Stitches and the Murderous Bottle

I had some sort of tiny tumor removed from my back yesterday. It's the first time since I was 3 years old that I've required stitches.

I was sitting there in my open-back medical gown, staring down at my boots and twirling my fingers nervously on my lap. The office was tiny and the medical table I sat on was sort of low, making me feel a bit claustrophobic...or maybe it was the surgical tray next to me with rows of scissors, medical blades and needles which made me start to panic. In any case, I shut my eyes tight and just concentrated on breathing. He had told me it would be quick...and small. He'd leave the wound open and let it heal on it's own. Right. Well, it's me we're talking about, obviously.

25 minutes later, I'm hearing the words scalpel and capsule and he's turned on the fan because everyone in the room is sweating. Although I was glad I couldn't feel pain, I was not glad to be reminded what Novocaine feels like when injected into an already irritated area. But the burning passed, and a few minutes later he had been well on his way into slicing into my skin. Funny feeling, that is, the sensation of people probing your body and the feeling of scissors tearing tissue apart, but not be able to feel pain. Medicine can be cool sometimes. I can't imagine what it felt like in the early years when someone needed to have something extracted from their body, and the only anesthetic was liquor. Wait. Now I feel cheated.

Anyway, I was doing remarkably well until I decided to look at the surgical tray as he deposited my little tumor into the vial with sterile whateverliquidy (I'm such a medical pro, I know). Once I saw part of me and blood, I was done for. I started swaying a bit and feeling short of breath...that nausea that creeps up and makes you break out in to cold sweat. Ricky looked over at me, and said I looked white. At which point the doctor stopped sewing me up and looked at my face for a few seconds and making me lay down on my side. I'm a wimp. I was feeling great, afterwards, in my own ignorance that the Novocaine would eventually wear off. I stopped at Starbucks and saw a kid eat the floor when running through the coffee shop like he was at the park. I felt bad for about 4 seconds, when he was back up and running. It was ok. I had my coffee.

By 8 p.m. it was an entirely different story. My shoulder blade felt like it was on fire. I couldn't get comfortable, every move made my wound hurt something horrible...and I was pretty sure he had gone in there and rearranged all my entire spine, shoulder blade and adjacent inner organs and muscles. No one ever said I wasn't dramatic, people.

So I grabbed my giant bottle of Perrier water, which seems to be my latest craving/addiction/poison, and laid safely on my tummy - prepared to have a very still night of sleep. Failure.

Although my dream began benign enough, it eventually turned into me tied to a hospital bed. Apparently I was in a morgue, I looked around and saw several bodies on tables being cut into with saws, a few gurgling screams...some were still alive. My blood ran cold as this thin, olive skin man with only one eye walked towards me with a bloody ax. He leaned over and said, "It's simple, really. You let me have my way with you, have my little fun or I'll make you die slowly. I'll peel your skin off with a blade, like a fish. I'll pummel your ankles with..." And on he went, describing my slow, painful death. In my head I scrambled for a choice. Live? But withstand this monster's touch and use of me? Die with dignity? What about the other girls? Why were they already dead? They couldn't have ALL chosen to die gracefully. So what if they had said "Yes" to his offer and ended up dead anyways? My indecision was caught short when I felt his hand sneak up my t-shirt and massage me with those cold, rough hands. I felt tears rolling down my face and he just turned around and yelled at his partner, who was decapitating a blond, "This one doesn't want to play. Kill her too".

I woke up as I felt the saw cutting into my left wrist, and as I was opening my eyes, something heavy landed against my left arm and banged against the wall. I froze, terrified. I was definitely awake and there was something leaning against me. I wasn't making it up. Crap.

So I spent the rest of the night completely still, even though I had to pee so bad, because I was afraid of looking at the bed and seeing something horrifying haunting me in my room. It was still there, snuggling closer to me all the way to 6:45 a.m. when I couldn't take it anymore and I flung myself off the bed and looked back ready to scream my lungs out...

The Perrier bottle lay there, looking awfully satanic and suspicious...

A bottle of sparkling mineral water kept me up all night. At least it kept me company?

“It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways.”~Buddha