“I’m an American Citizen! I’m going to Oregon where I can die with dignity, it’s legal there. You can’t stop me.” That’s what I was thinking when my oncologist told me that I was bleeding internally and that he would have to open my abdomen again. Are you fucking kidding me?! No, no, no! I was over this crap. Over the pain. Over being butchered. Over my drug-induced delusions, which of course I didn’t understand were delusions. There were people watching me – they were standing behind a curtain and staring at me and no one cared!
Needless to say my plan to sneak off to Oregon to die with dignity did not pan out. Instead I was sliced open again, only this time when they sewed me back up it felt much tighter. Is this how it feels when women get their vaginas “re-juvenated?” No, this must be what it felt like to wear a Victorian-era corset. No wonder those poor ladies were always fainting, they couldn’t breathe! And those damn people were now laughing at me. They were behind a red velvet curtain, but I saw them. They were laughing because I was having trouble breathing. They could see my corset. They were chanting: “tighter, tighter, tighter, tie that corset tighter!”
Later, having forgotten about Oregon and my corset, I became fixated on my nurses. They were obviously part of some reality TV show and they were filming me, using me. Every medical professional who I could see – and there seemed to be so many of them – were in on it. Ha! But they didn’t know that I knew. I was determined to play it cool as a cucumber. I would fake them out, just like they were trying to fake me out. So I lay there, sweating through my robe, secretly watching their every move. “I wonder which network this reality show is on?” I thought to myself.
I asked for a clipboard. I had seen one of the reality TV nurses with a clipboard and I wanted one too. I also got paper and a pencil. I started writing out a very important fax. Who sends faxes anymore? But this fax meant everything to me and soon I forgot about the reality TV show, though the people behind the red velvet curtain remained. Bastards.
The fax was no longer of importance to me, now it was the “crowdsourcing in my brain.” I couldn’t sleep one wink because they were crowdsourcing in my brain. My partner visited me and I anxiously told him about the crowdsourcing and how it was keeping me from sleeping. He didn’t understand. What the hell was wrong with him?! Crowdsourcing was dangerous. It was like Scientology mixed with evil wizards and they had control of my brain and through my brain they had control of the whole world! Why couldn’t he understand how dangerous this was?
Then my partner told me that there was no one watching me; what a horrible lie. What a despicable man to lie to me like that. Of course there were people watching me, they were right next to me, behind the red velvet curtain. I simply couldn’t trust anyone anymore – not my partner, not the nurses, not my oncologist. I would have to pretend that everything was fine. I would have to give an Oscar winning performance, so as not to let anyone in the hospital know that I was ON TO THEM.