| the Surgery Triplets |
For a woman who
glories in writing blood, sex and violence, I am almost comically squeamish.
Paper cuts put me into a coma and, to this day, though I have watched the movie
a hundred times and consistently include it among my top ten favourites, I have
yet to watch the open heart surgery scene in All That Jazz.
So when one of
the bears needs an operation, it’s inevitably Ter to the rescue. My aging brown
bear, Rufus, needs more paw surgery. He’s already had one foot and his other
hand refurbished, and he’s in good company: Elliot needed stitches after a
mysterious football incident tore a seam in his leg (a chronic injury that yet
plagues him when it’s convenient), and the Emperor Ming, aka “the Big Fat
Panda”, had back surgery a few years ago. Ter is meticulous, compassionate, and
not afraid of stuffing. Even the most anxious bears trust her. I, on the other
hand, would be a basket case and the patient would react accordingly. Like
children with a hysterical mother, my bears are more highly-strung than their
cousins; bedtime is a nightly circus because I want them to settle NOW and they
must have their cuddles and smooches and drinks of water … *sigh*
But back to
Rufie’s surgery. He and I have been in denial for a while, but when one of his
inner beads popped from his paw the other night, we both freaked out and the
appointment was settled.
Paging “Doc”
Ter!
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