If I was a banana
I’d be quite appealing.
I’d zip my yellow suit off
And throw it on the ceiling.
I’d streak around the kitchen
With my pale white flesh on show,
Wiggling my banana butt
Everywhere I go.
If I was a banana
I’d be quite appealing.
I’d zip my yellow suit off
And throw it on the ceiling.
I’d streak around the kitchen
With my pale white flesh on show,
Wiggling my banana butt
Everywhere I go.
Phil pushed the bookcase against the door then wiped the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his Captain America t-shirt. He noticed his hands trembling and balled them into fists so his friends wouldn’t see.
‘That’s pointless. Cats can’t open doors,’ said Joe. He slumped onto the bed next to Rohan.
Phil looked across at his two friends. Joe was wearing his Chicago Bears top. His dad had sent it to him and he always wore it unless it was in the wash. His scruffy brown hair looked extra tussled after running here. Rohan’s turban still looked immaculate but his shallow breathing and sweaty face betrayed his fitness level. ‘Just in case. Cats don’t normally turn into marzipan and eat people either. We don’t know what they can do now.’
‘I don’t think they’ll be able to open doors.’ Joe fiddled with his neon green shoelace.
‘Well, just in case. Humor me.’ Phil paced across to the bed and kicked Joe’s foot.
‘Hey, guys, c’mon,’ said Rohan. His chunky glasses magnified his big brown eyes blinking back the threat of tears.
Joe placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Sorry Ro, you ok?’
‘Of course he’s not ok numb nuts, he just watched his sister being bitten by a marzipan cat and then turning into marzipan herself.’ Phil pulled up his desk chair and sat down opposite Joe and Rohan.
Joe stretched out and lightly kicked Phil’s leg. ‘I’m aware of that number nuts. I saw it too. And old Mrs. Terry on the corner, all her five cats had marzipaned. She had no chance.’
‘What’s happening guys? What we gonna do?’ Rohan’s eyes flicked back and forth between Joe and Phil, like a mole emerging into bright sunshine.
Phil sighed and stared at the skateboarding scab on his knee. He had to be brave for his friends. He tried to keep his voice as steady as he could. ‘I don’t know.’
‘When will your mom and dad be back?’ Rohan threw his question in Phil’s direction.
Phil rubbed his eyes, his hands slightly trembling, he clenched them again. ‘I don’t think they’ll be coming back. It was on the TV before you both got here. It’s all over the place, the cats, they’re everywhere. The news said to stay wherever you are and don’t go outside.’
Joe pulled his legs up onto the bed and tucked them under himself. ‘They can’t be everywhere.’
‘They’re everywhere,’ said Phil through gritted teeth. ‘It’s marzipan madness out there.’
Rohan knelt on the bed, spying out of the window. He could see yellow cats, lots of yellow cats, almond assassins, prowling and pacing along the hydrangea-lined neighborhood. ‘They are everywhere. What we gonna do Phil?’
Joe frowned. ‘Why you asking Phil not me?’
‘Phil’s the eldest.’
‘Ro we’re all thirteen.’ Joe raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
‘Yes, but Phil’s still the eldest.’
‘By five days.’
Phil stood up. ‘Hey, I think who’s the eldest isn’t really important right now.’
Rohan sat back from the window and trailed his finger along Saturn’s rings on Phil’s duvet cover. ‘Yeah, well, I was just saying.’ He shrugged while staring into the universe on the bed. ‘I dunno what to do.’
‘We can stay here? Wait for help.’ Joe nodded at his own suggestion.
‘Help won’t be coming.’ Phil sat back down on his chair and swiveled back and forth. ‘Everyone bitten or scratched turns to marzipan and dies.’
Joe turned and took up Rohan’s spy post at the window. ‘Why aren’t the cats dying? When they turn to marzipan, why aren’t they dying, like the people?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t create the mutant marzipan moggies did I?’ Phil dabbed sweat off his forehead again. He wanted Captain America to be real, to swoop in and save the day.
‘Didn’t they say on the news?’
‘They don’t know. But the people, after they’ve turned and are dead, they come back to life. Zombies.’
Joe spun away from the window and looked back at Phil. ‘Shit.’
‘So they are ok then?’ Rohan blinked hopefully towards Phil.
Phil smiled. ‘Yeah they’re fine.’ He dropped his smile like a hot potato. ‘Of course they’re not ok, they’re made of solid marzipan, doofus. You saw your sister. Did she look fine?’
Rohan ran his fingers along the hem of his camouflage shorts as a make-do comforter while staring at the fabric planets. Joe slumped under the window and bit at his nails. Phil rotated slowly on the chair, trying to think what to do. What would Captain America do? A clock in the shape of a rocket ticked behind Phil on his desk. The tick-tock silence was broken by loud meowing and human screams outside.
Joe spun around to look out of the window again. ‘Jeez. Mr. Howard has turned. He looks like a Simpson. He’s trying to get into the Kiplinski’s porch.’
‘If no help is coming we’re going to have to kill the cats ourselves,’ said Phil.
‘And just how d’we kill them?’ Joe got up from the bed and started to pace the small room. ‘I mean, I know how you’d kill a normal cat, but one that’s made of fucking marzipan?’
Rohan looked up from the planets horrified. ‘Your mom would freak at your language.’
Joe stopped his pacing. ‘My mom is probably almond paste right now. I don’t think she’d fucking care.’
‘You’re such a grown up.’ Rohan pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.
‘Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.’ Joe continued his pacing.
‘Hey, c’mon, both of you.’ Phil stopped moving on the chair. ‘We have to eat them.’
‘What?’ Joe stopped pacing.
‘The cats,’ said Phil. ‘It said on the news, the only way they can be stopped is by eating them.’
‘Eating them?’ Rohan grimaced.
Joe held his hands up. ‘Can’t we just chop their heads off?’
‘If their heads are chopped off they just morph back together. Same if you squash them.’ Phil mimed squishing and growing with his hands. ‘They just go back into their cat shapes. Guessing it’s the same for the people too.’
‘I can’t eat people,’ said Joe, clasping his face with his hands.
Rohan wiped his hands down his thighs. ‘I can’t eat cats. I’m a vegetarian.’
‘It’s bloody marzipan. Without the blood. Perfectly vegan and fine for your religion.’ Phil twirled around in the chair to face Joe. ‘Just like eating the marzipan fruits your Auntie Gayle gives you at Christmas.’
‘Eating a non-moving marzipan apple the size of my thumb is a bit different to eating a full sized marzipan cat in attack mode. Or a relative,’ said Joe.
Phil stood up and walked across to Joe. ‘We can stun the cat, or person, first, by whacking them with something and then eat them quickly.’
‘Can you stun marzipan?’ Rohan asked.
Joe shrugged. ‘At least we won’t have to worry about finding food.’ He attempted to laugh but just made a snorting noise.
‘Maybe we can make a pact though.’ Phil patted Joe’s shoulder. ‘I don’t think any of us want to eat our own family.’
Rohan gasped. ‘No!’
‘Gross,’ said Joe.
Phil looked across at Rohan, then back to Joe. ‘So why don’t we agree that if we get in a ‘situation’ with family one of us others will deal with it.’
Rohan started to cry. ‘I can’t.’
Joe slunk over to the bed and sat next to Rohan. ‘Look Ro, I know it’s hard but we gotta pull together here.’
‘No, I mean I can’t. I can’t eat marzipan.’ Rohan stifled his sobs. ‘My diabetes. I haven’t got my insulin with me.’
‘Shit.’ Phil kicked the bookcase. He’d forgotten about Ro’s diabetes. Why didn’t he bring his insulin pen with him? Why did he have to think of everything all the time.
From the other side of the door there was a hiss of a cat. Phil leapt away from the bookcase and door and almost landed on Joe’s lap as he launched himself onto the bed. The cat started scratching at the door.
Joe gripped Rohan’s knee. ‘Christ, maybe it’ll go away?’
The scratching at the door continued.
Rohan swallowed hard. ‘How can marzipan make a scratching noise like that?’
Joe realized he was holding Rohan’s knee and let go. He frowned at Rohan. ‘I don’t know, shall we open up the door and find out?’
Rohan hugged his legs again and lowered his head.
‘Sorry Ro,’ said Joe. ‘I’m not feeling myself.’
Phil shuffled across the bed a little. ‘You’re looking a little yellow Joe. You feel sick?’
Joe shook his head. ‘No. Just a bit spaced. Like you? Don’t you feel spaced?’
‘Wired. I’m feeling wired. Not spaced.’ Phil turned his head to Rohan. ‘Ro?’
Rohan shook his head and edged away a few inches from Joe.
Phil stood up slowly. ‘You haven’t been bitten have you?’
‘No,’ said Joe. He stared at his laces.
Rohan slid off the bed and stood next to Phil. ‘Or scratched? You might not have felt a scratch while we were running over here.’
‘No, I’m fine.’ Joe clenched his hands.
‘You’re definitely more yellow now. Look.’ Phil pointed to Joe’s bare legs, not covered by his shorts.
‘It’s the light in here.’ Joe grabbed the pillow from the bed and tried to cover his legs.
‘Shit Joe, you’re turning, look at the scratch on your arm!’ Phil took a step back, bumping into the chair.
All three boys looked at Joe’s arm. It was definitely yellow. There was a gaping gash, about an inch long, and thick yellow pus paste oozed out from it below his sleeve.
‘No! Oh God no. Guys you have to help me!’ Joe cried as he stared at his changing body.
‘We can’t do anything,’ said Phil, gripping onto the back of the chair. ‘There’s no cure.’
‘Then you have to kill me.’ Joe stopped crying and sniffed. He held his arms out. ‘Eat me.’
‘Jeez Joe! You’re not fully turned! I can’t eat you.’ Phil grimaced.
Joe lowered his arm. ‘Ok. Well, get ready.’
‘I don’t think I can do this,’ said Phil. He sat in the chair shaking his head.
‘You have to,’ Joe pleaded. ‘Rohan can’t or he’ll go into a hypo.’
Rohan shifted slightly from side to side, sniffing.
Phil looked at his friends scared faces, he needed to keep their spirits up. ‘There are bits of you that I really don’t think I can eat.’ He nodded towards Joe’s crotch.
‘Christ Phil! You can’t leave just my wiener running around after people.’ Joe rubbed the pus paste into his arm as a bit more oozed out. ‘What kind of sicko does that.’
‘What kind of sicko eats your wiener!’ Phil made a snorting noise as he laughed and stifled a cry at the same time.
Joe laughed and wiped yellow tears away with his sticky fingers.
‘Can’t you just leave?’ Rohan mumbled. ‘You could eat that cat on your way out.’
‘Wow. Really finding out about my friends now.’ Joe smiled at Rohan.
Rohan limply smiled back. ‘It’s because I’m your friend I don’t want to eat you.’
Phil took a step closer to Joe. ‘C’mon Joe, take one for the team. I’d leave if it was me infected.’ He placed his hand gently on Joe’s shoulder. ‘I’d push you out the door but I don’t want my fingers sinking into your fat marzipan middle there.’
‘I’d eat you if it was the other way around numb nut.’ Joe stood up and stepped towards the door. ‘I’ll eat the cat, then run away from the house, draw any others away.’
Rohan wiped his eyes. ‘Thanks Joe.’
‘Sorry bud.’ Phil’s voice cracked.
Joe nodded. ‘Get ready to slam the door.’ He started to shove the bookcase out of the way but his thumb mushed into the wood. Sighing, he scraped it off, remolded it, and stuck it on his forehead. ‘Unicorns rule.’
Phil laughed. ‘Numb nut.’ He dragged the bookcase away from the door and held the door handle. He locked eyes with Joe. ‘Ready?’
Joe nodded and smiled at Phil and Rohan. Phil yanked the door open and Joe shot out, Phil slammed the door behind him. Phil leant against the door and closed his eyes. Rohan sat on the bed, leant forward, and held his head in his hands. Cat screeching and scuffling outside the door was agony to listen to. There was a final high pitched feline howl then the landing fell silent.
After minutes of stillness, Phil stopped leaning against the door and turned, pressing his ear up against it. ‘Joe? You still there?’
‘Yes,’ said Joe from behind the door.
Rohan lifted his head from his hands. ‘Why didn’t you run?’
Joe’s voice sounded muffled. ‘I don’t want to die out there on my own. I’m scared.’
‘He’s going to fully turn any minute.’ Rohan whispered to Phil.
Phil nodded, then talked to the door again. ‘Did you eat the cat?’
‘No. Well, I tried to eat it, but it’s very struggly. I ate its leg. It’s not happy with me. It’s just staring at me now. I’m sorry’
Phil placed his hand flat against the door. He would have probably stayed too. ‘I’m sorry too.’ He turned and looked at Rohan, and raised his eyebrows.
Rohan nodded and stood up from the bed. Phil slowly twisted the door handle and opened it.
Joe was sat on the floor, not only was his skin bright yellow but his hair had turned from dark brown to yellow chunky strands. His thumb was still on his forehead.
Phil opened the door wider. He could see an angry looking marzipan cat in a crouching attack position further along the landing. ‘Put your thumb back where it should be, I can’t take you seriously.’
‘If you’re going to be marzipan, we will too,’ said Rohan.
‘No you should stay safe.’ Joe shuffled to his feet, removing his thumb from his head and molding it back onto his hand. ‘I’m just being selfish.’
‘You’re not being selfish. You’re just scared like we are.’ Phil shrugged. ‘No one is safe. If we don’t have our families we only have each other, but if we don’t have each other what’s the point in hiding out.’
The cat rocketed itself through the doorway, hissing and lashing out in a frenzied Catherine Wheel of almond rage.
‘It got me!’ Rohan stumbled back rubbing his leg.
‘Me too,’ said Phil.
The cat limped back out on its three legs, its tail twitching like a caffeinated cobra. Joe shuffled into the room and slumped his sticky body onto the bed.
‘D’you think we’ll still know each other when we turn?’ asked Rohan. ‘You know, when our brains are marzipaned?’
‘Yeah, sure we will.’ Phil put his arm around Rohan. ‘Friends and numb nuts forever.’
Joe widened his mouth into a Joker’s grin. ‘Marzipan’s for life, not just for Christmas.’
My cat wants to kill me,
I know this is true.
He’s been plotting a while now,
His plans are not new.
He leapt on my shoulders
At the top of the stair,
Dug his claws in my neck
And mauled me like a bear.
I survived the steep fall
And he slunk away
Thinking of more evil ways
To get rid of his prey.
He opened my fridge
Threw up in my butter,
‘I hate you human’
I heard him mutter.
He pooped in my shoe
Just before I went out.
It was still warm and sticky,
My heart nearly gave out.
He smothered my face
While I tried to sleep,
Gasping for breath
I started to weep.
He lay under my bed
Waiting for my feet.
I walked past at speed
He pounced at fresh meat.
He drew blood with his claws
And sent me flying,
Now he’s licking his balls
While I lie here dying.
1. Iceland. Hatati, Hatrid mun sigra.
Mattius has the perfectly chiselled features of an angel, with the voice of a hellhound chewing razor blades. If the Kurgan from Highlander was singing, this is what he’d sound like. I love this but I think this song is a Marmite song, love it or hate it but no bland on the fence opinion. If you don’t like a shouty vocal the song is available to download as the karaoke version, just the music and Klemens singing the higher chorus. Their stage outfits are outrageously fabulous. Cyber punk bondage. This has outraged a few people, which quite frankly is ridiculous, how can you be outraged by the human body in wipe clean PVC. I think the staging would work better with more nudity myself!
2. Azerbaijan. Chingiz, Truth.
This is a catchy pop tune that stays in my head long after hearing it, in a good way. Great vocals, and a great video (even though I’m not judging it on that). It makes me shimmy (in private) and I’m now often singing part of the chorus ‘just shut up about it’ in my head when people annoy me. That’s quite a lot.
3. Norway. Keiino, Spirit in the Sky.
The three singers’ voices compliment each other well. When I sing and dance the routine myself I play all three roles, and while I love being Alexandra and Tom it’s when I’m singing and dancing to Fred’s bits that I’m my most bouncy. It’s fun, uplifting, and full of energy. Keiino performing it that is, not me.
Other songs I like that didn’t quite make my top three are San Marino, Switzerland, Australia, Finland, Cyprus, Estonia, and Spain. But they made it to my top ten. Bring on Eurovision!
You’re my special someone ‘til the end of time,
My gin and tonic to my splash of lime.
You’re my small umbrella in my exotic cocktail,
My refreshing breeze propelling my sail.
You’re my reason to wake with a smile on my face,
My obedient pet to hug and embrace.
You’re my sparkling star in the darkest of night,
My shining beacon and my guiding light.
You’re my positive thought snuggling in my head,
My freshly washed sheets straddling across my bed.
You’re my motivation for living life true,
My excitement for starting over anew.
You’re my obsession, possession, lover for life,
My soul companion during the afterlife.
You’re my morning coffee, that shot of caffeine,
My wonderful servant, and I am your Queen.
Sat waiting for my diabetic review at the doctors, and waiting, and waiting, I spot their suggestion box. So after nearly an hour past my appointment time I thought I’d amuse myself. The following is what will greet the practice manager when she opens the suggestion box.
1. The waiting room needs to be renamed ‘The Executive Lounge’ for starters. Calling it the waiting room is setting the scene for misery and gloom and low expectations. It would be more uplifting to be told ‘take a seat in the executive lounge’ when you check in.
2. When using the self-service check in system it can leave an anxious patient anxious when they sit down, wondering if they completed all the stages correctly. I suggest the machine be programmed with a fanfare to be played loudly if completed correctly. Maybe a burst of confetti for the 100th correct user.
3. The waiting room/executive lounge can get quite tedious when waiting for any length of time. Even though your information slides are informative they are mind numbingly boring on repeat for an hour. I realise a TV licence is an extravagant expense, and fraught with its own problems (I might want to watch This Morning, another patient might prefer Homes Under the Hammer) so how about hiring out mini DVD players with headphones for a small fee. You could profit from patients’ boredom and patients would be less cranky if kept waiting. If not DVD players, then how about just headphones for hire with a selection of music. Patients could have their own little silent discos or classical calm. Music therapy. The headphones could vibrate when the patient is called through, but if I’m jiggling to a bouncy track I would leave them on while sashaying along the corridor.
4. Heated flooring in the nurse’s rooms would be lovely. When you have to take your shoes and socks off for diabetic foot testing it can be a bit chilly in winter. This isn’t a diva request, I have dainty, delicate, size 9, diabetic feet. If this is too much expense a fluffy bath mat could be a substitute.
5. Waiting in the executive lounge would be improved with food and drink. I would like coffee but some of the other patients I saw I wouldn’t trust with a hot beverage, so I think you’d have to play it safe with a water cooler. Food wise it would have to be something healthy too, yawn, so maybe fruit and nuts. Maybe just fruit as too many people have nut allergies these days. Actually, scrap this suggestion as an apple and a glass of water sounds too much like a minimalist still life set up.
6. Thinking of painting, a little bit of art therapy in the executive lounge would be good while people wait. But again, having seen a lot of the other patients I wouldn’t trust them with crayons let alone squidgy paint.
7. Lava lamps. Calming and therapeutic. I suggest you have a plethora of lava lamps placed around the executive lounge. The other surgery in town has a fish tank which is calming to watch, except when children tap on the glass, that increases anxiety, of the fish and myself. Thus, lava lamps would be a good distraction for anxious patients, inquisitive children, and people who like watching blobs bob up and down.
I hope these suggestions help.
I wish I was a potato, lounging in a field,
Dreaming of being scrubbed and delicately peeled.
I’d aspire to being dauphinoise
But that would take some class I guess.
Maybe I’d be chunky chips
And hang around with spicy dips.
Or I could be some creamy mash
Whipped up with butter in a flash.
Maybe I’d chill and watch a show,
Being a magnificent couch potato.
The typist for an 80’s radio station made a few errors when typing up the playlist, changing one letter can make quite a difference in songs.
Dancing with Pears in my Eyes – Ultravox
We Don’t Need Another Herb – Tina Turner
Wherever I Lay My Cat (That’s My Home) – Paul Young
Down Udder – Men at Work
Tonight, I Celebrate My Dove – Peabo Bryson & Roberta Flack
That’s Ale – Genesis
Panic Monday – The Bangles
Dr Meat – Gloria Estefan
Can you Peel It – Jackson 5
Naneater – Hall & Oates
Deaf Ringer for Love – Meatloaf
Holding Out For a Herb – Bonnie Tyler
Never Ending Storm – Limahl
It’s Raining, Meh – The Weather Girls
Cruet Summer – Bananarama
Grass in Pocket – The Pretenders
Love is a Cattlefield – Pat Benatar
Relay – Frankie Goes to Hollywood
Danger Bone – Kenny Loggins
You Can’t Curry Love – Phil Collins
Here Comes the Pain Again – Eurythmics
Jello – Lionel Richie
Stout – Tears For Fears
Alive and Licking – Simple Minds
Cities in Lust – Siouxsie & The Banshees
The Lady in Bed – Chris De Burgh
Invisible Couch – Genesis
Holding Back the Bears – Simply Red
Trench Kissin’ in The USA – Deborah Harry
Always on my Hind – Pet Shop Boys
Gimme Dope Jo’anna – Eddy Grant
Turn Back the Glock – Johnny Hates Jazz
Pot in the City – Billy Idol
I Should Be So Yucky – Kylie Minogue
Everyday is Like a Funday – Morrissey
Peardrops – Womack & Womack
Feed You Tonight – INXS
Baby I Don’t Bare – Transvision Vamp
I Want That Map – Deborah Harry
The Pest – Tina Turner
Welcome to the Bungle – Guns n Roses
Porn in the USA – Bruce Springsteen
Honey for Nothing – Dire Straits
Mild Side – Motley Crew
When Doves Pry – Prince
(WARNING – even though humorous, I do talk about suicide, avoid if this is a trigger for you.)
I mentally broke on day five in hospital. I was in extreme pain and constantly vomiting, I wasn’t improving and felt like that was how I’d spend the rest of my remaining days. If euthanasia was on offer I’d have taken it. I did ask a nurse for this service and got the reply ‘I’ll bring my gun in tomorrow.’ She obviously thought I was joking and played along. Now the pain has gone I’m glad there wasn’t that option available to me, but in my despair and delirium I was trying to figure out a way to kill myself.
My first thought was jump out of the window. But as I was only on floor two and the windows only opened six inches I had to rule that out. I’m not that skinny and a fall from two floors would only result in a sprained ankle. Realistically, I reasoned with myself, I’d need a fall from sixteen floors to die. The hospital only had five or six floors, I couldn’t remember which, so that would probably result in just a broken leg, if my fat suit didn’t break my fall completely. Aha, I thought, I’ll dive off the fifth/sixth floor head first with my arms by my side, that should do it. Feeling smug I remembered that I was struggling to walk the ten steps to the toilet and back, so trying to navigate my way to the roof was a non-starter. Drat.
My next idea was to save up the liquid morphine I was allowed hourly and overdose. I was given it in little plastic measuring cups and they didn’t watch me drink it, so it was doable. I had a bottle of Fruit Shoot next to my bed and I thought if I drank all of that I could tip my shots of morphine into there until it was full. Great idea. Except I would have to stay in even more pain if I wasn’t taking the morphine hourly, and Fruit Shoot bottles aren’t exactly big, so even if I drank a bottle full of morphine sulphate, without vomiting, I’d probably only make myself extremely woozy. Drat.
I observed the drugs trolley closely when it came around. Being a pharmacy dispenser I know which drugs which drugs will cause the most damage and kill me. I’ll grab some from the trolley and use those I thought. But the trolley was never unattended long enough for me to pull off a heist. Drat.
Watching a nurse use a syringe to inject anti-emetics into my IV, I had an idea which I thought was my best chance. I could inject an air bubble into my vein trough a cannula and bingo, it would travel up to my heart and kill me. I was ready to swoop on any forgotten syringe that got left behind, but unfortunately/fortunately for me this never happened. Drat.
My final idea was the least likely to work out, but by this time my brain was clutching at straws. My boss is a pharmacist and I had the genius idea that he could come and visit me, bringing drugs in with him to finish me off. But there were too many flaws in this plan. While it would solve my problem, it would no doubt be traced back to him and his visit and he’d lose his business and go to prison. I’m quite proud of myself that I was unselfish even in pain and didn’t want him to get into trouble for me. Although I had thought about how I could get my life insurance policy changed, to him being the beneficiary, so I could bribe him with that to do it. It was only because I knew he’d want more than the eighty thousand pay out to endure a prison sentence that I abandoned exploring that option more. Drat.
I happy to report that now I’m recovering at home I’m glad that none of my options were feasible, and I’m glad that I’m still here on the planet. In fact, I’m so glad and grateful that I am, I’m finally taking control of looking after my health, so I can avoid ever going to a hospital ever again.
But, I am increasing my life insurance policy, just in case.
While in hospital I had a CT scan, or CGI scan as I kept calling it. I’ve had one in the past, but this time it took place when I was off my head which resulted in the 5% of my aware brain being totally embarrassed by 95% of me.
I’d been out of it all morning leading up to the scan, my anxiety had shot up to maximum levels at the thought of the claustrophobic scanner, I was on a lot of morphine for the pain, and my temperature was high, which always distorts my brain. I didn’t realise that the combo of all this would result in me losing all filters in my brain and not knowing when to shut up.
It was a strange experience, instead of just thinking my thoughts, they were all coming out via my mouth, and even though the tiny reasonable part of my brain was listening and telling me to stop talking, I couldn’t. I had no control of my mouth, even though I could see peoples facial reactions to me. I’m sure most of them thought I was a complete loon. I certainly did.
It started when the porter, Steve, arrived at the ward to take me for the scan.
‘Are you my taxi driver?’
He humoured me. ‘I am, jump in.’
‘I haven’t got any cash to pay you.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve switched the meter off.’ What a good sport.
I climbed into the wheelchair and he attempted to put a blanket across my lap. ‘I don’t need that, I’m far too hot.’
‘I was thinking of your modesty.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, everyone has seen everything before.’ I can assure you everyone hasn’t seen everything of me and I was wearing a nightie that went down to my ankles. We set off. ‘Is it far? I don’t fancy a long journey today.’
I was assured it was just down one floor in the lift then straight into the scanning rooms. And it was. It was a busy day as when we arrived in the waiting area there were three neat rows of people in wheelchairs, about nine ahead of me. Steve parked me in the front row.
‘Are we going to watch a drive-in movie?’ I asked loudly. I should point out too that because I’d been nil by mouth all morning, for the scan, my mouth and lips were like cotton wool so I was slurring my words due to my tongue trying to cling like a limpet to every surface in my mouth.
Steve said we weren’t watching a movie and went to inform the scanners I was there. The scan lady came out to find me slumped over (I felt like I was going to pass out in the heat), she got me to sit back in the wheelchair and felt my forehead looking concerned.
I indicated to the room on the right, ‘I don’t want to go in that room as it sounds like a 3D printer and I’m not looking my best today, can I come back another day when I look more presentable.’
Deciding I was delirious with the temperature the scan lady upgraded me to going in next. ‘I’ll just go and load her details into the machine’, she said to Steve.
He said he had to go and pick someone else up, I waved cheerily goodbye to him.
The scan lady asked a paramedic, who was with their own patient two rows back, to stand with me to keep an eye on me while she popped back into the room. The paramedic lady did this reluctantly, she tried not to make eye contact with me. I asked her if she had a slush puppy she could plug into my cannula in my arm to cool me down. She just said no and remained looking ahead. I then told her my slush puppy flavour order of preference. I didn’t know I had an order of preference.
The scan lady came back out and wheeled me into the room where there was another scan lady waiting, the paramedic went back to her own patient with relief. The scan room was heavenly. It was so cold.
‘You have the best room in the hospital’ I told them, although they probably knew that already.
They asked me to lie on the scanner bed. ‘Ooh look! I’m coordinated!’ The runner on the scan bed was purple and so was my nighty. I explained that I wasn’t drunk, it was because my mouth was so dry that I was talking a bit funny. They relaxed a bit.
I led down, and the one lady asked me to put my hands above my head. I did. ‘Am I going hang gliding?!’
‘No, I’ going to inject dye into your veins to we can see everything on the scan much easier.’
‘I’d prefer to go hang gliding.’ I don’t think I would, I don’t like heights, or flying.
Now I kept amazingly still during the scan. But that’s because I had reached maximum capacity anxiety and had therefore disassociated my mind from my body, it doesn’t happen often, and I can’t control it at will so it’s not a great party trick. When I emerged from the scan however I came out of my trance and continued sharing my thoughts with the two ladies. ‘That was great! I felt the dye going through all my veins down my arms to my abdomen and I pretended I had been struck by lightning and was turning into a superhero.’
‘Oh, that’s different, no one has told us that before,’ one of them laughed.
‘And then the whooshy fast stuff was like NASA space training.’ There was no whooshy fast stuff, but my brain thought there was. ‘Although I must disclose I have never done NASA space training, so It’s what I imagine NASA space training to be.’
After more laughing from the ladies, they asked if I could sit up unaided. I wasn’t sure. They asked how I’d get out of bed normally, sit upright then swing my legs out or swing my legs out as I sit up? This seemed like the most difficult question in the world. I’ve never thought about how I get out of bed before. ‘I don’t know, move me like a Lego figure and put me where you want me.’ They did. ‘Can I stay with you for the afternoon, you’re the best and your room is so lovely and cold.’
‘We’d love to let you stay all afternoon, you’ve made our day, but they need you back up on the ward.’
‘A superhero’s work is never done.’
I was wheeled back out to wait for Steve. ‘I highly recommend going in there,’ I told the glum crowd. ‘It’s the most fun you’ll have all day.’ Steve took me back up to the ward. My three other inmates were in bed as it was ‘quiet time’ (more about that in another blog).
As I entered our room the girl in the next bed whispered to me ‘how did the scan go?’
‘It was great! I did hang gliding and space stuff.’
She looked at me confused. ‘Oh, you’d better have a lie down then.’
I got into bed and fell straight asleep, dreaming of what kind of superhero I’d be.