Bernard goes beyond.

Bernard goes beyond.

Hi,

Well, I’m sure you’re aware of the latest events around Bernard being shot in the chest with a carrot – if not you can catch up here – which has left us all very worried about his health.

To get you up to date, it wasn’t until several hours after he’d been carted off in the ambulance, following Max getting so upset about what he described as Sebastian and I doing yoga ‘doggy style’in my garden, that I managed to get through to the emergency department. The head nurse left me on hold as she went to see what had happened to poor Bernard.

Now, as you likely know, Bernard recently had a heart transplant following a Tazering incident, and we were all most concerned that he may have been severely hurt by the flying vegetable. Additionally, Max was getting increasingly worried about the idea that he may have committed a crime.

I had the phone in my kitchen on speaker, as Max and I waited to be transferred. I remember the moment in some detail, as I had just finished freshening my nail polish and I couldn’t very well hold the cell. Really, though, that scarlet color is simply to die for!

I asked Max to paint my toe nails, as I waited on hold. I was standing there on one leg, my other foot on a bar stool, my tight leggings showing the well defined shape of my legs, as Max painted my toes. You know, you might think me a little cruel, but I do get a little thrill from the fact that his eyes would drift up my leg from time to time. Torturing the puppies is a secret pleasure of mine!

“Is that Fiona Dobson,” came the nurses voice.

“It most certainly is,” I replied.

“Yes, Ms. Dobson. Bernard has you listed as his primary contact.”

“Of course he does!” I said, attempting to keep the frustration from my voice.

“Well, Ms. Dobson, I’m sorry to tell you this…”

At that moment Max’s hand shakily managed to paint one of my toes.

“Just a moment,” I said, then turning to Max, “for goodness sake, Max. Please be more attentive!”

I turned back to the phone, “Go on, dear,” I said.

“Yes,” she continued, “I’m sorry but I have to tell you…”

“Max!” I shouted, as he slipped once more. “Do be careful!”

The nurse continued, “I’m sorry but Bernard is no longer with us.”

There was a pause, and Max fell pale. I took the phone off speaker mode, and said to the nurse, “But … How?”

“He’s no longer in the emergency department,” continued the nurse. “He’s been transferred to the Intensive Care Unit, he’s scheduled for heart surgery later today.”

Now, I am sure you know I am not an unkind individual. However, I do confess I thought briefly about leaving Max in his growing sense of panic. Mentally, he was already gathering a few things and ready to head to Mexico.

I arranged to visit in the morning, and hung up the phone.

“Don’t worry, Max. Bernard’s having surgery. I’m sure he’s got a good chance of a full recovery.  It was a nasty accident, that’s all. We can go to see him in the morning.”

With that, Sebastian entered the kitchen, doing his very best to be helpful. “I feel I should come, too. After all, it was my exhaust pipe from which he was hurt. I feel a kind of karmic obligation.”

“How thoughtful you are,” I said. “Max, my nails aren’t going to paint themselves!”

“Perhaps I could take him one of my nice recordings of relaxing sounds. That’s sure to make him feel better. Fiona, what’s the most relaxing sound you can think of. Whale song? The sound of the wind through a forest?”

“I think the sound of the door closing as Amanda leaves my house following one of her visits. That always leaves me feeling better,” I said.

“I think whale song might be more relaxing,” murmured Sebastian.

With that we did our best to put our fears for Bernard to rest. Max continued to do my toe nails and we resolved to visit the hospital the following morning.

And so it was that we decided to visit the following morning, Max and Sebastian bringing both guilt and karmic balance, and I some perfectly painted nails and a rather smart pleated skirt.

I shall let you know how things went next week.

😊

Fiona

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Zipper Job!

Before you ask, yes, Bernard had a heart transplant, a suitable donor having been found, apparently from Baton Rouge. They wouldn’t tell me much about the donor, they get a little funny about that sort of thing.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you can learn what happened to Bernard HERE. I will get around to telling you about our maginificent new crossdressers in a moment, but first a little of what’s been happening in my life!

Naturally, Sylvester and I hurried through to see Bernard the moment he regained consciousness after the surgery, but we got held up by Sylvester wanting to have breakfast. He usually eats a full grilled breakfast at the start of the day.

“I have to get some meat inside me!” He protested.

I must say, I felt much the same way. I had cereal.

We hurried through to the ward from a nearby restaurant. As I walked into the private room I’d arranged for Bernard, at the hospital, I found him sitting in a floral gown, reading a Harlequin Romance novel. Bernard was more of a Sports Illustrated kind of guy, so I found this a little surprising.

I must say, from the moment I walked into the private room, I felt his energy had changed. I am very sensitive to such things. It’s as though I can feel something, right inside me. Perhaps you know the feeling.

“Oh, Bernard,” I said.  “I am just happy there’s something deep inside you pulsating and throbbing away, pumping life through your veins.”

I am sure he blushed. I can’t think why.

Sylvester looked at Bernard and said in his gruff mechanics voice, “So, how you doin’, buddy?”

“I feel wonderful,” said Bernard. “I guess there must have been something wrong with my heart for quite a while.”

“What’s it like getting a new one?”

“Well, strictly speaking this one’s second hand.
Reconditioned. Some poor soul who died in a car crash… It feels magnificent. Praise the lord, I feel reborn.”

I looked at Sylvester, frowning. That sure as hell didn’t sound much like Bernard.

“It was extaordinary,” Bernard went on. “I had this strange experience during the operation. Like I was being drawn into the light. And I felt this powerful movement really deep inside me. In the core of who I am.”

“Yes,” nodded Sylvester. “I know what you mean. I’ve had that. It was probably gas.”

“Shut up,” I snapped at Sylvester.

“I feel,” and at that moment Bernard looked vacantly off into the distance as though deep in some private thought, “changed.”

“Changed?” I asked.

“Changed.” He said, seeming to savor the word.

I sensed I was talking to a very different person. I suppose surgery does change us, but this felt somehow different.

By the time we left the hospital Bernard’s face was buried once more deep inside his romance novel, a couple of bike magazines and a Sport Illustrated left untouched by his bedside. I must say it is all very odd.

I will keep you abreast of developments.

🙂

Fiona