I’D NOT WANTED TO MAKE a big deal about my decision. I didn’t want fuss and support and everybody being rah-rah about it. I walked into the hospital and the smell made me feel sick. It took me back to the last time I’d been there. I’d never thought then that I’d walk through those doors again.
The appointment with the doctor went well. He did a lot of poking and prodding, asked a ton of questions then explained the surgery to me. He talked about the technical stuff that I didn’t care about so, instead of listening, I checked out the plastic person with all their innards on display. All those bits inside, they were frightening really.
It’d be months before I knew if the operation was a success. The doctor explained it to me. The nerve had been severed and needed to be sewn back together. If the two bits recognized each other, then the nerve would repair itself across the bridge that the surgeons built. If not, then there were other options. I wasn’t sure about their other options.
“It’s a clean cut,” the doctor had said. “Like someone’s cut it with a knife.”
“Yeah, just like that,” I said. I didn’t explain further. He was there for doctoring not for talking.
I really wanted to reach out and remove some of those organs. Make that plastic man into a hollow shell.
The doctor got out some paperwork for me to take home. It’d be a couple of days in hospital with a long recovery time afterward.
He went through what I needed and he got to the bit about next of kin. I’d not planned on telling anyone about the operation. I figured I could disappear for a few days without anyone knowing.
“Is that necessary?” I asked.
He looked at me as though that was the most fool question he’d ever heard.
“Of course. If anything happens during the surgery, we need someone to inform. Also, you might need a friend to help you out. You might need assistance dressing and getting around for a while.”
“I’ve been living my life with one functioning hand for a while.”
“But you do have some function in your right hand now. After the surgery, it will be in a splint.”
I nodded.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Surely you have someone who can help? If not, there are some services the hospital can provide.”
I had someone, but asking for that kind of help was not a thing I wanted to do. Having a stranger help out would be even worse, though.
He scheduled me in and I left the hospital, heading straight for Trouble.
I sat at the bar, drinking. The papers the doctor had given me were folded up in the pocket of my jacket. I’d have to swallow my pride.
Carlie came over and grabbed my glass, putting a full one in front of me. She handed Holden a beer.
“I feel like this album is missing something,” Holden said to me. “Something is not quite right.
”
Before I could answer, Carlie butted in.
“What you need to do is get rid of Shun. That guy makes my flesh crawl. He’s a jerk. He’s just bringing the band down. You’d be better off without him.”
Holden looked at me and rolled his eyes.
“Hey,” said Carlie. “Did you just roll your eyes? Lay off that shit. Don’t even think about rolling your eyes when I’m talking. You know I’m right, you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
“He’s a good muso.” Holden sipped his drink.
“So? There are a million good musos in this world. You need someone who fits with the rest of the band. If he’s pushing in one direction while the rest of you are pushing in another, it’s just making you stay in the same place. That’s science.”
“Yeah,” added Drew. “I don’t like him either. He has cold, dead fish eyes. Like there is no soul in them.”
Holden laughed. “Shun’s staying but thanks for the evaluation, guys.”
“Anytime,” said Carlie. “And don’t come crying to me when Shun fucks things up for you guys and you find out I’m right. Because it will happen. And I will say ‘I told you so’.”