Tom Hansen's Medical Chart

“Have they explained the procedure to you?”

Procedure. That sounds...ominous.

Like maybe something I should be concerned about.

I see the sign by the door.

Pre-Op.

It’s as if all this is happening to someone else.

“The amputation” she says, nonchalant.

Amputation.

Now there’s a word you don’t hear every day.

Amputation? Say it. Amm-pyoo-tay-shun. Repeat after me.

That was kind of the one thing I wanted to avoid.

Unplug me, disconnect me, put some more tubes in, whatever. Just don’t cut me up. I had a hard enough time in this life with all my parts. And now they’re gonna cut some off. Goddamnit! Nothing ever works out! Hey, that doesn’t mean they’re gonna mess with my cock. Does it? Just don’t cut off my cock. That was the ONE place I never shot up in. Last of the Mohicans. Long after all the veins in my arms, legs, neck, and everywhere else had collapsed, the vein running the length of my cock continued to beckon. But I was strong. Other guys I knew shot up in their cocks.

“Your leg” she says.

“Your hip is infected, down in the bone. The joint is destroyed. The top of your leg bone, the part with the smooth knob on it, has well, ...melted away from the infection.”

Thanks for the information.

When did that happen? It must be the medication.

Yeah. They must have me on some strange medication.

I just don’t seem to care all that much.

Maybe because I’m so close.

Oh yeah, that’s right. I don’t really have a choice anymore, which is somehow, comforting.

Amputation.

Who knew?

Oh, well. Go ahead. Doctors. Think you know everything. You guys said I was gonna die ten years ago. If I had a nickel... So gimme your best shot. Who cares, right? Not like I can get up and walk out of here, so, whatever. Just do it, as they say. Go ahead. See what I care. I’m not running the show any more, let’s just put it that way. Maybe a good thing too. Apparently I wasn’t doing such a bang-up job. It’s okay. Arms, legs, whatever, it’s okay. You can even cut off my head. Just try it. Bring it on, fuck-o. Cut me open, sew me up, move my skin around, whatever. So come on, sucker. Lets see what you got. Just send me back to coma-land first. Okay? And do NOT fuck with the cock. Okay? They wheel me in. Now there are five people, wearing blue masks.

Are we in Japan?

Here comes the maestro. “Put on this mask.”

Remove your skin please.

Don’t they see? I’ve already done them the courtesy of doing that.