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Paperback writer

by PS Gifford

Words have always been my allies. They have comforted, cared and consoled me during sadness, encouraged, enriched and entertained me at my most dire moments, and supported, sustained and shared in my occasional victories. I have traveled the world, been transported in time and lived in the minds of writers substantially greater than my own. Conversely my own writing has been the greatest of therapists, the most understanding of councilors, and never fails to allow me to communicate my deepest of emotions and feelings without hesitation or argument. They are always agreeable to whatever order I feel inclined to put them in. Or indeed the context I wish to use them.

With that said I feel the need to share my recent experiences.

Over the last year my life has gone from bad, to worse, to almost unbearable. I have written on many aspects of this previously and I have no urge to bore either you- or indeed myself- with another rehashing. But twelve weeks ago I found myself in the emergency room. I had been coughing up and passing blood almost daily for several months. Finally a friend of mine had seen enough and took me to the doctor who immediately sent me to the hospital. I was poked and rehydrated and ultimately sent to a gastroenterologist. With insurance being what it was that process took twelve weeks. My big day arrived last Wednesday. You canno no doubt imagine far better than I dare describe what occurred in that 8 by 6 foot cubicle on that Wednesday morning. Suffice to say my pride was well and truly swallowed. I had blood work done immediately- and was promptly scheduled an endoscopy and colonoscopy. That fun day was on Monday. Fortunately I was anesthetized during the process, and awoke sore in a couple of peculiar places and with the distinct feeling a violation or two had taken place. I also was advised that seven biopsies had been performed.If that was enough an ultrasound was also scheduled.

Well, the ultrasound happened today. You know and I know what they were screening for. But not to tempt the fates the word shall be left unmentioned in this excuse of an essay. Besides I feel confident that a lighter diagnosis shall be uncovered. But as I was lying on the table being covered in jell my mobile went off. It was a train coming down the track beep so I knew it was my father. His nurse was looking after him for me.

I apologized to the technician and answered the phone. I had already explained my situation. I assumed it must be an emergency.

“Hello dad, what is wrong?”

“I have a major problem son.”

“Oh, what is wrong?” My mind went into panic mode.

“Yes I haven’t pooped all day and I am out of prunes. It is an emergency!”

“I will pick some up on the way home dad.”

“Thanks. Hurry. Bye.”

So on my way home I got him his prunes.

With that my examination continued.

As for my test results? I will know more in a few days. But I am sure this is being blown up bigger than it is…And with an imagination like mine I am going to worry now aren’t I? On the up side I am writing at the most frantic output ever- and with this an an exception- most of it is rather quite good. (if I do say soyself…)

P.S. Gifford

P.S. Gifford is a published horror author of great talent. He started submitting stories around 2005. His short stories are by far some of the best and most entertaining that I have read. Around that time he was invited to write columns which are titled "Paperback Writer."

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