Painkiller by N.J. Fountain Read Free Book Online Page B

amputation.’ I can hear a grin in his voice but his medical precision compels him to take my question seriously. ‘This is quite a different principle. Amputation is designed to trick the nerves into forgetting about the pain. The process of applying capsaicin patches to the body is to block the signal of the nerves that transmit pain to the brain.’
    ‘Capsaicin what?’
    ‘Patches. Yes.’
    ‘Which is…?’
    ‘Oh. Please excuse me. Capsaicin is a compound extracted from very powerful chilli peppers. Very hot. It is commonly used in pepper sprays and to repel rodents and insects.’
    ‘You’re not really selling this to me, doctor.’
    ‘It has been proving very successful with arthritic pain and post-cancer care, and they are expanding trials to look at how it can deal with chronic pain management. To use an analogy…’
    I smile.
    ‘… it is like a farmer burning the stubble from his field, so that nothing may grow back.’
    ‘So you’re going to burn me so I don’t care about the pain any more.’
    There goes his funny little laugh again. ‘You are making light of this, Monica, and I think you are right to make light of it. I do not wish to get your hopes up. It is an experimental trial, yes,’ he continues, ‘and there may be unpleasantness. I am not telling you to do this, but if you do agree, I would do all I can to ensure you make an informed choice before you say yes.’
    ‘I’ll do it,’ I say.
     
Monica
     
    Of course I said yes. I was hooked the moment he said ‘new treatment’.
    I go home and celebrate. I celebrate by going to the toilet.
    One of the side effects of the pain is constipation. The muscles contract with the pain; shoulders, neck and… down below. Things don’t work as well as they should, and I do get backed up, and I have to deal with it.
    My body leads me upstairs, into the bathroom, and the unwelcome form of a pale blue ring of porcelain. I squirm on the seat, staring at the puddle of knickers around my ankles, staring at my forehead reflected in the bottom of the mirror. I count the agonising bullets as they splash into the water. Sometimes I lunge forward and I see my whole face, stretching and wincing, grinning savagely ( like a mad woman ).
    I stand, wobbling uncertainly, clutching at the towel rail, and I scuttle crab-like around in a circle and look down at the result.
    Two tiny little pellets are bobbing in the pan. Little rabbit pellets.
    I remember my rabbit Jumpy, and crying when I couldn’t remember his name, crying when he died, watching my father going up the path to the back of the garden, the soft flap-flap of the tops of his wellingtons.
    I can remember Mum shouting at Dad for emerging with the red-tipped spade.
How could you be so stupid, Adrian?
    Not now. Don’t think of that. Back on the pan.
    The front door bangs, and I can hear movement downstairs. Sure enough…
    ‘Monica?’
    I can’t answer back. Not now. I can hear him moving about, the
thud
of his briefcase on the kitchen top, and the slow, laborious twenty-two
thuds
on the stairs.
    ‘Monica?’
    ‘In here! In the bathroom.’
    His footsteps come into the hallway. I can see a dark form take shape in the pebbled glass. A huge fuzzy, dark mound.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Won’t be a minute. On the toilet.’
    ‘Take as long as you want.’
    ‘Don’t worry I will.’
    ‘I’ll be down in the kitchen.’
    ‘Wait… I’ve got something to tell you.’
    ‘Oh. Right.’
    ‘Guess what? Dr Kumar has found something that might help me!’
    The fuzzy mound in the glass takes a different shape, bigger, as he comes closer to the bathroom door.
    ‘Oh really? Great. You mean an operation?’
    ‘Not quite. They put patches on your body and burn you with this super-jalapeno. It’s meant to stun, or kill off the nerves under the skin.’
    ‘Which is it? Stun or kill off?’
    ‘I’m not sure. Why?’
    ‘Well, killing all the nerves? Won’t that mean you won’t be able to feel