Mrs Martha Gingerly
1 ½ Plumb Pudding Road
Dear Gertrude;
How have you been these past few weeks? We haven’t spoken since you were last here visiting with us. My apologies if you have been calling only to have nobody answer the phone. I’ve been out a lot, had the ringer turned off, and my hearing aid turned down. I’ve had Roger digging in the garden rather a lot as well, so he wouldn‘t have heard it either. I am so awaiting your next visit.
The reason I am writing is to let you know that you have forgotten something here. It is you diary, and I am mailing it back to you with this letter. Please pay no mind to the scratches around the lock on the cover. This was simply the result of it having been scuffing around under the sofa. Ignore, as well, the coffee stains. I made the mistake of putting it out on my parlour table for safe keeping. Of course you know I would never open your diary. I would never read the two-hundred-forty-seven-and-three-quarter pages on which you have written your deepest secrets.
Now, onto a completely different topic. Do recall those days, many years ago, when we were school girls together? I used to remember them fondly. For some reason I cannot fathom, I found myself being reminded of Chester Morse - you will remember him, he was captain of the football team, my boyfriend. Oh, didn’t we both have a crush on him? You always told me you didn’t like him very much, but I knew you did. I’ve recently come to realize just how much.
From there my mind wandered, rather like the pages of a book, to another time. I was overwhelmed with the memory of the day you gave me your “most valuable possession“, proving how much a friend you really were. You said we were the very best of friends, beyond all material value, do you remember that? And then you said - no, insisted - that I take that very valuable gold and sapphire ring that belonged to your great-grandmother. I treasured it since that day. I have it still. I’ve been thinking that maybe I should have it appraised. Would you like me to inform you of its value when I do?
Oh, and then came my wedding day. I asked you to be my maid of honour. You looked so happy, but then so distressed when I told you the marriage date. You were to be visiting your mother’s family in Cameroon, you told me. Do you recall how crestfallen I was? Oh, silly me, it took years to get over it. But don’t worry, I no longer let it bother me. Do tell me, how is the skiing in Cameroon?
I almost forgot. Also enclosed is a newspaper clipping. It is quite old, so please take care not to tear it any further than it is. Do you recall this? It’s a picture of you accepting the first place award at the international flower exhibition. I was so happy for you, even though I was quite disconsolate over my own entry, which had mysteriously had its petals all bent. Do you remember how the judges all shook their heads and sadly told me that if my entry had not been subjected to so much damage I would very likely have won. Oh, didn’t you and I both thrash that poor cat for having destroyed my chance at winning the international flower exhibition? That poor cat. I feel so bad now - for the cat.
Well, here comes Roger, back in from digging in the garden. He’s all covered in dirt and his hands are rather blistered. I am trying to finish this letter while explaining to him that, no, I do not want the hole filled back in just yet. Anyway, please do come back again soon. And don’t bother to tell anyone where you are going, as you needn’t be around very long.
Your best friend EVER;
Mrs Martha Gingerly
(c) Michael Gallant 2007
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Martha Gingerly Letter # 1
Dear Dr Flumble;
I am writing to request information regarding the several days following the surgery you performed on my left big toe this past Thursday. I am concerned about a few things, and would like for you to reassure me that it is all simply part of the recovery process.
Despite the minor setbacks in surgery, that I now understand were to be expected, I can honestly say that the experience in the operating room was much less stressful than I had thought it would be - particularly under the extra dose of sedative I was mistakenly given by the nice anaesthesiologist. I spoke with some friends and acquaintances afterwards and came to discover that the out-of-body experience was perfectly normal, and can be attributed to mild hallucinations. Also, the previously mentioned overheard discussion regarding the upcoming fate of one of the other doctors at your hospital was clearly a result of this same phenomenon, and I have decided that contacting the authorities is quite probably unwarranted. The rather fresh looking appendectomy scar, on the other hand, leaves me perplexed, as I had that out some time ago.
At any rate, it is the series of symptoms I’ve had since leaving the resurrection room - I’m sorry, I meant recovery room (are the defibrillator paddles supposed to leave those marks, by the way?) that concern me. After I became fully conscious and lucid again I noticed I had a rather large cast on my foot, extending up to my knee. My first thought was that this was to assist in the recovery of my toe, but why the cast was on the other foot I cannot fathom. I shall try again to call your nurse and arrange for an appropriate time to have it removed. I will assume, for the time being, that she will know why the cast is there, and how long it should remain. But I digress; this letter was meant to convey concerns regarding my symptoms.
On Friday, following the surgery, I was loaded into the back of my husband’s station wagon (the stretcher could not be made to fit in the passenger area) and carted up to my room, where I am still. I am propped in such a way that I can easily peer down at my left foot, and my right cast. Later that day, I began to feel a curious tingling sensation shooting up and down the length of my left limb - my left arm, that is. At first I feared it may be the signs of an upcoming heart attack, but I was soon dissuaded of that fear when I noticed a greenish tinge to the flesh, accompanied by burning red streaks along what appear to be the veins in my arm. Please do not feel slighted, but I called on another doctor to assist me with this. I simply felt you may have been too far out of town to come back for such a small thing - how is the golf tournament going, by the way?
Following the administration of the appropriate medicine, I began to feel nauseous and light-headed. I attributed this to the medicine at first, but what I then deposited into my bedside garbage pail made me wonder. I don’t like to discuss such vile bodily functions, but you should probably add to your files that it was the very same colour as what ever it was you coughed up in your office when I met with you before surgery. How is that cough, by the way, Dr Flumble? Oh, that reminds me. Do you have a relative of the same name? I recently read an obituary and feared it might be you, but we both know you are far too young to be that ill, and besides, you are golfing.
By Sunday I was able to stand. I found I was also able to fall flat on my face, much more easily than I could stand. But with help from my husband I was able to relieve myself without the use of the article of ceramic-covered tin ware I had been using. By evening that day, I was able to do so in the washroom.
It is now Monday as I write this, and I find that if I tilt my head just right I can see. Oh, I had forgotten to mention that earlier. My eyesight, which had been very good until now, has mysteriously gone all bad on me. It’s not so much that I can’t see, as there are only certain directions in which I can. I will attribute this to my age, which you so kindly referred to as “classic”. I still get a chuckle from that.
At any rate, back to the issue. I was, I should mention, pleasantly surprised at the complete lack of pain from surgery as I put pressure on my left toe. It did, however, hurt a great deal in exactly the same way it had before going in. I expect it will simply take a bit longer for the surgery to have effect. I must say, I was shocked at how clean and professional the operation was. With the help of a mirror on a stick, I was able to discern that there was not even the slightest sign that my toe had been operated on. Your work is outstanding. My husband says I am like a new woman, and it took some time for him to explain to me that what he meant was my face appears entirely different than it did before.
At your soonest convenience, I kindly request that you have a look into these mentioned symptoms. I do not wish to take a great deal of your time, thus I have avoided making an issue of the other strange things I have experienced since surgery. Furthermore, I find it embarrassing to even spell some of the words I would need to.
Sincerely;
Mrs Martha Gingerly
1 ½ Plumb Pudding Road
(c) Michael Gallant 2007
I am writing to request information regarding the several days following the surgery you performed on my left big toe this past Thursday. I am concerned about a few things, and would like for you to reassure me that it is all simply part of the recovery process.
Despite the minor setbacks in surgery, that I now understand were to be expected, I can honestly say that the experience in the operating room was much less stressful than I had thought it would be - particularly under the extra dose of sedative I was mistakenly given by the nice anaesthesiologist. I spoke with some friends and acquaintances afterwards and came to discover that the out-of-body experience was perfectly normal, and can be attributed to mild hallucinations. Also, the previously mentioned overheard discussion regarding the upcoming fate of one of the other doctors at your hospital was clearly a result of this same phenomenon, and I have decided that contacting the authorities is quite probably unwarranted. The rather fresh looking appendectomy scar, on the other hand, leaves me perplexed, as I had that out some time ago.
At any rate, it is the series of symptoms I’ve had since leaving the resurrection room - I’m sorry, I meant recovery room (are the defibrillator paddles supposed to leave those marks, by the way?) that concern me. After I became fully conscious and lucid again I noticed I had a rather large cast on my foot, extending up to my knee. My first thought was that this was to assist in the recovery of my toe, but why the cast was on the other foot I cannot fathom. I shall try again to call your nurse and arrange for an appropriate time to have it removed. I will assume, for the time being, that she will know why the cast is there, and how long it should remain. But I digress; this letter was meant to convey concerns regarding my symptoms.
On Friday, following the surgery, I was loaded into the back of my husband’s station wagon (the stretcher could not be made to fit in the passenger area) and carted up to my room, where I am still. I am propped in such a way that I can easily peer down at my left foot, and my right cast. Later that day, I began to feel a curious tingling sensation shooting up and down the length of my left limb - my left arm, that is. At first I feared it may be the signs of an upcoming heart attack, but I was soon dissuaded of that fear when I noticed a greenish tinge to the flesh, accompanied by burning red streaks along what appear to be the veins in my arm. Please do not feel slighted, but I called on another doctor to assist me with this. I simply felt you may have been too far out of town to come back for such a small thing - how is the golf tournament going, by the way?
Following the administration of the appropriate medicine, I began to feel nauseous and light-headed. I attributed this to the medicine at first, but what I then deposited into my bedside garbage pail made me wonder. I don’t like to discuss such vile bodily functions, but you should probably add to your files that it was the very same colour as what ever it was you coughed up in your office when I met with you before surgery. How is that cough, by the way, Dr Flumble? Oh, that reminds me. Do you have a relative of the same name? I recently read an obituary and feared it might be you, but we both know you are far too young to be that ill, and besides, you are golfing.
By Sunday I was able to stand. I found I was also able to fall flat on my face, much more easily than I could stand. But with help from my husband I was able to relieve myself without the use of the article of ceramic-covered tin ware I had been using. By evening that day, I was able to do so in the washroom.
It is now Monday as I write this, and I find that if I tilt my head just right I can see. Oh, I had forgotten to mention that earlier. My eyesight, which had been very good until now, has mysteriously gone all bad on me. It’s not so much that I can’t see, as there are only certain directions in which I can. I will attribute this to my age, which you so kindly referred to as “classic”. I still get a chuckle from that.
At any rate, back to the issue. I was, I should mention, pleasantly surprised at the complete lack of pain from surgery as I put pressure on my left toe. It did, however, hurt a great deal in exactly the same way it had before going in. I expect it will simply take a bit longer for the surgery to have effect. I must say, I was shocked at how clean and professional the operation was. With the help of a mirror on a stick, I was able to discern that there was not even the slightest sign that my toe had been operated on. Your work is outstanding. My husband says I am like a new woman, and it took some time for him to explain to me that what he meant was my face appears entirely different than it did before.
At your soonest convenience, I kindly request that you have a look into these mentioned symptoms. I do not wish to take a great deal of your time, thus I have avoided making an issue of the other strange things I have experienced since surgery. Furthermore, I find it embarrassing to even spell some of the words I would need to.
Sincerely;
Mrs Martha Gingerly
1 ½ Plumb Pudding Road
(c) Michael Gallant 2007
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