It’s difficult, sometimes, to intentionally stray from certain subjects, to enjoy that space you’ve finally put between you and that which remains unexplainable.
Only 15 days ago we chose to step back and our position really hasn’t changed in that way. Oh, there will be trips, but they will be like the bottle an alcoholic hides in his drawer and no matter the addictive flavor of these experiences, no matter the strength of their pull, there will be regret each time we weaken and refresh our memories.
I was at the hospital recently getting a treatment. I am thankful for the port placed in my chest years ago to make easier the introduction of the medicines. What they might have to do with the subject of field research, I’m sure, is confusing, but, if you’ll humor me I’m sure you’ll soon see the connection.
There is a detail about my port that has always struck me as odd. When it is accessed at just the right point, through the hole that has been permanently formed in my skin from hundreds of piercings, it is painless, without sensation at all. Only the briefest feeling of minute pressure and sometimes not even that.
One nurse, in particular, amazes me by her aim. She is the Annie Oakley of needles. She most often performs the administration of the medicine in just the manner I’ve related, completely painlessly. I have to look down to even tell it’s in me.
Well, as we talked about this one day she mentioned, as she had patiently many times before, that there is a desensitizing that takes place, a scar tissue built up by the REPEATED use of that spot.
After she left the room I said to Lori that it was odd it was like the hole in the back of my neck, and then for the first time it hit me. It was numb as well. The skin around it had sensation.
I could definitely feel a pin prick. But the hole, itself, through all the exploring of it with sewing needles and even a long hairpin had been carried out with no pain or discomfort at all.
Now for the importance of this to really set in you have to understand the details. One detail was that to examine its depth a large sewing needle had been slowly inserted into it, point first. This was sterilized first, but, the needle was almost lost in the hole, not reaching its bottom.
The position of this hole was just two inches to the right of my spine, just a half inch below my hair line. The hairline is odd as well. It is much higher than the normal hairline at the back of the neck. When a hairpin was used to figure the exact depth, it was about 2- 1/2 inches long. During this examination the longest needle we had on hand been used, the eye being inserted first. It caught on two foreign objects dragging them up and out.
Again, this was done with little or sensation. The first object that was removed was an odd, white object, like a bony boomerang with pointed ends, very tiny. Within seconds, in the palm of my hand, it turned the darkest black, right before our eyes.
The second object was like a tiny strip of film. It was iridescent and had, at one end, a club like shape, (like a club on a playing card.) These were kept in a medicine bottle and taken to a nurse in Kentucky, who agreed to look both over under a microscope for us. She felt they were nothing and threw them away, or at least that was the story she told us later.
Have you seen the connection yet, and the deeper meaning in it, the possible explanation for it? It goes without saying that most bodies are basically the same in most of our experience. Extremes of heat and cold, contusions and abrasions and other trauma to the skin produce mildly or sometimes extreme sensations of pain.
Punctures, as well, usually cause an area of temporary soreness, unless that point of entry into the body is reused, over and over, until scar tissue builds there, or other possible conditions rob the area of feeling. My point is – the “new” port in the left side of my chest (the other had been placed in the right side) has had to have been accessed over 200 times. I only recently remember the absence of sensation I’m speaking of, so a conditioning of the area was taking place.
Since the tissue of my neck is just as sensitive as the skin on my back, belly, arms or legs, since I have no neurological problem producing numbness in the central mass, my torso, I have to assume that for that hole on my neck to reach a point of desensitization, a similar entry point had to be created, one not just pierced once, but many times to create the scar tissue necessary for no feeling in it.
My history with hospitals is long and involved. I am sure that during my conscious hospital stays my neck was never approached in such a way, and with the difficulty of getting into my veins being the reason for this port and its earlier predecessor, I see no reason the muscle of the back of my neck would ever become a viable choice. Again, we’re talking about hundreds of punctures being necessary to create a desensitized area.
These would have had to occur in my sleep, because I’m just too wary a person, to not be aware or informed of such a repeated procedure. It makes no sense as long as its left in this clinical realm of thought, unless, of course, it was just one or two or maybe just a few entries, by a tool we’re unfamiliar with. Maybe it can have a lasting, lingering, numbing presence in the wound that remains unfelt, thereby, giving the subject no reason to ever explore it and find what has been left deep inside.
The discovery of this hole and its objects was not after our three years of mysterious trekking around Bates county, it was found much earlier in 2007.
This would mean that if this hole was not created by aliens or some other origin just as fantastic, it was instead a very real remnant of some other form of visitation- one that had to occur on many occasions. If we are assuming it is remotely natural, it, like the condition of the hole in my chest, had to be the product of more than one procedure.
Finally, one of the reasons we turned away from our field work, are taking a break, was due to an event in our home. There was a wide crack that suddenly appeared in a bay window area of our ceiling. This is nothing strange. Old houses fall apart in time. Weaknesses in them become apparent, and this would have been nothing more than an addition to my list of home repairs that someday will be done, except within a couple of weeks of the large opening appearing, it closed. It not only closed but left no mark at all to show its original spot. It was as though it had been either resurfaced with troweled on material, or had never had been there at all.
We are in our middle to late 50’s. We both have physical limitations, but neither of us takes narcotics or hallucinatory drugs. Our grasp of reality and our place in that realm is what we would describe as well developed and well informed.
This was no crack but a one inch wide gap in the ceiling through which the lathing above could be seen. I don’t like that kind of work and if I had done it, and done it this well, I’d still be bragging about it. Lori isn’t physically capable of that kind of work any longer. This wasn’t done by us, and now buying this house, it wasn’t a responsibility of the man were purchasing it from.
These sort of mysteries can be interesting even fun, until you start to understand your place in them, until you come to know that being informed and aware doesn’t shield you from blind siding facts, and that a profusion of locks don’t guarantee your security in a world where the normal answer is more and more becoming the obsolete one.