Forced To Fast For Peace
I went to a potluck of old friends at Raasa’s farmhouse in Ashland, VA. I couldn’t help but pull out the camera and start asking for stories. This crowd had stories about scars. The following bit is Nathan Long’s stories. Odd, after knowing him for 5 years, and living with him, I never think of him as having so many scars. 
Nathan is a talented writer (http://www.failbetter.com/28/LongDevil.php?sexnSrc=Latest), an extraordinary cook, and a lovely person to have around (unless you don’t like puns).
“My scar is from my first drinking story from when I was three months old. I had Pyloric Stenosis, and was projectile vomiting because my lower stomach muscle closed. The Dr.’s had to operate and cut out a section of my stomach. When the Dr. was finished, he handed me to my mother,
which was when she smelled scotch, and believed that he had been drinking. I guess he saw the worried expression on her face, and he said, “No no, I gave it to the baby. A small child can die from anesthesia, so I gave Nathan the scotch.” So that’s the first time I drank.
When I was 20, I saw someone with this same scar, and it was exciting to see that.
When I was twelve I had a bump under my nipple, and so I went to the Dr. to get it removed. He didn’t tell me how it was going to be removed, and I assumed that he was going to cut under the nipple, but he actually cut through it.
I was twelve, in the hospital, and when I pulled off the bandage, and my nipple was all bloody. And I was furious. When we back a few weeks later, the Dr. said oh, (referring to the numbness), you are going to hate me for the next six month, but then it will be over. And I remember thinking, “No. I am going to hate you for the rest of my life.” And I do.
And this is from my ruptured appendix.
It had been ruptured for over two weeks by the time I got to the hospital, I was swollen with infection. They operated, and there was a 50/50 chance of surviving. After the surgery my stomach continued to stay swollen. Even though I hadn’t eaten in three days, the nurses said, “As soon as you poop, we’ll give you food.” And I said, “But I’m not going to poop until you give me food.” And this went on for ten days. Since I knew that they weren’t going to give me food for a while, I thought, “Well, I am already fasting; I might as well fast for a purpose,” and put a sign above my bed that said, “Fasting For Peace.”
Oh and this scar is from a bad novel! (He is referencing the scar beneath his belly button). When I was in the hospital someone brought in the results from the contest for the first sentence for the worst story in the world (http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/). It was the first spring at the nuclear winter, we knew because the lawn had just eaten it’s first robin. I was on Demerol, and I started laughing and laughing, until my side split open.
I like scars; I’m glad that they resist (but I could do without the one below my belly button).”
Soldiers and Tattoos
Michael and I had an interesting conversation on our way to Raasa Leela’s Farmhouse in Ashland.
Michael explained that when he served in the army (to get his G.I. Bill) that tattoos were looked down upon. At that time, only sailors and farmers had them. My how things have changed.
I am fascinated by soldier tattoos, and am considering dedicating a section of the book to soldier tattoos. This genre of tattoos caught my attention when they started banning tattoos in the military. http://www.marinecorpstimes.com/news/2007/03/marine_tattoo_changes_032007/ I had assumed it was because of the amount of tattoos made in honor of fallen soldiers, but this article tells a slightly different story. If you or any one you know has a soldier tattoo, or fallen soldier tattoo, please send along your story and photos, and I will post them on the blog and consider them for the book.
