Gratefulness for the bathroom

In our younger years we can be awakened by a frightened child, or the on-call phone dagger from the ER or ICU. As we "mature" (get old, fall apart, what-happened-to-me), that renting of our dream cloud is more likely an insistent ringtone from the bladder.

So there you are, cozy, maybe the room and the floor aren't so cozy. After a period of deliberation, sometimes lengthy, an impulsive toddle to the bathroom ensues.

Now imagine this occurring on a boat. The little boat bathroom can't be used because every pump-out station between Key West and Fort Pierce is "down," similar to the ice cream machine always being "down." The red light warns against any further use. The marina bathroom is 200 yards away, and getting out of the bed on the boat requires at least an associate degree in yoga. Of course, the key you have been issued for the bathroom can't be located.

Living on a boat now for six weeks, I've become acutely aware of how many life conveniences I take for granted. At home, turn on the faucet, water comes out. On the boat, tanks must be filled, disgusting water filtered and consumption monitored.

Electricity? How many amps does the microwave use? Do I run the generator? Did that breaker really pop AGAIN?

And, of course, the indelicacy of holding tanks and septic tanks, which seem to be microscopic in size. This is the first time in 42 years of togetherness my wife and I have had to discuss such, well, coarse issues.

These problems, of course, are but a piffle. Cry me a river, you must do a little extra work on your yacht. Those of you with RVs and boats know the drill.

But my mind has drifted, kind of like this boat when I try to dock.

I've thought of all those people I cared for over the years, whose day-to-day challenges weren't from a recreational vehicle, but from the rebellion of their body.

People with rheumatoid arthritis who couldn't hold a pen and hurt day and night. I did a lot of colostomy and ileostomy and urostomy revisions so that folks could wear a bag that didn't leak. Electricity again? What about neuropathy and paralysis, chronic pain? Many of my diabetic patients couldn't see and were on dialysis. They would be thrilled to walk the docks at 3 a.m. to empty their bladder.

Scrubbing out the septic tanks today somehow turned gag to gratitude. I'm grateful I live in a time and place where I can turn on faucets and get clean water, turn on the lights and (after dealing with the world's most powerful entity, the Missoula County sewer permit cabal) be able to flush a toilet relatively carelessly.

I'm grateful I don't have chronic pain or a bag or a dialysis fistula. I can see and walk and I can just barely reach the float switch in the sump tank.

I'm not getting bombed in Ukraine (just swamped by Angry Young Males in sportfishers), starved in Gaza, or trampled in Haiti.

We enjoyed the sparkling seas of Key West but were grateful that we have mountains and seasons and tall trees in the Swan. The fabulous yachts and homes in Fort Lauderdale and Miami were fun to see, but not a single log home among them.

Different and startling experiences give context to our lives. We've had a great experience in Florida, but I will not be attempting to wrest one square inch of real estate from the Floridians.

That walk to the bathroom in the marina? At least it is 80 degrees at 3 a.m.