I have no choice but to murder my surgeon

I returned to the surgeon today for a checkup. When he advised another surgery, I did what any reasonable person would have done: I stabbed him in the neck with a forty-gauge needle. I didn’t know it would kill him, but I got lucky with my fourth blow. His tears, gurgles, and bloody froth haunted me all the way out of the building.

Now for the truth. After being advised that I needed to have the bursa on the back of my knee removed and being told that this surgery would be a bigger deal than my last surgery; I asked if he would cooperate in getting my records to another orthopedist for a second opinion, and he said he would. I signed a consent form, asked for a copy, and said I would pick up the chart when it was ready.

When I left his office, I biked to the library where I checked out books on algebra and geometry. I was especially intrigued by Euclid in the Rainforest—Discovering Universal Truths in Logic and Math; because I would like to think there is at least something that is solid, something that is true at all times and in all places. Then, I went to the empty IOOF hall and pigged out on leftover cake. I skipped the insides and went straight for the icing, scooping it up with barbequed potato chips.

I looked in at the lodge room briefly, a beautiful and aromatic room that I love so much that I would have joined the lodge for it alone. Another room that I love is the concrete block bathroom in the basement. It has speckled walls along with windings and turns that make me feel far from all that is bad in the world. I sometimes imagine taking a chair there and using it for a reading room.

Feeling some better, I went home and worked in the yard while Josh hit Bonnie’s tennis ball to her with a golf club. He’s a motor mouth, but I was glad for the company.