He said: You should only feel pressure. If you begin to feel pain, let me know.
The anesthesia wore off within ten minutes. After a while I began to breathe heavily, almost gasping. Clinging to the armrests. On the verge of blacking out, squirming in the chair, like a fetus lost in darkness.
He said: Are you in pain?
Exasperated and sweaty, I shrugged my shoulders, not willing to communicate any further. He decided to give me more anesthesia for the last fifteen minutes of a surgery that took over an hour to resolve.
One father. One son.
One hour. One wisdom tooth.
The pain of unresolved pressure.
You may be a masochist, but at least you're an honest one.
ReplyDeleteI like the structure of this one too, particularly the way the last line seems to be physically holding the verbal weights of the piece.