I’m afraid there’s a computer up my nose. Seriously. It’s yet another thing about the future I couldn’t have imagined when I was nine years old and living in central New Jersey. Flying cars? Sure (but where the heck are they now?). Phones that show pictures of whoever is on the other end? Of course (but the downside of seeing is being seen). But not a computer up the nose or up any other body part.
Why I have a computer up my nose has to do with the mystery that lies at the intersection of my ph balance, chemo-damaged esophagus and many viruses making the rounds. Actually, it’s not quite a whole computer but some computer sensory system that sends constant reports to the other part of the computer that I’m wearing, a kind of medical designer purse I’m to carry with me for the duration of this 24-hour procedure.
How is it going? Only 20 hours, 59 minutes and 32 seconds to go. It’s all I can do to not pull the computer dealie out of my nose and, although I don’t drink, make an exception for a shot of Polish vodka. With the exception of straws when I was a kid, I don’t like things up my nose, but then again, who does?
Meanwhile, I hope my sinuses stop struggling so much against this long, tall drink of a visitor, and that I forget what experiment I’m living enough to enjoy the evening, night, dawn, morning, and early afternoon until it’s time to pull this sucker back out. In the meantime, I’m doing the only sensible things I can fathom: going out for chicken enchiladas (the ultimate comfort food) at La Tropicana with Ken, then watching many episodes of The Dog Whisperer. And while it’s good that the computer is recording every nuance of my sinus’ inner life, I’m so grateful it’s not recording one iota of my thoughts when I remember, “There’s a friggin’ computer up my nose.”
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