"...theatre"

Yet another episode in my recent health history.

Thanks to FB for inserting these traumas back into my memory....thanks a lot.

"First of all it was winter. Sharp winds early dusks quiet nights. My old bones demanded attention."

Act One Triage.

If an injury is possible it's here.

A prisoner chained to a gurney opposite me. A patrolman at his side. Grunts of the urban wars. Being soldiers they have much in common.

So they spoke not of rage, but cars sports family, and the Army.

Iraq vets both.

Act Two Observation.

A pod of ten beds with flat screens floating above them. Much pain. They limit meds. The Opioid Crisis. I watched hours of "The Walking Dead" to cheer myself up.

New Years Eve.

Our doctor played the ukulele, and sang for us.

Angels everywhere.

Finally serious Morphine. I entered 2019 in a most pleasant state.

Act Three Treatment.

The 'real' hospital begins. Here they keep all the knives, and saws.

I'm pried injected drained poked x-rayed MRI's, and Sonogramed. Btw I'm still not pregnant.

Assorted real-time truths presented. Stuff needs to be chopped off. It's just a question of how much.

??!!!

After more MRI shake, and baking they settle on just one little piggy. The other nine, and the legs they're attached to are reprieved,...for now.

Act Four The Operating Theatre.

No popcorn,...or cartoons.

Walls ceilings flyby. Muted voices. Then so bright so cold so quick.

Did I mention at some point my veins stopped working, and they had to go digging into my arteries for blood. That was the only fun part.

Act Five Post-Op.

A blur. Sleep. Deep sleep.

I think I remember nurses doctors speaking to me or maybe I dreamed them. Same thing. Eventually I'm Medevac'd to my digs.

Act Six.

Home.