows and shoulders. By the way, when she was a girl, Mrs. Translator could do all of the difficult yoga positions precisely because of this.

Whilst I am not sure that it is related, Middle Son has a congenital condition wherein two of his vertebrae do not have the “processes” on the bottom that fit into the two corresponding depressions on the vertebra just below, making his spine very unstable. Last year he underwent extensive and painful surgery to stabilize it, and it was successful. He now has all feeling and motor function in his legs and feet again.

Youngest Son does not seem to have been affected by any of that, and we are grateful.

Now, let us get away from gloom and doom, because there is none. Everyone is very fortunate to be as well as they are, and also fortunate that the medical system did not break down for our family. Between the insurance that I had and that Mrs. Translator has, the family have received excellent treatment without bankruptcy. I know that we are much more fortunate than most, and I am grateful.

We have had many adventures. Living in Fayetteville, Arkansas from 1978 to 1984 was just great. That is likely the most accepting town in the state. We were denizens of the Bullseye Pub, where our University of Arkansas sanctions Dart Throwers Association met, probably more regularly than we should have. Mrs. Translator won a trophy in a tournament, and, as we were heading back to parents’ homes for Christmas, she sat on it and broke it. We fixed it, still have it.

She was only four or five semester hours away from her B. S. when we found that Eldest Son was on the way. That put the stop to her research work counting scales on preserved lizards for one of the biology professors, because of concern about the teratogenic effects of formaldehyde.

We have seen some really interesting things together. Seeing the huge catalpa tree hit by lightning was one. After the storm we walked over to find that it got hit high in the branches, and the energy blasted off a three to four inch chunk of bark all the way down to the ground. We were only about 50 yards away when it happened, and both just were looking in that direction when it did.

Then there was the last Southwest Conference football game between Texas and Arkansas. The Razorbacks won, in Fayetteville, and Dickson Street (the main college drag) went nuts. We went down and watched the kids (we were kids then) build a bonfire at the intersection of Dickson and Rock Street. The authorities were not amused. They started cracking heads after someone cut the hoses from the fire truck sent to put it out (fire hoses are not cheap), so we went home. What a night, though.

I could go on and on, but just want to make the point that I celebrate this day with her. She is the love of my life, and is, in my opinion, the best person and the best mum in the world.

Warmest regards,

Doc

Tags: Birthday Post, Happy Birthday!, Mrs. Translator