They're testing my blood flow, measuring my nerve responses. Shackling me to a table, sticking me with pins, zapping me with electro-shocks, tightening collars around my thighs calves, ankles and big toes. There is no one to hold my hand or calm me. My mouth is dry as I anticipate each shock, each sting, each tightening. Nasal discharge pours into my throat. I can't speak without stuttering or slurring. They stare at screens, chart lines and graphs, do not make eye contact.
The soft music playing on the intercom makes me close my eyes. I try to slow my breathing, inhale deeply and hold it. If I dare twitch when I shouldn't I can only imagine the consequences. I can hear low voices to my left coming from the waiting room. Ominous voices. Perhaps they are discussing what to do with me if my scores fall below a certain point.
Ow. That one hurt, but I dare not verbalize this. I try to small talk them, but my words clothes-line like damp laundry. They are uninterested in my opinions. I am a slab of flesh, pale and vein covered. The whirring of the collars, the bands tightening; my body tenses. Why couldn't they give me a lollipop before the procedures?
I hate my podiatrist.
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