The O.R.

Yesterday was tense. I was doing surgery. Delicate, critical surgery. I had to repair a tear in the skin which could have resulted in a complete bleed-out if not repaired correctly, and as with any skin injury there was always the concern about keeping the area flexible, pliable and of course, looking as if nothing had been done. Others before me had tried a large bandaid, but this was the final and necessary step if this patient was going to be saved.

As the rain beat on the roof of the hastily-assembled operating room, my assistant obviously was concerned: a bead of sweat appeared on his furled brow as he bent to his instruments, ready to place in my hand that tool or knife at a single syllable from me. No, the patient was not a relative nor even friend, although they do go back just about one year, but still the anxiety was palpable. Nearby a dog lapped at some water from a plastic bucket and another smaller animal growled his disapproval.

This was the OR at Spas etc. - the last remaining beacon of hope for the tense. The one remaining place where sore backs could be relaxed, where people could find relief from a life without hydromassage. This, was the place where broken, torn ducks were mended. No, we could not hope to return this one to the wild. It had been too long among humans to ever be free again and this injury which brought together this crack team was too severe to every completely go away. In fact you could say this duck was absolutely deflated without the help of we who had cared for it all these years. The machine which was going to have to keep it alive was never going to be more than a few feet away. And it may never see another one of it's kind again. Some would say that this duck, this master of the air - may never have been fated to experience the freedom of the air anyway. Destined, as it were, to stand as a mute sentinel and steer others to their destination, but never fly free itself.

The surgery went well. As well as could be expected. Just about the time my back was aching from stooping over the operating table, it was done. This was now and suddenly beyond the hands of a man. This was now in the hands of science, of chemistry, of destiny. We will not know for sure if all will be well for this large yellow icon of relaxation, but our hopes and best thoughts are with it. The recovery should be complete by tomorrow, if at all. I lay awake thinking about it just an hour or so ago, asking myself, "why? why did it all have to happen? The duck had done nothing, nothing to deserve this."

And as the sleepless seconds mounted, I finally had to rise, record these scattered thoughts for you who care. And let the dog out. To share, here in the ether, the nervous concern that our yellow friend, once so proud and so tall, will once again be able to stand. And not just to stand, but to stand erect, proudly wearing it's dark glasses and making the children smile. Oh, that my life could be so light, so full of air and so empowered by the breeze which could send this amazing animal soaring if not firmly tethered to an earth which would never be the same without it.

Although methinks, perchance at times, I may be just as full of hot air as our yellow friend. . .