IN SPITE OF THE BEST EFFORTS OF THE AMERICAN HEALTH CARE SYSTEM, I STILL LIVE

I was referred to the Urology Clinic.  I knew what that was.  Kinda.  I mean, they handle plumbing problems.  It turns out my prostate was prostrate.  Now all men have a prostate.  I was never sure why.  It seems to be an annoyance more than anything.  Like male pattern baldness.  It enlarges over time, slowly, insidiously, until you can no longer empty your bladder.  The best answer was surgery.  And quickly.  Ah man, not again! I mean, the scars aren't even healed from the last time.  But it is better than drowning in my own piss.  They want to do a TURP and while they are at it they will repair my Hydrocele. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hydrocele_testis  If you really want to know, check the link.  I can no longer bear to look.  The Hydrocele was a gift from the surgeon who did a hernia repair on me 7 years ago.

Was I scared?  Nah.  More like terrified.    

You see, when I hear the word surgery I immediately conjure up this vision of a well, next to a large shade tree.  Under which there is a kitchen door resting on two sawhorses.  There is a bearded man, shirtsleeves rolled up, wiping a bloody knife on his leather apron.  Beyond that there are blowflies swarming on a large pile of putrefying arms and legs.  In the distance one can hear the dull WHUMP of field mortars and the ripping canvas sound of volleys of musket fire.  You get the picture.  This is where my mind can go.  Back to that place where I have been before.

This is not heart surgery and there is little drama.  They begin by suckering you in.  There is always the ubiquitous needle stuck in my arm.  The nice lady slips a vial onto it and announces that she just wants to give me a little something to calm me.  Something to take the edge off while they get ready.  OK.  I’m all for tha………………….

…………..Out of the blackness into a dim surreal half light.  PAIN!  Muscle Spasms!  I have been raped by a Chinese section gang.  They transfer me from the anesthetic to morphine.  I asked for a lighter dose because I don’t do well on morphine.  Actually I adore morphine but I am a recovering alcoholic and to give me morphine sets loose long dormant urges buried in my brain and I go absolutely Batshit for days.  I did things and said things that I mercifully, only vaguely remember.

THE SHADOW SAYS: WE WILL CONTINUE THIS ON THE NEXT POST.