I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their cards and letters sent in anticipation of my upcoming procedure. Since returning from our Hawaiian honeymoon, we've devoted nearly all our time to navigating the health care labyrinth, phoning specialists and clinics.
Though much is unknown about my condition, with little to be found in the annals of medicine, there is one point on which there is unanimous agreement: I am the victim of extremely unfortunate timing. My marriage proposal in 2003 to young Meryl (nineteen at the time) was sullied by my immediate imprisonment for grand larceny. Our inability to consummate our union proved frustrating not only to Meryl, then living at home with her mother who required round-the-clock care, but for me, confined to a federal correctional facility with few outlets for my primary desires other than exercise and cable television.
Upon my early release, Meryl and I flew to paradise to rediscover each other and to cement our vows. The result is what has best been described by Dr. Herbert Marcus of the UCLA Medical Center as "excessive chafing." Meryl has been nothing short of heroic throughout my ordeal, displaying reserves of patience and empathy I did not know she possessed. In this respect, I am a lucky man.
During my hospitalization, I know I can depend on many of you to comfort her with concern, company, and, yes, casseroles. Also, if you visit within 72 hours of my arrival home, please bring vast quantities of ice as Dr. Marcus has informed me that there will be significant swelling.
The procedure will be performed by Dr. Harold Bronstein and I feel sure I am in competent hands as he has years of experience ministering to transsexuals, transgender individuals, and Michael Jackson. He is uncertain at this point if a skin graft will be necessary, but if any of you is willing to donate that bit of epidermis found between your big toe and its neighbor, please contact me as soon as possible.
A few folks have already dropped off mix tapes for Meryl to enjoy during my absence and for me to savor upon my return. Knowing we are in your thoughts means the world to us. I also deeply appreciate all the pro bono work being done on my behalf by my cousin Peter Schreiber and his law firm in my attempt to obtain a settlement from the Hotel Hana Maui.
Experts tell me a hostelry such as this certainly would have seen its share of honeymoon fatigue and should have ignored our "Do Not Disturb" sign after the fifth day and interrupted our exertions in order to salvage what was left of my midsection. Their complimentary fruit platter and Hana Maui ice packs for our journey home in no way absolve them of responsibility.
I do not deny that I overdid it with my comely minx, Meryl, but cannot help see myself as Tess of the d'Urbervilles: "more sinned against than sinning." To be incarcerated for 78 months with a roommate from a radically different social background who had virtually no interests nor, indeed, teeth; to be given only back issues of "Mad" magazine and "Martha Stewart Living"; to be deprived of female companionship except in the form of Vice-Warden Susan Prother's twice-weekly appearances at breakfast; and to be told that one is less than a man because one has committed a financial transgression (albeit a particularly sizable one) against society is to reduce one such as I to a weak-willed being, unable to make just decisions.
For those of you who saw the excellent film "Kinsey" (featuring the stellar Liam Neeson as the famous sex researcher), you know the human body is capable of unimagined achievement in the pursuit of pleasure. The nature of my plight obviously begs discretion, but I believe I can share one anecdote without betraying our privacy: on the final night of our honeymoon, Meryl said to me, "Now that you've spent yourself in every orifice of my body for the eighth day in a row, do you think we could order a sandwich?"
That cracked me up. But it was just as our BLT Club arrived (a choice I heartily recommend to prospective guests), and I was spreading a damask napkin across my lap, that I felt my first twinge. Though my eyes were crossed in pain and Meryl had a strip of bacon dangling from the corner of her mouth, I found myself in the grip of desire and, knocking our sandwich to the floor, I began, oh so gingerly, to undo my bathrobe for that final, fateful time.
