My Organs, Pt. One: The Liver

So I'm bent over the sink this morning, intently plucking earhairs, when I notice a lump on my side, toward my back. A chill swept up my spine. I stopped plucking and felt the damned thing. I rubbed it, tapped it, gave it a little squeeze.

Didn't take me long to realize I was fondling my own liver, which was either heroically distended or just getting the hell out of Dodge, or most likely both.

So it's come to this.

What intact organs I have left are beginning the great migration from this derelict body to a new and healthier specimen, albeit a bit prematurely for my purposes. I had hoped to donate something after death--not that there'll be much left by then, but still, I had hoped.

My organs are always giving me lip. My heart's been worked over, an aortic valve replaced. One eye has already escaped. I've had one kidney fail, twice. Stomach is shot. Pancreas exists for novelty purposes only. Colon operates, just barely, by gravity alone.

But of all my organs removed, rebuilt, or damaged, the liver is pretty much blameless. Indeed, my liver is the one organ that, considering the sheer brute abuse heaped upon it, has functioned above and beyond the call of duty. Like the levees of New Orleans, my liver has held back the rising tide of destruction for many a year. But, like those same levees, something had to give sometime.

Not too long ago I was sitting at a bar and I ordered my favorite drink, the nefarious Long Island Tea. As it happened, the bartendress knew me, knew my predilection for sci-fi strength liquor mixes, and poured me a fucking nightmare of a drink. I took a sip and cringed. I thought, to paraphrase Roy Scheider in Jaws, "I'm gonna need a bigger liver."

Well, that night I drank...hell, who knows how many of those things. Certainly not me. Now--truth is, in the past, such exploits might give me, say, a headache the next day, but nothing more serious than that. But times, they are a-changing, and my body is a-changing right along.

The next day I was an extra from Dawn of the Dead. Every part of me ached and throbbed. Other people's livers were swollen because of my condition. Several of my organs were visible from space (see Google Earth). I knew it was time for change.

I've cut waaaay back on the drinking lately, and I think that might be the problem. Rather than quit drinking entirely, I've been drinking less. Or less often. In fact, once a week of actual drunkeness is about my limit. But therein lies the rub: like a junkie who's quit the junk for a while, everytime I go back to the well, I overdo it--with horrific consequences. "Well, I USED to drink this much every time," I tell myself, "so why not this time, too."

Well, here's why not: my body--specifically my liver--can't cut the Bourbon anymore. I think the drinking might be over for me. And that is NOT a bad thing. Not a GOOD thing, either, but there it is.

COMING SOON: My Organs, Pt. 2--The Prostate

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"I know I'm drinking myself to a slow death, but then I'm in no hurry."

-------Robert Benchley.

"I exercise strong self control. I never drink anything stronger than gin before breakfast."

-------WC Fields

"There's nothing wrong with sobriety in moderation."

-------John Ciandi

"The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind."

-------Humprey Bogart