What Doesn't Kill You...

"There's a burning cigarette in my sandal!  Get it out!  Quick...take it out!" 

My friends looked at my foot, but couldn't see a cigarette, burning or not. 

"Please get it out! It hurts!  It hurts!"
  
"There's nothing there.  There's no cigarette!"

"It's on fire!  Help me!  The fire is moving up my leg."

My friends checked my foot again, but nothing!  A passer-by approached the group.

"I just killed a scorpion over there.  I think your friend was probably stung by it."  
A scorpion! People die from scorpion stings, but I knew, once the fire reached my knee, that I wouldn't die.  I somehow just knew it.  This knowledge, however, did nothing to ease the pain.  I was pain.  Pain was all...agony was the focus.

My cries summoned the proprietor of the restaurant (*see note at the bottom), a scant metre away on the very narrow street.  

"Here, give her this!  It might help." 

In her hand was a suppository. A suppository?  How a suppository would help ease the pain in my leg was beyond my comprehension....but I was willing to try anything at that point.

"Where? Where can I go?"
  
"Come into my restaurant and use the bathroom." 

Face contorted with suffering, tears streaming, I hopped on my good foot behind the good Samaritan.  The lady pointed to the back of the establishment. 

"There's the washroom back there." 

I hobbled toward the door, trying not to scream in my distress, all eyes in the nearly full restaurant on me....the door was locked.  Someone was inside! What could I do?  I looked at the suppository, hoping... no...I had to believe...believing that it would take away the pain.  It had to take it away. I couldn't bear it.  

Spotting an empty table across the room, I made for it. Everyone was watching me, but I was beyond caring.  I got as far away from the clients as I could, squatted down behind one of the chairs placed around the table, pulled down my jeans and panties, and used the suppository. I'd love to be able to tell you that it relieved the torment I was experiencing, but it didn't.  Not one little bit.  Pain reigned.

It reigned throughout the night when my friends, unable to comfort me, had at long last found their beds.  It reigned as I moaned, ground my teeth and paced the living-room floor.  Reigned as I sobbed and whimpered and groused and sniveled...as quietly as possible, not wanting to awaken my companions, who were snoring peacefully in the adjoining rooms.  How could they sleep when I was being tormented like this?  You'd think one of them would've had the heart to stay with me in my misery. Then again, what could they do to help?  Nothing.  Nothing could help me.  In my delirium, I understood for the first time, that we are all alone no matter how much we surround ourselves with family and friends.  When it comes down to it, there are just some things that we have to do solo, and this was one of those things.

I made it through the long night and as the sun rose, the pain ebbed a little...then a little more until later that night all that was left was a red spot on my foot, a terrible memory, and a great fear of scorpions (which, to my mind, are the stuff of nightmares).

They say that what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, but I don't agree. I say that what doesn't kill you, gives you the right to complain about it for years to come!


*I later learned that the proprietor had been stung by scorpions four times...twice in the neck as she lay on the rocks sunbathing, and twice in the arm. Each time (according to her), the duration of the pain decreased.  The first time it lasted(as it did with me) about 28 hours, the second about 20, and so on until the last time, when it lasted about 12 hours.  Don't know if this is true.