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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Here is a bizarre tale about a surgery gone very, very wrong..or is it right?

Submitted: October 27, 2013

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Submitted: October 27, 2013






The breakfast special was three eggs any style, homefries, choice of bacon, sausage or ham, toast and of course bottomless coffee or tea, all for $ 5.99 between 6:00 – 10: 00 a.m.


Murray had his eggs over easy, bacon and of course double double.


When the plate arrived, steam still rising from the eggs that were slightly burnt around the edges so that resembled little webs. Joan across from him said, “Really Murray? Are you sure that’s the smartest thing?”


“Whaddya mean?” grunted Murray, jabbing a forkful of bacon and popping it into his mouth. “I haven’t eaten decent food recently. That hospital shit is just that..shit.”


“Dr. Montaben said you should go easy on the cholesterol.”


Murray waved an arthritic hand at his wife as he swallowed. “Of course Montaben is gonna say that. He’s a doctor for chrissakes. Besides, I take a pill for my cholesterol, don’t I?” He took a deep swig of his coffee.


Joan rested her elbow on the diner’s table, chin resting in her palm. There was Murray, 73 years old, 5’9”, 185 pounds, fresh out of coronary surgery and stuffing his face with fried junk. But man, did it smell good. She idly poked at a potato with her fork.


“How do you feel Murray?”


“Fit as horse hon,” Murray replied, now pouring ketchup on the homefries. “I mean, really, the doc did do a top notch job. I can’t even feel the thing.”


The thing of which Murray spoke was a cardiac pacemaker implanted by Dr. Montaben at the Saint Alphonsus Medical Centre in Boise, Idaho one day ago. After a near fatal heart attack, Murray was dubbed an appropriate candidate for such a high risk intervention. The surgery was performed yesterday (a measly two hour procedure) and he was discharged with instruction on some remedial exercise, nutritional counseling and lifestyle coaching. That how hospitals are: do your thing and get lost.


Joan stared solemnly as Murray devoured the feast in front of him. All that was left was one weakly buttered quarter piece of undertoasted toast which she feebly grasped when  she knew Murray was truly done.


Murray relaxed back on the faux leather bonded seats of the diner, big smile smeared across his face. Some egg yolk remnants were visible on the breast of his blue Lacoste golf shirt.


“Satisfied?” Joan asked with a wink.


Murray just stared at her, eyes unblinking.


“Murray? What’s wrong?”


No answer.


“Murray is it your heart?”


Murray stared at the clock, a mock Elvis send-up with hips swinging every second of the day. The time was 10:15 am.


“Waitress!” hollered Joan. “Please come, please help us!”


“More coffee hon?” the waitress queried. She bore a bronze breast pin with the name Gretchen in Copperplate Gothic Bold font.


“No!” yelled Joan. “No coffee! It’s my husband! Look at him, something is terribly wrong. Call 911!”


Murray then said, “The medial lemniscus carries axons from most of the body and synapses in the ventral posterolateral nucleus of the thalamus”.


Gretchen the waitress asked, “What’s that hon?”


Murray continued, “Babe Ruth was the first player to hit 60 home runs in one season (1927), a mark not surpassed until another Yankee right fielder, Roger Maris, hit 61 in 1961.”


Joan put a liver spotted hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, he’s delusional.”


Gretchen waved her hand and said, “Sweetie, he just needs more coffee..”


“NO HE DOESN”T!” Joan hollered. ” He needs to get to a hospital right now!”


She snatched Murray by breast of his Lacoste shirt, nearly tearing off the label in the process.


As he was being dragged out of the diner Murray said, “Aerosmith is the best-selling American rock band of all time, having sold more than 150 million albums worldwide, including 66.5 million albums in the United States alone”.


Joan held her hands to her head. “Oh my God, it’s worse than I thought!”


She shoved Murray into the passenger side of their Honda Accord and burned out of the parking lot with a screech of the tires. As the car swerved off North Curtis road onto Highway 184 Murray said, “Black Friday is the day following Thanksgiving Day in the United States, often regarded as the beginning of the Christmas shopping season. In recent years, most major retailers have opened extremely early and offered promotional sales to kick off the holiday shopping season”.


Joan ignored him and pushed hard on the gas toward Saint Alphonsus Hospital.


After about two minutes of driving, Murray turned to her and said, “What are you doing?”


“Excuse me?”


“What are you doing? Where are we going?”


Joan eyes felt like they were going bulge out of her skull. “Murray? What? We are going to the hospital, that’s where we’re going.”


“I wasn’t finished my toast.”


Joan gripped the steering wheel so hard, her red painted nails bug into her palms. “You don’t know why? What was all that crap about rock bands..and Black Friday..and something called the thalamus?”




“You mean you don’t recall anything you said?”


Murray scratched his head. “Uh no. I’m still hungry though.”


Joan shook her head in frustration as she pulled onto the lot of the emergency ward of Saint Alphonsus Hospital.


Joan furiously began filling out paper work as Murray lamented, “Really hon, I don’t see why we are here. I mean I feel fine and…. The Cuban Revolution (1953-1959) was an armed revolt conducted by Fidel Castro's 26th of July Movement and its allies against the government of Cuban President Fulgencio Batista.”


Joan stared at him, tears in her eyes. “Oh Murray,” she pleaded.


Murray raised his hands and said, “In music theory, a minor chord is a chord having a root, a minor third, and a perfect fifth. When a chord has these three notes alone, it is called a minor triad.”


After close to an hour of hearing about the breakdown of carbohydrates, chaos theory and the collected works of Jane Austen, Dr. Montaben finally appeared.


Joan nearly melted into his arms. “Please Dr.….it’s Murray..ever since the surgery he’s literally gone insane.”


Montaben shone a light into both of Murray’s pupils as Murray exclaimed, “The word faeces is the plural of the Latin word fæx meaning "dregs". There is no singular form in the English language, making it a plurale tantum. There are many colloquial terms for feces, of which some are considered profane (such as shit)”.


Montaben stared at Murray for a long cold second not saying a word. He turned toward his secretary. “Monica,” he started, “Turn off the Wi-Fi.”


Monica stared at him blankly for a second from her computer desk. “But doctor, that would..”


“Just do what I say,” Montaben said, hand raised in her direction.


Murray looked at the doctor innocent as a lamb and said, “The Banana Splits were a musical group of four animal characters; Fleegle, a beagle; Bingo, a gorilla; Drooper, a lion; and Snorky, an elephant; (played by actors in costumes), who starred in their own successful television series”. He then abruptly turned silent.


After a few moments, Murray blinked and said, “What? Why am I here?”


Dr. Montaben said, “Who are you?”


Murray chuckled. “You should know; you’re the one billing my insurance plan. C’mon I’m sharp. I really don’t know why I’m here doc. Surgery went well, I feel good. I know I should eat more fibre and all that crap, but I can cheat once in a while, right?”


Montaben said, “Amazing. Absolutely amazing.”


Joan breathed heavily over his shoulder. “What’s so amazing? Murray’s never been amazing before.”


Montaben beamed and said, “Your husband’s pacemaker can pick up Wi-Fi.”


Joan passed out by his feet and a team of paramedics were sent to provide her with oxygen.


Things did in fact, work out for Murray, Joan and Dr. Montaben. Montaben took Murray and Joan on the road, specifically to the travelling “Mysteries of Science” fair that attracted everyone from Ph.D.’s to Star Trek freaks to clairvoyants to witness that which since simply cannot explain.


Murray made the cover of Time magazines “Man of the Year”. He proudly framed a photo of himself and Arnold Schwarzenegger with Arnie’s autograph, “To the real cyborg”.


Joan grew tired of life on the road and with her arthritis really kicking in, her and Murray retired on their new-found earnings and lived quietly in their same home in Boise. They of course threw out their computer and wireless router.



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