EKPHRASTIC EXPRESSION
Lizzie Goes To the Hospital and Loses Her Glasses and Freedom
Fuzzy views from the Diminished Capacity Dark Side twitching
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul.
If this is true, I’d like to petition for a new Afterlife destination. Neither Heaven nor Hell will fit me. I need to be guided to “VAGUE & FUZZY WITH SPASMS,” because I won’t be able to read the sign.
I try to behave, but am experiencing a problem that’s only getting worse. When I was twelve I frequently had a sharp sarcastic response to almost everything. It was a short-lived period, but the adolescent reptilian part of my brain determined to ignore social norms and celebrate impulsivity wasn’t snuffed out. She comes out as a counter-balance when I write about conflicts in Ukraine and the Middle East or subjects she finds dull — like almost everything except thinking up extreme, manic humor.
Giving her a name — Lizzie the Lizzie Brain — and allowing her to influence satire may have been a mistake. She’s engaged in a power struggle to our common detriment. Friends and family refuse to read her work, afraid she’ll come to life and attack them.
I’m afraid Lizzie the Lizard Brain will get us sent to Hell with her inappropriate behavior.
Lizzie gets admitted, and nearly committed
I had to go to the hospital with bleeding ulcers. Intellectually, I have moments of astute clarity followed by times I find myself holding a toothbrush wondering if I’m about to brush my teeth, or if I’m already done. Regardless, I wonder, “What do I do next?”
I’ve been to the Emergency Department under similar conditions before. Rebellious Lizzie was born of a difficult phase when dysfunction and crisis were the norm. A lot of people from similar backgrounds demonstrate very calm, deliberate behavior during catastrophes.
“I’m feeling stupid and have internal bleeding,” I told the ER doctor.
Alert and oriented are subjective.
He asked if I was going to vote for Trump, Biden, or Pokemon.
Blood carries oxygen to the brain. Lizzie the Lizard Brain thinks she’s funny and thrives on oxygen-deprived dying brain cells.
Funny guy! I think I’ll kill him with a flame thrower and eat him with a cayenne-cinnamon rub, but maybe not in that order.
The ER doctor used short, simple phrases and appeared to be dumbing things down for me in a very non-threatening way.
“Do you work?” he asked.
“No. That’s why I’m here,” I replied, worried.
A pang of guilt hit me as Lizzie applauded.
Good one! Never mind it wasn’t intentional — you get a shot of endorphins!
The doctor maintained a neutral expression as he continued.
“I mean, for money.”
Lizzie wanted to tell him she was a prostitute assassin and loved her work.
“A tech company pays me to manage complex projects, and I write about Artificial Intelligence, current events, and consciousness.”
I was still in yesterday’s pajamas, needed a haircut, and didn’t care.
The doctor showed a hint of doubt as his eyebrows nearly met in the center.
He asked if I knew the day, who the president was, and where I lived.
“I’m not good with dates. I spent three days coloring for a contest, but I missed the deadline. It’s either the Ides of March or the Next of Never.”
Dammit. Lizzie celebrates and likes to exploit confusion.
Down Lizzie. We need treatment before you make us bleed out!
I sensed the doctor was growing frustrated over wasted time.
He held up his hand and asked how many fingers he was holding up.
Lizzie waved back, desperate to ask if he was trying to make the Vulcan salute or a peace sign.
“Two!” I shouted her intrusive voice down. She distracted me, scrolling infinite sarcastic reactions to his concerned expression.
“Are you on any medications?” It’s a typical question, but the way he asked made Lizzie want to sink her fangs into his neck.
“Anything for mood, or brain problems?” he added.
I struggled mentally to keep a metaphoric boot on Lizzie’s throat.
“Brain problems? I used to take antidepressants and have nystagmus.”
“Your eyes aren’t darting. Take off your glasses.”
The view out the front window changed. I’d appreciated the Bird of Paradise plant on the way in.
A quick neurological exam revealed my life-long weirdness of pupils spasming faster than most would notice and feet that recoil in the wrong direction from a sharp instrument.
Lizzie wanted to demonstrate her disappearing pulse trick with an extended arm and head turned in the opposite direction. She’s been our ticket to brain scans in the past, not divulging an old broken neck and impinged nerves when I was out of it.
She’s still trying to find a way to make my head spin without killing us.
The hospital couldn’t find a history of bleeding ulcers and I was still coherent so my concerns over internal bleeding received skepticism.
I tried to advocate for necessary testing.
“If you do a blood test I won’t have enough hemoglobin. I’m in pain and feeling brain dead,” I explained.
After excusing himself, another nice doctor appeared.
Lizzie tried to convince me she’d seen him in a video in Istanbul extorting wealthy tourists for outrageous bar tabs.
I tried to avoid rolling my eyes as I realized he was a psychiatrist. Keeping Lizzie the Lizard Brain fully on mute, this doctor cleared me once I produced an insurance card with a Silicon Valley tech firm’s name.
“You told the other doctor you like to color?” he asked.
“Don’t you?” Lizzie was breaking free and wanted to ask if he finger paints with his poo.
A blood transfusion and too many tests and meds to count followed.
When the anesthesiologist said he was going to use Ketamine Lizzie let out a cheer and tried to fist-bump him, cheering, “My Man! Let’s party!”
Obviously, we survived. I insisted on a quick release before Lizzie the Lizard Brain could get us locked in the psych ward.
Lizzie wants to bounce around like Tigger the hyper cartoon tiger, but she’s on time-out.
Thanks for reading. This has minimal exaggeration of dumb Lizzie’s antics.
[Update 10/23/23] Lizzie Lizard Brain has been evicted from Patricia Jeanne’s profile. Her influence cannot be extinguished (heaven forbid!), but she needs her own space to be as weird and unchained as her icy cold, rock-hard, degenerate heart desires. She announced her independence in pictures and insanity.
I hope you’ll follow and enjoy her there.
Lizzie: Who wants to play? I say we add oil paints to Patricia Jeanne’s Ensure. I stole pretty pills from the nurse — I wonder what they do?
Recent social concerns (or, Why I have ulcers)
On the lighter side —
