A few years ago, a painful affliction befell me.

At the base of my spine (alright fine, above the arse crack!), a hideous, insidious abscess grew.

This made it deeply undesirable to sit down, for fear of the BIBLICALLY UNHOLY PAINFUL PAAAAAAAIN.

After several bedridden days (time killed watching every version of Blade Runner on DVD multiple times), the damn abscess burst like a bloody dam (emphasis on “bloody”) and hospital beckoned.

I should’ve gotten surgery for it that selfsame day. However, I wound up lying sideways on my hospital bed in my blood-stained shorts all night, ’til early next morning, when a male nurse helped me up, led me to a shower room and hosed me down. (It was, essentially, very Shawshank.)

That afternoon, the surgery finally happened.

After, the days became a blur of Michael Moorcock, hospital food, Kevin Smith, The Smiths, discharge, home, bed, saline, tape, dressings, re-dressings, re-re-dressings, until health fully restored itself.

So…yeah.
That’s the end of that.