Thursday, September 14, 2006
MADNESS AND THE ART OF PAIN
So there I am, lying in my bed, minding my own business, when the resident nutter nurse blows in like Hurricane Katrina.
"Play me some guitar!Come on.Will you play me something?Oh,come on!I wanna hear you play something!I know you can play well,play me a song!" - she ranted.
After some time I finally relented as I'd learnt long ago that I can not play with madness.
That's not entirely true.
I can play with madness, I just won't win.
Like a kid who's just been told she can have that chocolate bar that's been pined after ever since she set foot in the supermarket, the nutter nurse picked up my guitar off the little bench.
In her aroused and excited state she picked it up by the body and raised it up.
The neck of the guitar scribed an invisible arc high in the air, starting from the bench, upright six feet in the air and finally came down like a felled old growth eucalypt in a rainforest.
On my right leg.
Directlly on the skin graft and the metal plate fitted underneath.
Scream?
I nearly shat!!!
I don't know which of us was more shocked, but I do know I was in a shitload of pain.
The timing couldn't have been worse either as the pain killers had worn off and I was due for more.
I think my face turned every available hue of crimson in the moments that followed.
To make up for her transgression she brought me sweets and treats.
Which she'd extracted form other patients.
"Did you steal these from ( patient's name )? You did didn't you?"
She answered only with that childlike guilty look.
You know the one?
The one where the offending child knows it's been busted, that there is undisputed evidence, and yet still tries to deny the fact.
She has the worst poker face in the world.
There seems to be an unusually high concentration of nutters in this ward at the moment, which although annoying can also be quite entertaining.
Like the little old Italian man who keeps wondering into my room at all sorts of hours and asking me my name.
Lately I've had to resort to buzzing for a nurse to get him out.
Then there's the affected woman with the hobbit feet and the breaking voice of a teenager whose testicles are at the beginning of the descent process.
I've mentioned the "Papa! Papa!" woman before.
There's the middle aged bloke who was knocked off his bicycle and broke his pelvis, but the way he carries on you'd think he'd smashed every bone in his body.
Never heard anyone whinge and moan so much in my life.
You can hear him coming by the only thing he knows how to utter:
"Uuuggh, oooohhhhh."
I do enjoy stirring him up though.
I'm beginning to think I was admitted into a psych. ward and am now getting better, therefore starting to notice these things.
.
"Play me some guitar!Come on.Will you play me something?Oh,come on!I wanna hear you play something!I know you can play well,play me a song!" - she ranted.
After some time I finally relented as I'd learnt long ago that I can not play with madness.
That's not entirely true.
I can play with madness, I just won't win.
Like a kid who's just been told she can have that chocolate bar that's been pined after ever since she set foot in the supermarket, the nutter nurse picked up my guitar off the little bench.
In her aroused and excited state she picked it up by the body and raised it up.
The neck of the guitar scribed an invisible arc high in the air, starting from the bench, upright six feet in the air and finally came down like a felled old growth eucalypt in a rainforest.
On my right leg.
Directlly on the skin graft and the metal plate fitted underneath.
Scream?
I nearly shat!!!
I don't know which of us was more shocked, but I do know I was in a shitload of pain.
The timing couldn't have been worse either as the pain killers had worn off and I was due for more.
I think my face turned every available hue of crimson in the moments that followed.
To make up for her transgression she brought me sweets and treats.
Which she'd extracted form other patients.
"Did you steal these from ( patient's name )? You did didn't you?"
She answered only with that childlike guilty look.
You know the one?
The one where the offending child knows it's been busted, that there is undisputed evidence, and yet still tries to deny the fact.
She has the worst poker face in the world.
There seems to be an unusually high concentration of nutters in this ward at the moment, which although annoying can also be quite entertaining.
Like the little old Italian man who keeps wondering into my room at all sorts of hours and asking me my name.
Lately I've had to resort to buzzing for a nurse to get him out.
Then there's the affected woman with the hobbit feet and the breaking voice of a teenager whose testicles are at the beginning of the descent process.
I've mentioned the "Papa! Papa!" woman before.
There's the middle aged bloke who was knocked off his bicycle and broke his pelvis, but the way he carries on you'd think he'd smashed every bone in his body.
Never heard anyone whinge and moan so much in my life.
You can hear him coming by the only thing he knows how to utter:
"Uuuggh, oooohhhhh."
I do enjoy stirring him up though.
I'm beginning to think I was admitted into a psych. ward and am now getting better, therefore starting to notice these things.
.
