Surgeon
by Peter J. Ponzo
I am writing this story so that others may appreciate my medical
contributions. I am still confused by the reaction of the public and especially
the medical community. Surely they would understand the great strides I had
made. However ... but let me begin at the beginning:
When I was a young man I dreamed of being a surgeon. Imagine seeing
the innards perform, watching the heart pumping blood, grasping some
organ, massaging a gall bladder, a kidney, a pancreas. The mind boggles at
the thought. I always felt that many features are poorly designed. Perhaps
the male urethra should not pass through the prostate gland. If I were in
charge, I would change that. In fact, there are many characteristics that I
would change.
Alas, I failed my medical entrance exam. I wrote correct answers to
incorrectly posed questions. Nevertheless, I was determined to become a
surgeon, so I studied every book in the medical library ... then moved to
Mexico to open a clinic. My parents had left me a pile of money when they
died so I had no need to make money with the clinic. I could fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming a surgeon.
My clinic, Angelo's Clinica Sanatorio, was in a town whose name I can't
pronounce; it's spelled with a bunch of x's and q's and z's. It's just outside
Mexico City, the largest city in North America. I figured no medical
investigation team would show up. After all, I had the knowledge but not the
actual diploma. Well, that's not entirely true. I did get one of them fake
diplomas from an online diploma mill. The certificate cost me $350, is
issued by the Universidad Nacional de Médico and now hangs proudly in
my office at the clinic.
To get business going I advertized in the Xoquizatlan Noticias, a local
newspaper. My ad mentioned prices that were ridiculously low. You could
get an abortion for the price of a hamburger and an appendectomy for the
cost of the milkshake and fries. There were lineups outside my door from
day one. I should mention that my equipment was top of the line, imported
from the best suppliers in the U.S., Canada and Europe. Opthalmoscopes,
cardiovascular ultrasound, anesthesia carts ... I got it all, comin' out the
wazoo.
My first surgery was the removal of a cancerous tumour located on a
woman's breast lobules, a common ductal carcinoma. She was rather flat-
chested, so, while at it, I enlarged her breasts. She was ecstatic and, within a
week, I had a hundred women complaining about breast cancer. Of course,
they were only interested in the plastic surgery so I decided that I'd change
my specialty from internal medicine to cosmetic. Want a nose reduction or
rearrangement? I'm your man. Want a facelift, lip augmentation, liposuction,
tummy tuck? My door is always open.
After dozens and dozens of such cases, I found the rituals boring, nonchallenging. I needed something more audacious, something that would put
my name into the annals of medical history, some procedure that would
advertize itself. It hit me one day while resting on the beach in Veracruz. I
was gazing at the clouds and noting the fascinating geometry, the everchanging designs, the images of faces and bodies. I could do that! I could
change a face or a body to suit the individual! I was so eager to start this new
phase that I cut my vacation short and returned to my clinic.
The surgeries would be drastic, dramatic, novel, sensational. They
would require weeks of recuperation, so I bought several dozen acres of land
in the country and built an apartment complex: Angelo's Recovery
Sanctuary. My patients would be sent there to recover from the surgery.
A fifty year old man came into my clinic complaining about hearing
loss. After a thorough inspection, it was clear that there was a simple
solution that didn't require a hearing aid. I simply increased the size of his
ears. After surgery, his ears extended some four inches from the sides of his
head, rather like a slice of bread. I sent him to the Sanctuary.
The next patient complained that food got stuck in his throat, he had
difficulty swallowing, he choked several times each day. The surgery was
unusual. I created a second mouth on his neck, just below his chin. He could
actually eat with that mouth while talking with his original mouth. I sent him
to the Sanctuary.
A woman was pregnant. She had one child and knew that milk
production would be minimal, yet she insisted on being able to breast feed
her new baby. I created a third breast with ample milk supply. I sent her to
the Sanctuary.
A habitual smoker came in with lung cancer. The malignancy hadn't
metastasized, so I was able to remove the lungs and replace them with pig's
lung. His new lungs were actually external, located in his arm pits so that
they might be replaced if necessary. I sent him to the Sanctuary.
It was the following Spring that George Glimmer came to my clinic. I
had given George a second nose, located in his forehead. He had complained
of difficulty breathing, often gasping for breath. He was angry. He spent four
weeks at the Sanctuary, saw the miracles I had performed and was irate. I
didn't understand his anger. He shot me in the chest.
When the paramedics came they opened my chest, removed the bullet
and took me to the hospital. When I had recovered I was sent to prison and
that is where I am now, writing my sad story. The Sanctuary has been closed
now for some time. Apparently the inmates there didn't want to leave. I
assumed it was because they appreciated the facilities I had provided.
According to the newspapers, it was because of embarrassment. I still don't
understand. Perhaps I never will.