Life was a comedy of errors the year after surgery.
Maintaining a charged neurostimulator implant a magic trick
I often bungled. The black belt with a built-in pouch
for housing the disc-shaped charger was clumsy
and originally designed for the waist, a sort of fanny pack
for spinal surgery patients who also use stims for pain.
My programmer instructed I insert the charging disc
in the pouch and slide the belt over my shoulder
to charge the stim battery, but that stubborn sling rarely
stayed put and the inevitable wailing beep-beep-beep
occurred, the charger an inconsolable robotic baby
undergoing separation anxiety when contact with my skin
was severed. The beloved adhesive pads that secure the whole
shebang didn’t exist yet. This pre-sticky pad phase reminds me
of sanitary napkins from the prehistoric days of feminine hygiene.
As a kid I’d read about the belt, latches, and maneuvers
needed to secure maxi-pads as described in Judy Blume’s novel
Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret? and thought the entire
process as ludicrous as the fanny pack rigmarole. Evenings
I positioned the disc near my shoulder sans sling and slept face up.
Certain mornings that damn disc appeared on the floor or hidden
in sheets like an Easter egg. Other days it was miraculously in place,
but I’d fallen asleep before hitting the magic button
and woken with zero bars and a whopper of a headache
that had formed during sleep. Then I’d either laugh, curse, or sigh.
These tech failures reminded me of episodes of The Greatest American Hero
and to be honest, I always kind of hated that guy, considered him a lower
life-form among superheroes as he crashed into trees or cars.
After several seasons, he still hadn’t mastered the art
of flying and landing with a modicum of dignity,
the suit’s instruction manual always lost or missing
like the problematic disc my spouse often helped find
in addition to misplaced eye- and sunglasses. Sometimes
I wonder how he puts up with me, much like I wonder why
the Greatest American Hero’s intelligent and attractive girlfriend
Pam Davidson was into him. Would you trust the Greatest American Hero
with a condom? If pickings are slim, I’d rather dance
the horizontal mambo with the Six Million Dollar Man.