Thank You for Intimate Visitors Who Don’t Return
It has been my great fortune to have limited exposure to Western Medicine.
I have lived for fifty years without being poked, prodded, or cut into, except for annual physicals and a couple of sprains.
My hospital experiences are primarily as a visitor or family member.
Today I get to see what it feels like to be on the inside, while some doctor gets to see what it looks like on my insides.
Later today, my internal organs will be on display.
I probably won’t get to see them since my mind will be preoccupied by anesthesia induced daydreams about fields of bunnies.
I’m thinking that’s probably best.
I’m not so curious about the interior decor of my internal affairs.
I do, however, wonder what will show up on the little tv screen for the doctor to evaluate.
I wonder if my insides are kinda like my outside, you know, organized with an artistic flair and some interesting color.
I wonder if a person’s insides reflect the way they see the world and the way they live their life.
I am imagining the surprise on the doctor’s face when she discovers the art galleries, the book shelves, and the highways that lead to metaphors and abstract concepts lining my insides.
Won’t she be surprise when my internal organ starts playing classical music and reciting poetry ?
I imagine the furnishings are a little bit Zen with some multicultural punctuation.
I hope the doctor doesn’t decide to stay long just because it’s such a fun place to be.
In fact, I’m hoping the doctor decides my internal affairs are so uninteresting that she never wants to go in there again.
Here on the outside, it’s a lot of work preparing to welcome the doctor into the inside.
All the cleaning and washing down the walls has got me tuckered out.
But after this intimate visit, I am certain to be very grateful to keep all my other visitors on the outside, where it’s not so scary and unpredictable.
I like it better when my relationships with new people aren’t quite so in-timate.