Trail of Ants

After a quick blood pressure test the gang of nurses rushed me to the surgery operating room. Pain was brandishing my neck and shoulder, a sickening sensation ten times greater than the height of ‘pins and needles’, when it really feels like your stricken limb might just implode. And you might just want it to. A nun entered the room and cast me her gentle look, that only she was capable of. I grimaced back and as she glided silently backwards I turned my gaze to the floor. A moment later, Elvis entered the room and as quickly as he appeared, Elvis - predictably - left the building. He returned five minutes later, still balancing a thick polyester wig, aviator sunglasses and an open pink Versace shirt revealing his wiry black chest hair. He inquired about my symptoms though quite obviously only took note of key words; neck, pain, happened 10 days ago, agony, euthanasia? ‘Cervical Scoliosis‘, he claimed confidently, ‘you want pill?‘ A nurse reappeared, glared at me and held out her pale palm where two nondescript pills gently wobbled. ‘What is it?‘ I stammered, ‘complicated‘ replied the doc with a sigh that saw the pills inhaled. He followed on ‘you want injection?‘. My eyebrows went skeewiff, ‘what’s it for?‘ I asked. He feigned understanding but later admitted to Reb it was ‘for his disease‘. Moments later the nurse rolled me over and jabbed a needle so deep into my backside, it would ache for weeks. Next came the x-ray, the offer of a wheelchair and an exhausted kip on the surgery bed. Continue reading ‘Heartbreak Hotel’