NO TIME NO PAIN

NO TIME NO PAIN.

    It is a bit difficult to put an exact time, if there was such a thing, or even an exact date if truth be told on when this phobia took hold. In the scheme of things it is not really important and with my memory I would probably get it wrong anyway. Yes, I used to suffer from Chronophobia. However when you hear the full story you will have some understanding of why it is suffice for me to now say, time does not matter to me.

    I mean it really does not matter. I realise I have all the time in the world, no longer do I feel time is more in the realm of rushing away than the universally accepted slipping away. Worrying about my mortality has evaporated. My anxiety complex is no more than a distant memory. In actual fact I truly do have all the time in this, or any other world. I know that does sound a bit like a contradiction but hear me out.

    First let me explain how an unusual medical problem is totally to blame for the beginning of my current situation. According to my local medico, Dr Crow, if I did not have a blockage, which is stopping blood getting any further down my legs than my knee, removed it could result in one or two amputations. Would you have to think very hard about having the necessary procedure done, I mean seriously would you? I certainly did not. I have formed quite an attachment to my left and right legs, using them on a daily basis for the best part of eighty five years. Well I suppose it is eighty four really, I did not start actually walking until my second year. Perfecting using them in tandem came naturally to me, you know, left, right, left, sort of thing, one after the other.

     Unfortunately, as my wife will tell you, typical of the male species, I couldn’t find the time so I put off going to the Specialist until the condition became unbearable. OK considering how it has turned out, I am not too proud to admit on this occasion her assertion is correct.

    Prognosis for the procedure to alleviate the problem was good, the date set for last Thursday January 18^th. I believe I have now been here, in what I believe is the recovery ward after the surgery, for at least six hours without anyone coming to check on me. I don’t have my watch, so I am only guessing. Thing started going through my mind, questions I needed answers to. Where are any of those dedicated nurses who promised me a drink and a sandwich when I woke? Apparently Ham and cheese is the most popular choice, certainly not mine, however I would even be happy with that if I can get some attention.

    Before surgery it was a never ending procession of light blue uniform clad nurses asking the same questions over and over. Can you tell me your name? What is your date of birth? Can you tell me what day it is? Why are you here? Do you know where you are? etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. If it wasn’t one of that ilk it was one in dark blue ‘scrubs’ wearing those silly head coverings asking exactly the same questions. I can only assume light blue nurses and dark blue nurses are not allowed to speak to each other while on duty. Last thing I recall is the junior Doctor, Bridget, was that her name? Doesn’t matter really, she was holding an oxygen mask over my face and telling me I was ‘doing good’. Doing good for God’s sake, all I was doing was breathing, one of several procedures I have perfected over many years.

   Next thing is I wake up in this very small room with the temperature about the same as I would think it would have to be in a morgue. I have no recollection of what mark for breathing efficiency the good Doctor Bridget gave me. Anyway be that as it may, a voice answered my unsaid thoughts.  I think it is marvelous how someone can actually do that

   “That is because you actually are in the morgue. The mark you are looking for is of no consequence, failure counts for nothing here.”

     “As pleased as I was to hear the voice, the words were not quite any I understood. My reaction was predictable I said, “That is not funny”, and I asked, “who is speaking?” I could not see anyone. In fact I could not see a bloody thing. From memory the conversation started with the strangest offer.”

    “I’ll slide you out so we can talk more freely.”

    “Slide me out? Out of where?”

    “Where you are.”

    “And where is that? It is pitch black in here.”

    “You haven’t twigged yet have you?”

    “Twigged? What is ‘twigged’ supposed to mean? How does one twig? What are you talking about? Come on man, make sense. I don’t have the time to play your silly games.”

    “Questions, questions, questions, Mr Poach you actually have all the time in the world, this one or any other. In our World, the one you have recently entered, Tempus has completely Fugited. It does not exist. The answer to your twigging question is quite simple, you didn’t make it.”

    “Didn’t make it? Please, at least try to make some sort of sense? What is it I didn’t make?”

    “I’ll try and put this as gently as I can. When I say you didn’t make it, I mean through the surgery. To be succinct you died on the operating table, you Mr Poach are in fact quite dead.”

    “That also is not funny. Is that a medical joke you use on patients to see their reaction or get their blood pressure up? If it is take it from me I fail to see the humorous side and my blood pressure is fine, 140 over 80 the last time the light blue nurse took it. Enough of that, who are you?”

    “Mr Poach you no longer have a blood pressure and the procedure you were having did not include extracting your sense of humour, loosen up a little. My name is Cerberus, you must have heard of me.”

    “Is that Doctor Cerberus or a light or dark blue uniform nurse Cerberus? Doesn’t matter really, can you just get me out of wherever I am? I want to see who I am talking to. I have places to go and I am running out of time to get there.””

    “Seeing me is definitely one thing you do not want to do Mr Poach. Look, it has already been a very trying day. With all these wars going on the influx I have had to process this week has been far in excess of my budget. And don’t even think about suggesting increased staff levels. At the moment we are backed up to next Tuesday, no one is going anywhere, and you sir are included in the no one. I will get you out, if you complain you will be put straight back in and you will also go to the end of the queue.”

    “Queue? What fucking queue?”

    “Well there you go, no sooner out than you rack up a double demerit for using unseemly words. A word to the not so wise Mr Poach, WATCH YOUR MOUTH, Sunshine.”

    “Sunshine? I’m dreaming aren’t I? I am going to wake up and find I was having a nightmare. It’s the drugs they pumped into me isn’t it?”

    “No Mr Poach, you are quite dead and on the bottom of the waiting list to be moved on.”

    “That does it. I do not have the time for your nonsense. I want to either speak to whoever is in charge of this asylum or be woken out of my nightmare. Pick one.”

    “First of all there is no such thing as time as you know it. No need to hurry on my account. Secondly let’s go with the speaking to me selection. I am Cerberus. I am in charge, something I have been doing for centuries, guarding the gates.”

    “Oh are you that Cerberus? The one who guards the gate and doesn’t let people out of Hell, Cerberus? We are on camera aren’t we? Do you get to wear a three headed dog uniform with snake things wriggling on top to entertain the patients? Come on man, time is on the wing, I have places to go and people to see, I cannot afford to waste any more time playing your games.”

    “Well yes you can, time is of no consequence now you are here. To each of your questions Mr Poach I have to be perfectly honest and tell you they do lack originality, I have heard them all before, many times. Technically it is the gates to the Underworld I guard, not Hell, so best you understand the difference, not that you will be given a choice. You will go where I send you.”

    “You say I am dead, right? OK, tell me how I can hear you.”

    “I will explain the system to you. I will only do it once, please pay attention. You are, or were prior to your demise, eighty five years of age, well past the use by date for men in Australia which normally cuts out around the eighty first year.

   You are one of those who slipped through the net, so to speak. At some time and for whatever reason known only to your good self you started worrying about how much time you had left on Earth. You became chronophobic. A condition we have eradicated here you will be pleased to learn. No such thing as time, nothing to fear.

   So what did you do? You stopped drinking and as if that wasn’t bad enough you stopped smoking as well. That really upset the order of things. You were expected much earlier, that is until you did both of those things. In your case we were originally working on well before the normal use by date if truth be told. In order to achieve a balance in our numbers we blocked a couple of arteries hoping you would ignore the signs and just demise gracefully in your sleep.

    The plan was working beautifully until your wife insisted you see a Doctor. Your reaction was unpredictable. You actually took notice. Totally upset the apple cart that most unexpected of reactions did. You know the rest, we had to use the ‘fail on the breathing test’ option and voila, you join the ever increasing throng I have to deal with. Order is restored. Things here are not much different to where you left, except you answer to me, not your wife.”

    “If, and this is one extremely big if, if for just one minute I accept your premise that I am dead, not dreaming, what happens next?”

    “First you have to accept the concept of time not existing in any other form than what you want it to be. Your fears of wasting time, or as you have repeated, not having the time, are mute. Take as an instance your one minute you mentioned. Where you came from it represents a fleeting sixty seconds and it is gone forever. Before you are allocated a specific destination from here you have all the time in the world to enjoy your unending minute. It may never end if that is your preference”

    “My concern with that Mr Cerberus would be which world? The prospect of joining your Underworld does not conjure up great feelings of joy, particularly as you have snakes coming out of your three dog heads. Let me think about it.”

    “Take all the time you need Mr Poach.”

    “If I am truly dead I really do have all the time in the world.”

    “At last you understand.”