Hurry to the hospital … wait …

Hurry to fill in the last of the checked and re-re-checked paperwork, and change into a one-size-fits-all (it doesn’t) hospital gown … wait …

Hurry into the operating theatre … wait …

Anesthetic takes effect … Cone of Surrealness finally shatters.

…

…

A rodent with razor claws sits at my throat and gnaws at it with poisoned fangs … I’m almost convinced it’s an hallucination.

“What is your pain on a scale of one to ten?” …

“Eleven,” I croak.

The rodent continues its feast. I hurry up and wait for whatever painkiller they’re pumping into me to chase it away … wait some more …

I open my eyes to a large wall clock. Time has no meaning, but the second hand transits smoothly through each minute rather than ticking off each second individually. I am grateful, it saves me from counting each agonising one.

The painkillers kick in. My rodent friend disappears.

…

…

Bang! … rumble, rumble, clang, rattle. Elevator doors open, close, open again.

Rumble, swerve, clack, click, side-to-side jiggle. Thud-ump … stillness.

Another room, same clock with the sliding second hand. What is my pain level? Seven, with a twist of lemon, … that shifts gears and feels like a two.

… stop … wait …

*

THANK YOU, Thank you, to all who called, emailed, and left comments. I am home again, sleeping lots, and healing as I ought. I don’t smell like hospital anymore so Widdercat is speaking to me.

All is well.