Dark Side of the Moon

Our garage door is suffering from erectile dysfunction in this cold weather.  The remote part is functioning just fine, but the door keeps getting stuck at half-mast, forcing me to get out of my nice warm car to get it up.  We’ve tried lubing it up with WD-40, and that worked for a couple days, but apparently that was not sufficient.  Damn high maintenance door!

I was standing in the shower the other day, mulling over my predilection for knife play (how very Norman Bates of me, I know).

Hmmmn… what follows is not for the squeamish.  If you do not have the stomach for the blood and guts of the medical field, you may wish to skip this post.  Consider yourself warned.

When I was in high school and college, I was usually the lab partner who actually did the animal dissections whilst the person beside me cringed and gagged, and I was also the one who usually double-pithed everyone else’s frogs for them because they couldn’t stand to do it.  No, I’m not into animal cruelty; this was done in the name of science, as valuable things can be learned from the vivisection of frogs.

In the nursing program, one of my favourite clinical rotations was going into the OR to observe surgeries.  I saw some fantastic procedures; one that sticks out in my mind was a woman with rectal cancer.  The surgeon gave her a permanent colostomy and then excised the rectum and literally sewed the butt shut.  There was cautery involved (think human barbecue) as well as a Really Big (!) suturing hook and the surgical team kept looking over at me nervously, likely waiting for me to hit the floor or throw up or something.  Instead I was standing eagerly just behind the surgeon’s elbow with a wicked grin plastered on my face, I think I may have even been drooling a bit, having the time of my life.

Does this mean I could cut into another person, or have someone cut into me?

As a nurse, I seem to be a magnet for everyone to tell me of their aches and pains, and can I look at thus-and-so for them?  My stock answer is to tell them that I could fix that for them if they’d only let me operate on them, that I must have my rusty scalpels around somewhere.  Sometimes for extra effect I wave my copy of Brain Surgery For Dummies about, and say excitedly that I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to practice.  Yes, I have a very dark sense of humour…

For myself, I’m certainly no stranger to surgeries – was just ‘under the knife’ last month in fact – but I don’t believe that rates in the same category as handing a knife or scalpel over to someone and saying, “Have at!!” while I’m still conscious.  Over the years I’ve developed a certain Zen towards the necessary evil of medical procedures, with the possible exception of blood draws… my veins literally collapse and disappear when they see a needle coming in for the suck, hahaha.  I have willingly subjected myself for piercings on several occasions, though; three in each earlobe, two on the upper edge of my left ear, and my tongue, with others being planned in the future in places the casual observer would not see.  No tats, that’s just too permanent for my liking.  I did perform some cutting in my high school years, but really didn’t know what I was doing and luckily those scars have long since healed.

I suppose, given the right circumstances and a certain level of trust, I might allow someone to do that.  And perform it in return, if asked.  I might even get excited about it.  That scares me a little, which I would think is a good thing.

Would I do it again as a solo activity?  I don’t know yet.  I’m starting to line up some activities to try on my own for the sake of the sensation.  I do have a scalpel set around somewhere from my dissection days, so we’ll see…