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Next – 2. Abel

Texting from the Death Bed

There I am, knickers torn apart*, lying on the table with a tall dark stranger pressing down hard on my groin. For 15 minutes. It hurts.

We discuss tea and the weather.

He offers to show me revealing pictures of my brain, but then the camera screen stops working. He starts looking at another screen, a computerised 3d image of a skull from various angels. Impressive.

“Is that me?” I ask

“No” he says, “that’s another patient”

And I feel jealous. How dare my surgeon be considering someone else whilst he’s still finishing my operation!

Now days you can use mobile phones in hospitals**. How odd this is. There I am forbidden from moving my body but I’m still able to answer my phone. I have a fancy phone now so I can also use email, Facebook, camera, as if nothing was wrong. Good in some ways as 5hours of being very awake and only able to move your arms is difficult. Bad because the temptation to  Facebook/Twitter/ text the world to death with a running commentary is overwhelming. Think I may facebook/skybe my next operation, sneek the phone into the operating room, even skype my own death!

In the shower this morning I looked down at my body and thought “wow, a tiny tube is put in an artery in my right leg and is fed through all the way up to my brain. That is amazing!” But this time it hurts more than last and I wonder how many more tubes my body can take.

After all I am basically fine.

*Luckily these are not my own knickers, they are one-use-only disposable knickers provided by the hospital. I don’t understand the purpose of them, they’re flimsy and see through.

**http://www.nhs.uk/chq/pages/2146.aspx?categoryid=68&subcategoryid=162

“Where your eyes don’t go a part of you is hovering”

Watercolour sketch by Jo Fisher Roberts
Where is my mind?

I know you mock me and my slime molds, my quest for some kind of unplanned synchronisation, but there is two of me in this head, and the silent one seems to be seeking other silent ones. Don’t you find theres two of you in that head of yours?

One going rabbity rabbity rabbity, and another silent one that’s controlling you from behind the scenes?

In these words is the rabbitty rabbity one of me, but I know the other is there, slowly guiding what I do with its own secret agenda. Don’t take anything i say very seriously because the other part of me has other thoughts.

Its that part of the brain that deals with this syncing business, it wants it, desires it, gets me to come up with vaguely rational arguments for why I should devote large amounts of time in the pursuit of this ill defined activity.

I think maybe the other part of you is similar, but perhaps you have more say than I do. You are an individual and assert your individuality, so you don’t allow the other you to get in the way?

But sometimes, just sometimes, don’t you get the urge to shut up in your head and find out what the other you gets up to?

It’s dangerous though, where will it lead you?

I know I can’t shut up for long, even in the most religious of auras theres a little voice going “come on Roberts, pull yourself together girl, you’ve still got to take the dog for a walk and hang out the laundry”.

It’s there though, the other me, always there. Watching, waiting, but for what I don’t know.