M. SCOTT MORRIS: Doctor can't remove my barbed wire

By M. Scott Morris/NEMS Daily Journal

About a month ago, my sister gave Mom a virus in Georgia; a week later, Mom gave it to me in Mississippi; and a week after that, I gave it to Dad in Alabama.
We’re all doing better. Thanks.
I found myself in Dr. Phil Jones’ waiting room to see about a cough and a congested head.
I don’t enjoy waiting rooms, partly because of the waiting, but mostly because they’re filled with sick people.
As far as I know, I’ve never contracted an illness in a waiting room, but I wash my hands enough times to strip away a layer of skin.
Obsessive-compulsive much?
I usually bring reading material, and play video games on my phone. My goal is to reach a Zen state, where time has no meaning.
That was difficult during this visit because a woman kept complaining about how long she’d been corralled.
It’s hard to lose track of your own concept of time when someone keeps inserting hers.
Still, she got called back, and I followed not long after. The visit with Dr. Jones went quickly, then a nurse showed up and asked me to drop my pants.
I don’t know her name, but if you ever need a shot in the hip, she’s the go-to gal. I barely felt a thing.
Apparently, it was powerful medicine. I was supposed to sit in the waiting room for 15 minutes to make sure my rear end didn’t swell up to Jennifer Lopez-size.
Stepping into the waiting room, I knew I couldn’t stay. I’d served my time.
But I didn’t want adverse reactions to kick in at Crosstown, so I decided to wander around the parking lot.
Somebody at the doctor’s office – maybe the one who’s so handy with a needle – is growing plants around the employee entrance. That was homey.
There’s a fence around the parking lot, and it’s topped with barbed wire, which is the opposite of homey.
At one area, a pine limb had absorbed the barbed wire. In its constant quest for sunlight, that limb str-eeee-tch-eeed through the fence, becoming a hybrid of wood and metal.
You could cut the wood away to reveal the barbed wire, but there’s no way the limb could continue its daily search for light without that tangle of metal at its core.
As my 15 minutes drew to an end, I thought about all the bundles of barbed wire I’ve absorbed over the years, and how any attempt to remove them would prove fatal.
The limb didn’t think; it just grew. Looking back, I did things the same way, getting cut up, scarring over and wondering what happened.
Does anybody avoid this process? Instinct tells me, “No,” but instinct’s responsible for quite a few strips of barbed wire lodged in my system.
It should be noted that I did this philosophical meandering with a cough and a congested head. I’m much better now. Thanks.
M. Scott Morris is a Daily Journal entertainment writer. Contact him at (662) 678-1589 or scott.morris@journalinc.com.

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