
He walked into the white-tiled room
wearing clean green scrubs and a hood
It must have been an Easter-bonnet reject
with flowers long-since gone, only one thing left
the pale green gauze and a chin strap
wide as a flap of beard
Anyway, it made me smile
He smiled back
I was gonna tease him about his funny looks
till a nurse handed me a bag and said
Go take off your clothes; put these on instead
I pulled out one of them flap-backed gowns
made to fit a 700-pound body
and me, being just a fraction of 700,
did what I was told
but there wasn’t no tie to hold
the back-flap together and hide my knickers
Then inside the bag I found a hag’s bonnet
only this one was white – not my best color
it framed my mug like a prison shower cap
the size 700 elastic slipping down my face
not a trace of brow left and hardly any eyes
Stripped of my clothes and vanity
I re-entered the room, humbled
on equal terms with the bonneted Doc
He’s an artist I decided as he described
the seventeen bones in my foot
compared to only three in my ankle
He knows every one of those structures
like the back of his hand or his own child’s smile
Put your feet up here, he directed
and took a pen from his pocket
then outlined an arrow that pointed to the spot
where the screw had stopped working
and was no longer needed to hold my foot together
Suddenly
he drew a happy face on my big toe
made me giggle like a little girl
Ooh that tickles, Doc
How good it was to laugh with my artist surgeon
easing the pre-op tension
Then Robert came in – Him, the nurse
with the warm blanket and eyes,
wrapped a strap around my arm
and pumped till the numbers jumped
Are you nervous? Your blood pressure’s up
Don’t worry, he said. This is just like
going to the dentist
My blood pressure rose again
That’s when Doc took a full syringe,
aimed it at my screwed foot, and squirted
saying This is gonna be a bit cold
But it was more than death’s door of cold
It burned like hell
It will kill the pain, he promised
If burning like hell was better than that pain
then that pain was gonna hurt real bad
so I was glad I didn’t have to face it
Soon after my foot went numb
Doc said Let’s get started
I walked to the operating room
holding on to my floppy cap thinking
To hell with the exposed back-flap
I’ll be sitting on it soon
I climbed on the table and met John
the vet tech for people
He covered me up and hung a sheet
so I couldn’t peek and pass out in a swoon
I lay back down and talked a streak
looking into Robert’s brown eyes
trying not to worry that I could feel a lot
more than my heel, I felt my whole foot
in Doc’s hand and I felt pressure
The only real pain was in my brain
and in the bone where the screw was stuck
They put a tourniquet down around my calf,
and I laughed thinking my foot might fall off
and solve the whole problem if they forget
but they didn’t
A few stories later – you know, the ones I told
to keep us all entertained while they worked
though I doubt they listened, knowing
it was just a ploy to keep me busy
playing with a stream of words
Well, a few stories later,
using the scalpel, pliers, and the wrong screwdriver
they tried to unscrew that old pin
but the bugger was stuck in there
We need a Number 62, said Doc
It’s in my office
I hoped his office was close by
and I told another story while they tried
to find the right driver. I don’t remember now
if the story was done when someone said
Screw’s out!
Robert showed me the titanium imp
that made me limp every time I donned a shoe
for the last few years
I felt like shedding tears of gratitude
but I just said Well Done and Thanks
They bandaged me up and sent me home
with one black sandal and two white pages
of post-op instructions saying
Stay dry
Don’t try running or playing golf – yet
Keep your foot up and take a rest
You were blessed with a good screw
Now it’s done and gone so hop along
and we’ll take the stitches out next week
When Rich came home and saw the new shoe
and the bandaged foot, with toes exposed
and the happy-face still grinning, he asked
What’s up?
My foot, I said
I have to keep it inclined
Would you mind walking the dog?
So he did, much to her concern
cuz he still hasn’t learned
to scoop her poops without gagging
It’s not the dog’s fault they stink
Then Rich went to get us a take-out supper
since I shouldn’t stand but when he left I stood
I wanted to cook the dog’s dinner
sweet potatoes, brown rice and chicken
Tomorrow while he’s out playing golf
she’ll be here with me
licking the happy-face
tickling my toes
and making me giggle like a little girl again

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Posted in: http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/
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