Blood Type Z

“Are you sure this is all necessary, Doc?”

He laughed. “Of course! You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

I hated the way he said that.

But I didn’t have time to protest, they were already giving me the anesthesia.

Before I went under, I thought to myself, Aw crud.

The doctors had explained several times why exactly I needed “the surgery.”  But in those explanations, I began to realize something.

I didn’t understand squat.

I guess that’s what happens when one receives a Ph.D or runs for public office; one loses the ability to clearly communicate.

Much later, I began to stir. I rubbed my eye.

Then, with my bleary drug-induced vision, I took a good look at my hand.

I don’t think surgery is supposed to make a person’s skin turn seventeen different colors on contact.

I asked for the container which had held the transfused blood which was now probably running wild in my circulation.

Blood Type: Z

Z?  Never heard of that.  I groped for a book on the bedside table.

My eyes widened at the explanation of Blood Type Z.

“Aw frick.”

~Psychedelic Seventeen Plus One~

A few days later, to my dismay, I was discharged. I insisted that this color change was not typical of any medical procedure, odd or otherwise.

“Don’t be silly!” I was told in a “reassuring” tone.

God above knew I was not reassured.

I sat in my bedroom chair, tapping my hand and watching the “psychedelic seventeen” (as I came to “affectionately” call the color-changing phenomenon) radiate from the touch point. It did it anywhere I touched.

Touched in multiple places? Like, three points on my hand?

The colors would radiate, then merge into some squiggly contour.

I was bored, so I decided to turn on the radio to my favorite classical music station. I flipped it on.

I had to double check the tuner.

It was on the right station, but it sure wasn’t playing Beethoven.

My ears were plagued by “FunkyTown.”

Moaning, I turned off the radio. But “FunkyTown” didn’t stop playing.

I clapped my radiating hands over my multi-colored ears, wishing it would stop.

It kept going.

“Aw frick!” I screeched.

The End

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