A. Blinken

I woke up one morning with a painful growth right where I couldn’t see it. It hurt like hell when I sat down, like a third, angry cheek. I went to the clinic to see a doctor who can almost shave. He looks at the problem from way back and says "it’s an infection. I’ll give you some boxoloxlyn to keep it from eating the rest of you, but we have to address the mass itself. What insurance do you have?" I told him, "I don’t have insurance." Now his face turns grave; "this condition is often fatal." "A butt mass is often fatal?" "No," he says, "being without insurance. Go to the front desk and ask them what we can do for you." At the counter I struggle to explain to the woman behind the window, and all the young and old waiting behind me, that I have a mass and I need to figure out what I can afford to do. She says, "it will be about $3,568.00 to remove it." "Yikes!" I say, "I can’t afford that. What else do you have?" The woman gets my financial situation and shakes her head. "If you had a little less value in your house, we could get State help and we could simply remove it and stitch you up. If you were a woman, there’s a grant that pays for liposuction, and the surgeon could suck it out. If you were a little older we could replace your hip and take it out on the way. If you were a child we could remove it and file against your parents. If you were a teenaged female athlete there are funds to fix it provided you were in a sport that requires the use of that part of the body." She finally shakes her head. "I’m sorry, I can’t find a category for you. My daughter needs a car, what kind of car do you have?" I left the office and went home. I cut a hole in a piece of foam so I could sit. A couple of days later I saw Bud Henkins, the horse-shoer. He’d seen that condition plenty in stock and removed the problem with a hoof knife. Later that day I had a momentary sharp pain in my chest, and I wondered if Bud could get his hoof knife into my aorta.