Come with me

I couldn't go with him. I had too much to do. I hate that. Well at least I thought I did.


Cheech had to have some tests done. Nothing major, no worries, we are all healthy as horses.  This was simply a test to monitor the progression of a condition he's had (as most of us do) for a long time: carpal tunnel.  I knew someone who had the surgery but it didn't turn out to be of any benefit. To me that's like a "Carrot Top Face lift"...check for the photos; it's a scary SCARY thing.


So he decided to tell me about it. AAAAAALLLLL about it. I suppose it's payback. Having been married to me for all these years I've more than ruined a food, a place or a smell with my colorful wording. He got me good.


He walked in and shook Doc's hand.  "We'll see if you want to be so friendly after this is all said and done." he grinned.  Cheech hesitated.


"Oh?" he smiled and waited politely.
"Yes. This is going to hurt."


Let us pause briefly.  How many times have you had your doctor say this to you outright? Me neither. I've heard: "You'll feel a little pressure, a prick (my favorite because I ALWAYS reapply that word as a proper noun), slight discomfort..." you get the picture.


Then he got out the needles. Another pause is due simply because of what I just wrote:
It's going to hurt
He got out the needles.


For those of you who need a bigger picture: I am spinning. The nausea is sweeping through me and the sweat has pricked my skin just in my attempts to type what I was told.


"He place one in my arm. "My dreamboat tells me. I close my eyes trying to find a happier place while he begins to tell a tale straight from the bowels of Hell.


"Then another. and some more"
I nod like a pensive monk in prayer, closing my eyes tighter.


"Then he got some electrodes out and the little wire."


I stop nodding and feel a sick tingling begin in my elbows and radiate out toward my hands and armpits. My knees begin to quake. My husband waits for it.


"And he turned on the machine." his voice is soft and velvety; almost apologetic.


I feel my soul begins to wilt and I sink in my seat. My head bobbles like a toy and my mouth is full of scream, thick and dark. This is a nightmare for me and I'm not anywhere NEAR this. It is simply his memory, but my mind has decided to participate and treat it as current. (no pun intended)


"My arm flew up and almost off the table. The pain was hot...My eyes would have watered had I not been afraid to electrocute myself."


Can you hear my face? Feel my shriek? One thing he's learned being married to a writer is the importance of conveying feeling with words.  He's gotten very good at it. I may have competition.


"I was shocked."
"So am I. Did you tell him to stop?"
"No. I couldn't and then he moved the needles."
"He moved...he he WHAT?" I was wailing and shaking my hands as if they were wet. "NOOO! He MOVED them? Where? To someone ELSE I hope! I..I..." my life energy was close to puddling on the floor.


Cheech was nodding slowly devouring each expression and emotion as it marched through, leaving me a little more weak and less human.  I was rapidly approaching the Jell-o phase of existence.


"Yes.  He moved them. Up and down my arm. And each time, he had to do it all again." this factoid rushed from him almost in childish giggles. He was enjoying this.


"Plug you in?" I asked timidly. My mouth was turned down and pinched. I had managed to somehow blink my eyelashes into my socket and I wondered briefly if the numbness that had soaked up my body would ever subside.


"And then..."
"NO! NO THEN. NO MORE. I GIVE!" My breath somehow shoved the words in an angry whisper. I collapsed in my chair with an exasperated puff. My hair was damp along the back of my neck. My armpits were sticky with panic. "no. more." I whimpered.


He dove in next to me and tickled me, complete with "BZZZZ-aaappp" noises. I was utterly defenseless.


"So how was YOUR day?" he laughed and hugged me. When he was satisfied that I truly WOULD pee in my pants.


"Draining. Are you okay? Really. Are you?" I truly wanted to know because I couldn't imagine how he had survived such a horrific torture. I touched his arm and saw the beginnings of the bruises.


"Awww. I'm sorry. It wasn't so bad." he kissed my head. "Next time, come with me." and he pulled me in.


I once again thought of the sharp verb that I could use as a proper noun.





Nothing too glamorous. Just wanted to share. I am glad you came. I enjoy our time together.