--  a podcast and website dedicated to anecdotal cooking as expressed through my poetry and foodstuff --  a podcast and website dedicated to anecdotal cooking as expressed through my poetry and foodstuff listings.
On Being Patient
1. Introduction
2. Strike or Spike
3. Reversion Triggers
4. Recuperation
5. Operation Staycation
6. A Philosopher's Progress
7. I Love Medley (Scatterbrain Daddy)
8. Precise Obfuscation: A Cafeteria Commentary

Travel Portrait 22
On Being Patient #3: Reversion Triggers
May 13, 2009


Reversion triggers acumen, capacitates acuity and the beyond. Art appreciation begins with how one interprets the work, not in the consistency of the interpretation as story, as testimony to a series of events as facts, but as a matter of fact as momental truth is experienced (time-based) under duress--documentation ongoing. The beyond begets a living fraught with acts of conciliation caused by the desire to validate luxury in sickness and in health--in memorium as well.

I derived this conclusion after leaving the exhibition at the Art Museum on my way to the three o'clock appointment for a catscan. Entertaining thoughts and rendering those thoughts based on the actuality of my surroundings, mesmerized my attitude for the rest of the day.

The catscan process/procedure elapsed in less than thirty-seven minutes. I was handed a compact disc and instructed to deliver the disc to my physician who needed to visually obtain the "lay of my cranial land" in preparation for the endoscopic transsphrenoidal surgery.


I was greeted by the physician's nurse practitioner and assertive apprentice whose aggressive manner overwhelmed by passive expectations for the delicate surgical objective that was to commence within a couple weeks. "The shock of the situation," I explained to the nurse practitioner after the apprentice had left the examination room to fetch the physician.

In walks the physician with the apprentice who he reintroduces her as such. The physician states that he has reviewed the catscan. He then explains his role in the procedure and the potential complications if there is an occurrence. The physician then wanted to take a look, examine the point of entry: my sinus; nasal passage; aka my nose. He asked the nurse practitioner to spray a local anesthesia into my nose so that he could place a stiff metallic probe (with a flashlight attached to the tip) into my sinus that was fraught with follicles.

I did not think to clip my nose hairs prior to the examination. I wish I had because the nasal spray disoriented me so much so that I burst back into the examination room to the reception island just minutes after leaving to follow up with the nurse practitioner as to why I was having such a mystical experience. My concern currently was not a matter of competence, but of trust.


While I sat in the open-air hazily viewing figures stream through the foyer below, I recalled the situation I had encountered during my petrosil sinus sampling. A catheter was passed up each vein. The entranceway was located in the strenuously strapped groin area, a hyperbolically hairy location that required a serious shave prior to accessing the veins.

In walks the surgical assistant with razor in hand. I am greeted with a congenial "Hello." Then I am presented with boys-will-be-boys banter from this "role reversion." A venomous girly-girl, she informed me of the type of shave I was about to receive: bikini. Not to be intimidated, I requested that I be shaved as clean as the world's ugliest dog. Infuriated, she began seemingly hacking away at the underbrush with a machete without shaving cream to remove my hairs, which at this point in time began to straighten and stand on-edge, concealing my flaccid erection.

The terrain had been cleared without stubble or "incident;" however what remained was a soul patch. I made a note to myself to trim my nose hairs just prior to the surgery because I did not know how those follicles would be plucked.

The haze was beginning to burn off. I decided to take a walk outside in search of some sobriety. I found myself meandering along the periphery of the hospital's campus. I noticed a courtyard. Off in the distance I saw some cafe umbrellas, which visually seemed to be a pleasant area where I could reflect some more while becoming more clear-headed. Also, I was lured in by chirping tweets. I did not catch sight of any trees, nor any fluttering floaters in the air. There were no birds on the ledges of the buildings either. I thought cynically, "What modern trickery is this? What false hope is fabricating my consciousness?"


I peered inside the cafe glass-wall and saw a few individuals sitting, sipping introspectively, huddled with their drink as if down on their luck and stranded in a ghost town.

Upon entering the cafe, the barista stated, "We're closing, sir. What'll you have?"

"Give me a tall one."

"To go," he strongly recommended.

"Yup. Guess so."

I tossed a couple of paper ducats on the counter, grabbed the drink, and added some half-and-half before leaving through the swinging door that bumped my sipping-hand, causing me to stumble a bit.

"Better drink-up," advised a voice. "They're coming."

I saw a shadow of a man, of an assemblage in soiree with another compatriate--huddled. They both smiled at me and nodded slightly.

"So, I see."

I sat down over there, feeling odd, evenly serene, ever severe.

The sip taken steamed my alertness. A gag reflex, and then, statuesque, a few bronze birds perched by a bench synching with the chiming chirps. As my vision became more scrupulous, I saw more bronzies ensconced throughout the courtyard. My scope began to creep as this yielding brainer began to quirk the courtyard.

"They're here! They're here," shouted the compatriot standing sternly, pointing upward towards the sky.

I heard their flutter, a flock of 'copters descended, frightening the bronzies from their postmodern perch.

I, having a day replete, gulped my coffee and ducked-out.


A week later, I had a review of procedures and an overview of processes. I had the opportunity to ask any last minute questions and was provided with short answers. Reiterated were the potential outcomes that may burden my quality of life decision. I was reminded to follow the pre-procedure instructions as outlined--and to leave all personal valuables at home, which made me wonder, what should I do with my soul?

I remain(ed) optimistic with the thought that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Indeed, but to see the luminance, must be all other lights out!!!

Feel free to exercise thought by sending me an email regarding preparation nuances. Be sure to experiment with flavor--and remember, eat your mistakes, uh, ingredients. (Disclaimer)
Copyright © 2009 by Edward K. Brown II, All Rights Reserved