moby-dick-(or-the-whale)-67
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A GRUESOME TALE: YOU ARE WARNED

19 May 2007

Last week I felt an ear infection slowly rising to power. My ear was throbbing and I couldn't hear, but a fever was curiously absent and so I wondered what it might be. When I finally got through to the doctor and made an appointment, he thrust a telescope into my aural orifice (dare I create the portmanteau of aurifice? I daren't!), and clearly revealed that he couldn't clearly reveal anything. My ears were full of muck -which I must stress is through no hygienic fault of my own: unless one were to have a magic snakelike q-tip to excavate all the impossible windings of that preposterous maze inside my head; a maze leading to its very own holy grail: the vibrant Ear Drum of Arcane Hearing -but I digress.

The doctor reached for an insane syringe that wouldn't have looked out of place on Dr. Phibes' laboratory table, filled it with water and proceeded to wash out my ears. Perhaps there might not have been an infection (the doctor postulated that it was probably a pierced ear drum), but my ear was hurting and when an angry torrent of water was ejaculated into my skull a pain washed over me that took me by storm, reminiscent of the way Hitler took Germany by storm by burning the Reichstag. The doctor asked me if I felt dizzy; but here's what I felt: I went into half a shock. It took all my faculties not to faint, but I still did everything but. I experienced the blood retreating from the tip of my nose to behind my ears, the processing power of my lungs was reduced to 10 percent and my vision was halved. The world turned into an ashen colour and became veiled with static noise like when a television can't quite get the channel frequency right. So I sat there like a bag of potatoes, breathing heavily and doing my best to normalise myself.

This had happened to me twice earlier in my life. The first time was about eight years ago when I was working at the bakery, doing probably the funnest part time job I ever had: cleaning it. I'm not kidding; I loved it. But when my fingers were crunched underneath a heavy plate of steel of one of the big machines, not so much. So that was my first half-shock. The second one was even less pleasant: I was sitting in the dentist's chair a year ago undergoing a root canal treatment and the dentist promised me it wouldn't hurt, so he didn't anesthetize me. But when he stuck metal rods of some sort directly into the nerve endings, I can tell you, lying there in the chair with all sorts of power tools hanging from your mouth and then getting that feeling of the blood draining away from your face and getting all nauseous; that isn't a stroll through the municipal gardens. But back to my third half shock:

The doctor stopped focussing on my ears and got a glass of water for me and before long this harrowing adventure came to a close again. Phew! I bid the good man adieu and bagged a nose spray from the apothecarium upstairs. I never understand nose sprays: do they work? I always get the feeling I'm just swallowing the stuff or it just leaks out of my nose again. My ear is slowly getting better. The drum will regrow. But some Borg nanoprobes would sure speed up the process. I'm just saying!

Oh, and just to give you an update on August: we're getting to the climax of the tale. The waters are speeding up and we're approaching the waterfall. No more longwinded interludes: it's action time!

Roderick.