Thursday, March 24, 2005

The Catheter Chronicles V: The Final Frontier

I now take you into the bowels of my peritoneal cavity, where a catheter lies, useless and lonely, awaiting the company of a talented surgeon's hands. I imagine that my catheter, although inoperative, is attempting to make friends with my internal organs:

After the first seventeen days, my catheter attempted to begin a conversation with my kidneys.

He tried and tried, but found them rude and unresponsive.

If the catheter actually had some light in which to work, he would have discovered that all four kidneys are dead.

Which would explain their silent, listless disposition.

Upon the nineteenth day inside the body of Stacy Without an E, the catheter awoke to a low, loud thumping sound.

"I'm frightened now," thought my new catheter. "This place was warm and comfortable for a time, now I'm fearful for my future."

If the catheter had been given the opportunity to own a pair of eyes, he would have seen that Stacy Without an E's heart rate had risen 30%, simply because he was attempting to get the courage up to ask out the adorable brunette he had been working with recently.

Once Stacy Without an E was rejected, his heart sank and he allowed a low sigh to emit from his lungs.

Moments later, the catheter sighed as well, because the rumbling of Stacy Without an E's heart had returned to normal.

An enormous amount of time passed, two days in fact, and the catheter could hear his name being uttered from the exterior of Stacy Without an E.

If he had had ears, they would have been burning. He listened more intently, becoming more and more excited each time his name was uttered.

"I'm a star," the catheter thought as he felt a slight pull to his tail.

"Ouch," bellowed the catheter. Considering that the catheter didn't have the ability to speak, the whole event was rather astonishing.

The next few moments passed too quickly for the catheter to register them effectively. He felt the entire cavity in which he dwelled was moving quickly.

But to where, and why, the catheter didn't know.

He did feel as though every nerve around him was slowly going numb. The catheter's thoughts jumped quickly from one to the other and back again.

"Am I dying?? What's happenning to my new home?? Am I too blame??" These were questions that required answers, but there was no one in his vicinity that could offer any help.

And then the strangest thing happened. A small trickle of light began to fill the catheter's home. It was weak at first, but quickly gained in strength. The catheter could finally use his remaining senses to view his cavity.

It was the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed.

But then, suddenly, and without warning, everything changed. A finger reached in and began to tug at his form.

"I don't want to go! I don't want to go! Stop it! What's wrong with you?? I like it here! This is my home!"

All his exclamations were useless. He was swept from his home of twenty-three days.

And what happened next, the catheter wasn't prepared for either.

He felt free. Freer that he had ever felt during his short, plasticized existence. He was flying through the air, quickly, gracefully, and without a care.

As he peered down to his destination, his vision was unable to process the information quickly enough.

A large white container with a huge, strong lid suddenly opened.

The last image the catheter ever remembered was the red seal on the top of the lid.

"Waste Removal."

The catheter's life was over, even before it began.

He tried to make friends. He attempted to make a home. But it was all to no avail.

If there were any fairness to the world, the catheter would have been honored for his attempt to bring a better life to Stacy Without an E.

But some things are never meant to be.

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