Will the Real John Callahan Please Stand Up?by John Callahan
In this definitive quasi-memoir, John Callahan comes squeaky clean about himself. Victim of an automobile accident at age twenty-one that left him a quadriplegic, he tells it like it was and like it is and like it's probably good that it won't be. There are vignettes - full of disarming frankness, bile, and (can you believe it?) sensitivity; there are, of course,… See more details below
In this definitive quasi-memoir, John Callahan comes squeaky clean about himself. Victim of an automobile accident at age twenty-one that left him a quadriplegic, he tells it like it was and like it is and like it's probably good that it won't be. There are vignettes - full of disarming frankness, bile, and (can you believe it?) sensitivity; there are, of course, cartoons, some never before publishable (guess why); and there are letters, some heart-to-heart, some knife-to-throat, that he shares shamelessly. You could hate John Callahan, but you could end up loving him too.
- HarperCollins Publishers
- Publication date:
- Product dimensions:
- 8.33(w) x 8.20(h) x 0.74(d)
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This morning Franny asked me if I've given any mire thought to the surgeries I'm supposed to have. I hate it when she prods me on this matter. I'm supposed to undergo a hemorrhoid-reduction operation as well as some kind of procedure to blast out a couple of kidney stones. With a joke, I always skirt the subject in mock disgust. The truth is I am terrified of surgery at this time in my life. It's not actually the surgery, but it is the anesthetic part I'm afraid of. The idea of being chemically bludgeoned into unconsciousness seems hellish to me. It's like loss of all control, a slipping away, a kind of dying, but I can't very well request a priest there to read Psalm 23 to me as I'm pushed along.
I've had my share of major surgeries along this joyful path of quadriplegia. I'm no novice! I have no great fear that the surgeons will not be adept at the procedures they undertake. It is only the part about slipping away that horrifies me. I'm sure it's due to what I'm going through right now in therapy, a kind of power struggle deep in my subconscious or something. Lately, even my therapist has turned against me! He's been gently, but consistently, prodding me about recognizing my physical needs. (I'm thinking of getting another therapist).
Anyway, I've decided on a plan for dealing with the problem that might please all parties concerned. I will send a letter to my surgeon expressing the fact that I am willing to undergo the needed procedure, but only with a slightly altered method of anesthetic administration. I will request that the anesthesiologist purchase one of those tranquilizer rifles that game wardens use to put big-game animalsto sleep. I will suggest this doctor simply lie in wait for me somewhere around town and shoot me one day when I'm going about my business and blissfully unaware of anything. My body could then be transported to the hospital for the needed surgery.
All I'm really asking is to be treated as humanely as one of our creatures of the wild. If a Kodiak bear can be gently dispatched to unconsciousness, why can't I? Must I rent a bear's costume and run around in the woods to achieve this end?
Copyright ) 1998 by John Callahan
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