The Repulsiveness of Detachment

About a week ago, Aaron said something that all of us have felt many times over the course of our lives but probably have not explicitly articulated: "Everything is fine as long as it stays in your body, but once it becomes detached, it's repulsive."

We all know that at any given time we're carrying about urine and feces. That's perfectly acceptable, but once we let it outside, once it becomes detached from our bodies, it's suddenly repulsive.

The same holds true for mucous and blood and semen. And before you say that you don't find the latter repulsive, consider how comfortable you would be with some stranger's sample on the bed sheets in your hotel room. A lot different than how you would feel if you simply found his mislaid Bluetooth or iPod--other things that can become detached from one's body.

Skin and hair are often the stuff of great beauty, celebrated in literature and the visual arts. But detach either of them from the fair person, and they are not nearly as attractive. Case in point: as a massage therapist who has rubbed the backs, arms, and shoulders of many with peeling tans, let me tell you that dirty, little, sweaty skin balls are not cute. Please scrub yourself with a loofah before seeing your massage therapist during the summer!

Nails, too, are often seen as beautiful. Some women even paint them to attract more attention to the tips of their fingers. But cut them off, and they are no longer lovely. How many of you have scolded someone for cutting his nails without catching the clippings in a receptacle? And I remember my friend Mark, who for many years collected his nail clippings in a jar. To give me the creeps, he would shake the jar, which would make a wispy, bones-rattling-in-the-graveyard sound.

Probably the most dramatic example is that of a fetus. As long as it is inside the mother's womb, it is considered an object of wonder, a testament to the continuance of humanity, a mysterious creature with unknown potential--at least this is often the perception from the outside. But if the fetus is aborted, if it becomes detached from its mother's body, it now possesses none of that glory and is simply placed in the trash.

















And so I have been noticing how dialysis changes public perception of me. Most other people keep their urine inside them until they can quickly, easily, and privately use a restroom. But for me, the whole process is much more cumbersome, time-consuming, and in your face. The 25 boxes of dialysis solution that are stacked in my living room and the other 15 boxes that are squirreled under my bed are everywhere-you-turn reminders that I am all about detaching a bunch of material from my body. And the few people who have entered this space thus far have evidenced a slight repulsion. They definitely do not feel comfortable about the thought of fluids being released from my body. Well, all I can do is to make sure they don't see the collection bags draining into the tub!