20160812 (head trauma 2)

TY with remote, oxygen supply, all the computers two-handed creatures could wish for, and a well-lit motorizes bed--all in all a comfortable room with a view to some art in the hallway

Since the world outside my door

Seems more humid than the

Armpit of an Olympian gymnast

After performing in Rio de Janeiro,

I’ve decided to stay inside and care 

For my bloomin’ bump and get the

Rest of this story down before the

Memory and the swelling go away.

Without so much as a murmured

“Open sesame” the ER doors

Swished apart on my approach, 

Releasing the first cool breeze of

The otherwise jungle atmosphere.

I entered the personless chamber 

And was directed by a security

Guard behind what I concluded

Must be bulletproof glass to go

To another door on my left. With 

My right hand pressing the bloody

Towel against my head, I entered

The wronger of two doors. As if I’d 

Breeched the “secret entrance,”

Another guard physically turned

Me to the proper door (a problem

Solvable with too-easy signage).

I was still holding the bloody towel

With my right hand against  my

Head, when a young woman behind

Another glass with a look of startled

Sympathy directed me to have a seat

And await the Angels of Mercy.

I heard the words “Head Trauma” 

Over the PA from the innards

Of the ER behind yet another door.

Soon the security guard who’d

Confronted me at the secret door

Appeared magically and asked if I

Wanted to wash the blood from 

My face. No, I preferred the more

Desperate look the blood conveyed

To my soon-to-arrive ministers. It 

Was the better choice. I favored the

“Serious injury” image prevail. 

Momentarily a staff person

Came with a wheelchair whose

Black canvas seat stretched a full

Three feet from beam to beam.

“I don’t know how subtle the body

Shaming gets around here,” I 

Offered, “but reports of my fatassity 

Are egregiously exaggerated.”

“Sit down, you vain old coot,” she

Countered. “It was the only one

Available. Besides, for a few seconds

You’ll look and feel a bit thinner.”

She pushed me to Room 18 which I

Thought larger and more decorated

Than my “grandpa suite” in Olympia

And contained about as much medical

Paraphernalia as ever I beheld.” Someone

Will be with you soon.” I sat on the 

Remarkably stiff bed, thinking, “They

Could operate on a person in here if 

They had to. Don’t let ‘em cut you,

Jim. This might be where they plant

The chip in your brain,” I mused in

My mild paranoia. 

c. J.S.Manista, 2016