Dr. Soft Hands...

Dr. Soft Hands called the next day to check on me and to schedule the first of many oncology appointments. He suggested some holistic options that I should consider during my radiation therapy. As I became more interested in gobbling down the Hawaiian bread loaf my old neighbor kept leaving for me the tone of his voice suddenly reminded me of the adults in the Charlie Brown cartoons…wah wah wah…. My neighbor was a horrible old witch but she swore I was too skinny, and I promised her I wouldn’t ever fit into a casket without the assistance of a chainsaw. The thought released a giggle inside of me that translated to a coughing, spitting fit interrupting Dr. Soft Hands spiel. I took his break in monologue as a chance to inform him that I had decided over night that this was it. I wasn’t going to fight this time. I was just going to eat myself to death, leaving my husband the awful task of hiring a crane and semi to move my body. Hopefully he will also invest in a match to burn down our hoarder special house and move to some island with skinny blonde girls who like old computer nerd bald guys. The doctor sighed. I reminded him that pity and empathy never worked on me before. He asked me to reconsider. I told him I would stay alive long enough to make sure my obituary wasn’t stupid and pathetic. In truth, I had stayed up all night writing what would be my final masterpiece….my piece de resistance.

I spoke of my pirating days, my long nights being a “Hooter’s” girl, I told all of my Vegas stories and I even included a few pictures of some people that would definitely end up divorced after my funeral. No one said funerals have to be boring…or did they? I called my lawyer to arrange the details of my demise and home-going celebration and made him promise to make it one of the LONGEST Jewish funerals on earth. My family would have to sit Shiva together in all of their misery and I would get to watch over them as they bickered over the dumbest things. I hoped he would have returned my voicemail already but I’m sure he is probably trying to find a hospital that would admit me before he made any promises. Dying sucks why not make it a little fun! I finally agreed to hear the doctor out on his holistic options. If I could prolong my life just a little bit so I could get some classic Facebook pictures of my hair shedding AGAIN, my skin pruning up AGAIN and just the overall sucky parts of radiation therapy AGAIN, then to me it would be all worth it. He recommended a local clinic and said they would give me more details during my visit. I should’ve known something was right when his voice dropped to a low whisper as he gave me the information.

I hopped in the car, entered the address of the “holistic wellness center”…finger quotes would be necessary at this point in time if you could see me while I wrote this.. my doctor had given me, opened a rice krispy treat, and my adventure began. My GPS annoyingly directed me to a place I was sure my doctor had gotten wrong. The marijuana leaf on the blacked out windows surely wasn’t “Kansas”. I called his office three times to no avail. Why are doctor’s offices lunches so dang long and how come no one can stay behind to answer the phones…JUST IN CASE. I decided to just go with the flow and ring the bell outside of the door. A crackled voice came over the intercom and asked if I had an appointment. I replied with a hesitant “yes”. The voice must have sensed the lack of confidence in my tone so it asked my name. I looked up and down the street, wondering if this was one of those “To Catch a Predator” type moments. I looked in cars to see if I could spot the police or FBI monitoring me. I didn’t want to give my real name. The voice came over the intercom again and loudly…to my embarrassment and dismay said “Are you Elizabeth Stalk?” Oh My God…I am going to jail or hell for this. I nodded yes as if the voice could hear me and the door clicked open. Fucking video surveillance cameras. I quickly glanced around again making sure no one saw me slip into Babylon. The hallway corridor was long. Decorated quite like my most of my doctor’s offices which made me wonder, if there was a “Start Your Own Practice” furniture kit. Lots of beige, brown and soothing colors and pictures of flowers and beach scenes. I walked to the end of the hall and came to another door. A sign on the door read “You will be buzzed in when we are ready to see you. Have a seat and enjoy some candy.” I looked to my right and a bowl full of candy that read “Eat Me” sat on the coffee table. All I needed was a white rabbit with a pocket watch to open the door and I would officially be “Alice in Wonderland”.

I waited for about 10 minutes before the door to the office swung open and a politely plump woman with the biggest smile across her face welcomed me in. She walked me into the lair and immediately took my vitals. I told her I needed to lose a few when she weighed me and she kindly replied “don’t we all”. She sat me in a room with a desk and had me fill out a few forms that I’m again sure were part of the “Start Your Own Practice” kit. A light knock on the door and in walks the doc. Not a typical doctor I was used to. Very jovial, handsome, smelled of patchouli, eucalyptus and skunk. He wore flip flops, which is pretty much the ultimate offense for a man in my book but I gave him a pass because he wore it with a doctor’s coat. He grabbed my paperwork off the desk in a magician like manor, read for about four seconds and then looked up and asked me “Are you ready to get high?” LORD HELP ME AGAIN!!!!! The doctor held my hand as he helped me from my chair. My legs were frozen. He had just asked me a question I swore to my D.A.R.E. teacher I would always answer with a resounding “NO”. I didn’t answer “No” though. I shook my head yes. Looked around and violently shook my head yes again. I felt 16 again. All the peer pressures of the world weighing on me. My mother and father’s voices in the back of my head saying “it’s wrong…it’s wrong”. I felt at any moment a montage of my goody two-shoe life would flash in a bubble above my head and the doctor would think I was a square. Hell I was a square! With tight, sharp corners and no womanly shape, but that wasn’t the type of square he would be thinking I was. He led me into another private room. This room was filled with a large, green Barcalounger chair, TV, DVD player, Ipod docking station and blankets….lots and lots of blankets. My mind immediately went to the last episode of Dexter. I had walked into a killing den and my life would end wrapped in a teal alpaca or cashmere throw blanket from Crate and Barrel. I’m sure the doctor noticed my hesitation and concern because here came Nurse Plump n’ stuff to guide me the rest of the way. She sat me in the chair and offered me water, tea or one of their specialty drinks while I waited. I opened my mouth to respond but I was still stuck imagining my demise and those darn blankets. She handed me a drink in a soft green paper cup. I saw the recycled sign and knew these people were crazy. I HATE SUPER EARTHY PEOPLE…the cup felt like it would melt by the time I finished drinking its’ contents and to not be wasteful I should probably just chew it up like a piece of gum and swallow it. I tasted the liquid. Swishing it around in my mouth, slowly releasing the flap at the back of my throat and allowing it to run down into my stomach. I didn’t die. Nope I sure didn’t. And damn was this drink tasty. I swallowed the remaining Jim Jones juice, leaned back in the chair, pulled the lever to lift my legs and waited. An overwhelming sense of ease started from the top of my head and moved its’ way through my body. My face muscles relaxed, the tension in my neck and shoulders loosened, my stomach puffed out because I could no longer hold the grip on sucking it in, my legs, feet and toes became heavy and tingly. THEY DRUGGED ME!!!!

I thought I would be smoking a joint or a doobie or whatever the hell they called it…hell I even imagined wrapping my lips around a bong like in the movies and watching the smoke fill my lungs with halluncenigenics…even a good old fashioned smoke out like Cheech and Chong would’ve felt right. My mind went in to super overload but I couldn’t move. I tried opening and closing my eyes over and over but a heavy sleepy feeling came over me and next thing I knew….I WAS ASLEEP IN THE KILLING DEN! Well at least my body was…my imagination and dreams took over and I swear I saw Nurse Plump n’ Stuff come in and wrap me in that damn teal blanket. I walked calmly through my brain, opening and closing doors to different areas, all quiet, everyone was asleep at the wheel. A blackness fell over me…not a black blanket or duffle bag…but a blackness as far as light and movement…nothing moved…nothing stirred…I laid down on the non-existent dream floor and I heard my brain say to me “go the fuck to sleep bitch…I’m tired”! I woke up four hours later…hands, limbs and kidney’s in place...no sign of a rape or molestation…no alien probe (a little disappointed with this one)…my purse, car keys and wallet were still in my possession, the pain and ever present ache in my chest had subsided to a bearable place, so I signed my name on the dotted line and officially became a member of the medical marijuana community. Dr. Soft Hands WHY DID YOU WAIT SO LONG TO RECRUIT ME?