First of all, let me say it wasn’t 100% my fault. Anybody could have mistaken the prefrontal lobe for the occipital lobe, especially after the night I had. But, having said that, how could that moron of an anesthesiologist have mixed up the “candy?” Oh, I know how. He went to one of those med schools in Grenada. As if that would be good enough. Well, he’s being sued through the keister, so you can rest assured all will be right in the world. Actually, sorry, that’s not quite right. All you’ll be doing from now on is resting. Which brings me back to my apology. Sorry. Really. But, on the upside, think of all the things you’ll be missing that totally suck.
And, truth be told, my med school instructors weren’t all that good either. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not getting down on them or anything. They tried hard, but they couldn’t really speak English that well—and I couldn’t speak Sanskrit or Pashtun or Norse or whatever language they were speaking. I mean, I got the broad strokes and everything. Big picture stuff. You can’t totally blame me for that one, under the circumstances, of course.
Having said that, brain surgery, so to speak, wasn’t really supposed to be my specialty. More dermatology. Just applying medically approved creams. And stuff like that. More like in Bloomingdales. Nevertheless.
To get back to the topic at hand. Or rather, at brain. (Sorry, I’ve always been something of a cut up, especially when it comes to puns. Cut up? Get it?) To get right to the heart of the matter (cranium), and here I’m getting serious—skulls are thick. And hard. It is not easy to get through one. Think about how you’d do it.
And then, assuming you find a way to get through the skull, imagine how hard it is to keep someone alive once you’ve done it. Go ahead, imagine it. Hint: not all the Band-Aids in like all the Duane Reade’s on like the entire Upper West Side and Upper East Side could do it.
Oh, sorry again; you can’t imagine anything anymore. Of course. Well, wink your eye about it. You get what I’m saying.
And, you really can’t fault a guy for trying, can you? And, what’s more, I promise promise promise that the open heart surgery I’m going to be performing on you tomorrow morning, you don’t have a worry in the world. I’m bringing the instructions with me into the operating room. And setting my alarm fifteen minutes early.