Description
I am lying in a state of pre-op, waiting to be wheeled to an operating theatre, in the bowels of what some would say at the mercy of the local general hospital. (The wags say that if the staph doesn't get you the staff will.) My presence can be put down to a misadventure that I will shortly relate at length, and to the lack of any health insurance: since when have I budgeted for anything? I live for the present, always have and always will, notwithstanding I'd have twice as many teeth in my head if I were more accommodating of the future.
Thus far, I must admit, the process has proceeded reasonably efficiently. I do not resent the six-hour wait after the paperwork was completed shortly after dawn: I guess someone had to be last in line for this morning's session, albeit it is extending into early afternoon in the supine form of yours truly, T.H.E. Ashman (aka the Ashman), read Travis Henry Eric.
I am strangely calm, even pleasurably excited about what is happening. There is no hospital smell to depress my spirits - none that I can notice - and the long wait has had the discrepant effect of stealing me. My nervousness peaked at about the four-hour mark, long after my bowels had anything left to give. It was as if I'd ridden pillion with some mad, sadistic biker who had gone beyond scaring me shitless. I'd been pushed over the edge, forced to feel in some preordained way the high sought by those addicted to speed and danger.
ISBN: 9780975770603
