Excerpts From "Rolandson Radio" (Pt 7)
Dec 14 '07
The Bottom Line Another excerpt.
VII
The surgery undertaken on Theresa lasted four interminable hours. Nigel sat poised like a statue on the seat, sweat mincing from his pores like ribbons of Plasticine pushed through a cheese grater. All manner of doctors, surgeons and consultants sprinted back and forth through the corridor, pushing trolleys brimming with drugs and remedies into the theatre; from oversized IV drips, purple needles to elaborate equipment like medieval defibrillators and pungent homeopathic plants. The same nurse who asked him to leave approached him with the first update he had in three hours. He forced his knuckle as far into his mouth as it would go in anticipation.
“Thank you for waiting, Mr…?”
“Graham,” he filled.
“Yes, Graham. Sorry! Well, your wife has certainly provided us with the most memorable moment of the year so far, that is for certain! We usually just get a load of cancer victims and flu sufferers at the end of winter. So this is a welcome breath of fresh air from our end, it must be said,” she stalled.
“Please, could you just tell me if she going to be all right?”
“Well, now that is a tricky one! She will be OK, but there are complications. You see, I must inform you right now that her torso has undergone some serious intestinal, um… distress. We located the source of the problem in her chest, and our final conclusion was that she appeared to have some kind of transistor radio lodged in her stomach upon arrival,” she said.
“What? A radio?”
“That’s right. Now, the doctors need to know – does your wife have a habit of eating electrical equipment?” she asked.
“Does… what? No, of course not! What are you talking about? Look, can I see her or not?” Nigel protested.
“I’m afraid not. Our doctors, several of whom we had to pull away from other operations, tried to remove the offending item from inside her but failed. See, its antennae appear to have wrapped themselves around two of her major arteries and the chord that leads to the brain. We feared that with the radio inside her, she was being used as a transmitter for offensive subliminal messages from radical extremists, so we called an adjudicator from the BSC. He agreed with our diagnosis and as a result, I’m afraid your wife has been censored,” she informed.
“Censored? I don’t understand. Please could you break this down for me?”
“We have had to pixellate your wife, Mr. Graham,” she simplified.
“Pixellate her? What does that mean?”
“It means that one very discreet layer of Plexiglas is going to coat your wife’s face, so that her features are blurred and her vocal emissions rendered unintelligible. She will be able to function as normal, but you can only communicate with her via the translator we have installed in her bottom,” she said.
“This is… um…”
“Yes, I know. I am sorry, Mr… Gravum. Be brave for your wife. She has been incredibly courageous so far. Remember, she is still the same person from the neck down. Oh, and that radio is still inside her, although we have managed to retune it so she should recover from her little manic episode and be back to um… relatively normal,” she said, patting Nigel on the shoulder who slid the fist back into his mouth gnashed down into his knuckles.
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Epinions.com ID:
brian_lettsin
|
|
Member: Harold Pumiceous
Reviews written: 300
Trusted by: 50 members
About Me:
Never go outside. There are bad things there.
|
|
|
© 1999-2009 Shopping.com, Inc.