the presence of anaesthetic now is, let me tell you, a thing of beauty. sure, i still feel the twinge of an unexamined thought or idea (thanks to k, again, for bringing some up in recent days), somewhere around the small intestine, but now, when i open myself up and get bloody up to the elbows poking around in the giblets, well, now it doesn't elicit howls of pain. now, i just sort of gently move the heart (and its corollary, the ego***) out of the way, dig around the liver, and finally find the offending nugget between the shiny coils of my viscera. now i can just take it, lift it up to the light and think upon its significance before throwing it into the kidney basin by the operating table, without having to contend with the screams of the patient, which can be very distracting.
why all the work, you say? why continue to muck around my bloody innards when the inflamed appendix seems to have either settled down or been removed by that most eminent of surgeons, time? well, this seems to have become a habit. that, and the same reason you take a rock out of your shoe. i've become adept, over the last couple of months, at finding the problems lodged inside my innards and working on them until, at the very least, they're understood. now that things seem to have calmed down, i find is the perfect moment to go back and finish the surgeries that were too painful at the time, or to remove that wristwatch, or to rummage around and put the spleen back in its place from whence it was taken in the heat of the moment. let's just say that i don't feel quite ready for the rib retractors to be removed and for the patient to be closed up. in fact, i may never be ready. for all i know, i may spend the rest of my life on the operating table, poking around in my insides, forever removing bits and pieces that have no right to be there but that life (and my own damn choices) keeps throwing in there.
and in case you really needed more visuals, here is a wee film. my process was simultaneously far more creepy and not nearly as cute (WARNING: disturbing content):
* any time in the last two months when my typed words were illegible because of the number of bitter tears i'd shed on the keyboard whilst typing
*** remember, as always, that this is entirely unscientific street vernacular. when i say "ego" i mean the thing that basks in the glow of admiration and curls up in a fetal position when poked with the sharp stick of indifference. dr. freud has not only left the building, he likely never even darkened its doorway, except for those couple of articles i read back in my undergrad days.