An offer I CAN refuse

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I was washing my face this morning – it’s a habit I have – and I thought: what is a face? It’s just a piece of skin stretched over a lump of bone.
As I type this I get a feeling of déjà vu – have I said this before? No matter.

But to get to the point. Freddie said to me, yesterday, ‘How would you feel about a short course of ECT?’

‘What’s that?’, I asked, ‘Educational Corrective Training?’

‘Now, come on George,’ retorted the good doctor, ‘you know quite well what ECT is: Electro-Convulsive-Therapy. I think it might speed up your recovery.’

‘No. Thank you.’

‘It’s not like it was in the old days.’ Persisted my physician. ‘You’ll be under a general anaesthetic, and when you wake up, it’s all over and done with, and Bob’s your uncle.’

‘From what I’ve heard, I probably won’t know whether Bob is my uncle or not; doesn’t a few thousand volts through the temporal lobes sometimes cause a bit of memory loss? Long term? Or short term? I can’t remember which.’

‘Oh, very funny. Yes, there may be some temporary memory loss, but we have to balance that against the positive gains from the treatment.’

‘Well, I’m not having it.’ It was meant to be a firm refusal but it sounded rather petulant.

Freddie sighed. ‘Okay, it’s your choice.’

‘Indeed it is.’ I replied.

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But Anna – where are you? Why have you not responded to my previous post? You’re not on your way back home to Sweden, are you?

All this uncertainty does nothing to help my speedy recovery.

Please communicate with me.

Your lover

George