Well I’ve managed to reluctantly climb back on the slab once again, enabling my Doc to have another crack at putting my fine studly-self out to pasture.
This time things appear to have gone much better – he didn’t accidentally cut an artery for a start, so you know, well done on that score Doc. Once bitten, and all that.
After the last effort I was acutely aware of the near-birthing pain I was to experience, even after multiple jabs to the testies to numb them down, so I opted for a further injection to help me relax.
In fact, the needle worked so well I instantly dropped my glasses and surrendered the book I brought along to bite (in lieu of a bullet) and went to sleep. Last thing I said to the doctor before I went under was, “And concentrate this time!” I wouldn’t usually be so brazen, so I’m going to say it was the drugs talking.
I woke to the sound of my wife chuckling away beside me whilst she filmed me snoring on her iPhone.
I’m not sure what was in that stuff but I giggled and meandered my way to the car, and finally to my lounge, without a bother in the world. For an hour I sat on a bag of peas later that night, but it wasn’t to help with pain or swelling. Rather I just knew I was supposed to.
A couple of days ago I went for my checkup and was surprised to learn I wasn’t asleep at all for the procedure and was, in fact, quite chatty: a sort of retrograde amnesia. Of all things I talked about football, which is especially odd because I know nothing about the sport except it bores me to tears.
So all good – I’ll be shooting blanks in no time. I mean there’s still a few rounds in the chamber so I have to be careful where I’m pointing the thing, but it seems we’re nearly home and hosed.