04.16.04

I, Robot Now; or, How Urination Changed My Life

Posted in Health at 1:41 pm by Danny Dawson

This is an embarassing story to tell, and when people ask me about it I often evade the truth in order to save face, but I’m tired of the lying and deception. A little over a month ago, I had an accident. It was the middle of the night, and I had to go. I mean I really had to go…badly. So badly, in fact, that I couldn’t make it to the bathroom. That’s the truth, kids: I had an accident.

I was in a parking garage at the time, on the second floor. Now, I’m not utterly opposed to public urination, when done properly and involving a bush, some trees, or even a patch of grass, but I’ve got a thing against peeing on the walls or floor of an enclosed structure. So I did what seemed to be the most logical thing I could think of: I stood up on the wall, unzipped, and leaned out.

The tinkling itself was uneventful enough not to spend too much time retelling. The zip-up, however, was the nub of the night, the peril of my penile performance, and the wicked wind-up for my weeing wanker. I had been using my left hand to aim, and my right to balance against a nearby column. Upon “Evacuation: Complete,” I used my left to tuck away, and my right for the zipping. Men’s zippers are designed for right-handed use. Lefties are out of luck: you can stick to Velcro.

Anyway, I woke up lying on cement, surrounded by people telling me not to move, staring up at the cement rafters inside of the parking garage. I don’t remember impact, or walking back into the garage, but I must have, as that was where I found myself. Covered in blood. I had no idea where the blood came from.

The next few days I spent fading in and out of consciousness at the hospital. I have few memories of that time, but they contain copious painkillers and vague CAT scans. I remember the pain from when one of the many doctors set my wrist. He called it a “closed reduction.” I wanted to call him lots of things. In addition to the wrist injury - which I would later learn was very severe - I now have a lightning-shaped scar on my forehead. Move over Harry Potter.

I now have what’s called an external fixator on my arm, after nearly a month and a half in casts and splints. Part man, part machine, part child magician, but lacking the powers and facilities of any of the three. Would someone please cut my dinner into bite-sized pieces?

This post was composed on April 16th, but not published until May 12th. Sorry for the delay. I was indisposed.

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