Pieter Serwouters:
An Allegory of Relations between the Generations (1608)

" … the historical record seems clear."

I imagine that one day, somebody will discover a way to reconstruct my Fambly's entire history by analyzing DNA. Then, the birth and death details and the Fambly Tree's intricate webs might become definite and unquestionable. Until then, though, reconstructing a Fambly's history remains relatively painstaking. Between transcription errors and superficial differences of opinion, any two researchers’ results might remain eternally unresolvable. After all, the original principles will never be here to settle any of the many inevitable differences. Who I am will remain a steadfastly subjective question with a slightly less than even any distantly objective response.

Still, science continues her inexorably stroll. More and more certainty emerges from swirling possibilities as one discovery exponentially follows and builds upon another. My recent ancestors still believed in humours and witches, but I have benefited from more recent discoveries. I cannot deny the truth that I probably possess a raft of inherited conditions. My internist, for example, suspects that I might have inherited a blood coagulation disorder that runs in families. Following the discovery of a Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT) in my left leg, my doctor ordered tests. It matters, he said, which of the four more common coagulation disorders mine represents. Knowing might help guide treatment. I should have anticipated this diagnosis, for both my parents were placed on blood thinners. In those days, they needed to visit their doctor weekly to check their blood viscosity. More modern prescriptions render that inconvenience unnecessary, thank heavens.

The doctor asked how long my left foot had been larger than my right. I responded with typical introverted insight. "Ungh, I never noticed." He ordered an ultrasound, which quickly discovered a blood clot beneath my left knee. Initial treatment involved some free samples of a recently-released medication with a typically noncommital name and taking it easy. I'd imagined quickly snapping back into an equally unnoticed normal, but after a week of treatment, I'd apparently made no headway as measured by comparing my left to my right foot. My doctor suggested this treatment would advance by weeks and months rather than mere days. I'm settling in for a longer haul, and I'm grateful that we're entering the months where I've historically foregone wearing socks. The doctor suggests I shop for some compression socks, and my already somewhat devastated wardrobe pride slides down another notch. The Muse unhelpfully suggests that I shop for said socks at a pharmacy. I might be sliding down the other side of the hill, but I'm not yet far enough gone to resort to wearing drugstore clothes. I'll order mine from a reliable supplier, though  I'm unlikely to turn many heads when strutting down red carpets in even the finest compression socks. Sigh!

One of my first great-grandfathers died from what could have been the result of an untreated DVT. They had no way of diagnosing them in his day.  Ditto both of my grandfathers at just about my age, so I will pay close attention. I need not necessarily succumb to my Fambly's genetic history, for this seems a step beyond familial fealty. My DNA need not necessarily do me in to fulfill its mission. I've already successfully passed on the strains. Eliminating me now won't accomplish anything sustaining to the clan. I'm satisfied to continue as I am, knowing that I'm a wasting resource, slowing fading into irrelevance, my true significance perhaps too subtle for me to ever have noticed. My grandson might well take up the theme, whatever it was, and pass it on without necessarily ever knowing what he was passing. He will unavoidably pass on even the more unwanted traits like an inherited genetic blood clotting disorder, and even worse ones as yet undiagnosed and therefore untreatable, like a compulsive writing urge or a genetic predisposition toward sarcasm. There never was any ultimate cure for being anybody; of that, the historical record seems clear.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Fambly, #PureSchmaltz