Monday, March 25, 2002
I Hate Clowns
I should have known something was up when the two clowns approached us. They spotted us right off. The man was playing a green ukulele and the woman had a baby guitar that was a little banged up. "What are you looking at?" they said to us, all smudged make-up and mismatched outfits. I turned to Doug and grinned weakly. As a young child, my parents would take us to the local gas station where for some reason entertainment in the form of clowns came with the free shpritzing of the windshield. I'd scream in bloody terror and hide underneath the seats, as some out of work nudnik with a penchant for big shoes and a place to wear polka dotted pants would approach our Buick. Nah, I never liked clowns. It was surreal to be greeted by them in a hospital waiting room. Singing clowns. Singing clowns that only sang songs about farts. I smiled inanely and looked at Doug who was also smiling inanely. I guess this was one way to kill time before Dr. Dolphin came out to get me. Just as I was getting into the ditty about the Titanic (My Fart Will Go On) the doctor came out. He sang along for a bar or two and that made me feel a little better. Made him seem human. Until four seconds later when I was led into an operating room that was all green and pointy and full of sharp things and people who only spoke in words ending in "oid." The most uninviting contraption in the middle of the room waited and I wondered when the IV drip would start. Long story short. No drip, no Valium. Just some stinging eye drops and well, think about how they numb you at the dentist office, only imagine the place of entry being somewhere on your eyelid. Being a huge baby by nature this "routine procedure" turned me into a bawling mess (still teetering, actually.) Waiting for results is almost as bad as the biopsy itself. Sure, I claimed some sick-days (the best thing corporations can offer -- unlimited sick days, I think), and spent it in bed listening to shows like The View (much better with closed eyes anyway), re-runs of Cosby (this is what Nick at Nite is showing? What ever happened to Rhoda?) and old movies (How far ahead of its time was Guess Who's Coming to Dinner anyway?) In between listening to the TV, I did make time to think about the good things. Spring clothes, daylight savings time, working on new projects, my impending wedding. Thatโs it. I gotta keep focused. Even through my broken eyes.
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