DICK’S SURGERY
Instalment Two: Surgery
What went on for
the next two hours is open to some speculation as neither my consciousness nor
my delicate flower, Mrs. Dick, was present. However, I later spoke with Dr.
Dupuis who had assisted with the surgery. She re-affirmed the surgeon’s skills,
telling me he deftly untangled muscle from the mangle of spurs covering the
affected area, and with pliers and saw blades he sweated his way through the
complex and demanding procedure. Eventually, after much measuring, fitting,
drilling and re-fitting, the cobalt-chromium ball and socket implant was in
place; muscle was re-strung and stitched together; and the whole re-conditioned
area was stapled up.
Nice sweats, Mr Dick!
The surgeon,
according to Dr. Dupuis, has his own little funny quips, but his familiar “Next
victim!” was not heard this time as the ordeal had drained every ounce of his
humour.
Now that I was re-constructed,
Dr. Dupuis assured me I had 15 to 20 useful, and virile, years ahead of me. As
I envisioned Mrs. Dick in her gumboots, her chapped hands delicately caressing her
pitch-fork and her tousled hair stringing from her toque, my blood warmed in
passion and I told Dr. Dupuis I could hardly wait to be once again in the
pasture, turning the compost alongside that ever-faithful woman I’m proud to
call my very own.
As scary and risky
as the surgery might have been, it was without incident. Little could I have
imagined what would follow.
More to come!
more more more!
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