Arts and Crafts

This story is also available on Pulp Metal Magazine http://pulpmetalmagazine.webs.com/fictionaprmay2010.htm


      I'm not sure how aware people today are of what we were doing and as I look back, I'm not sure many people at the time realized it either. We, however, thought of ourselves as a pretty substantial group. A strong niche movement in the sciences. We were fighting back against the bureaucracy and politics of medicine. We were there for everyone who dreamed their entire lives of helping others, of restoring health, but never had the money or connections to gain admittance to a top University. These people were on the outside,but they were smart enough and without question they were more passionate. We planned to challenge all the structure, all the degrees, all those God damn letters trailing doctor's names. It wasn't about the prestige or the money. We performed surgery for the challenge and the thrill and because we could. We didn't need anything other than our own intellects to permit us to..

I don't like to say there was a specific point when I got into home surgery; I like to think I always did it. As a kid, I frequently carved open various segments of my anatomy. I searched beneath my skin, exploring the contents of my body; unfolding tissues and prodding at bones. As I grew, the incision in itself became my artwork. I made incisions several inches long and stitched them together so neatly and perfectly, in days they looked only like scratches. I was always a surgeon. However, it was after college, when I joined SHM and had the opportunity to really influence the medical world and display every man's surgical talents. Surgical Hobbyist Magazine was a new extension of the leading internet source of information for at-home non-professional surgery. The cost of medical school and competition for entrance had crowded out a generation of medical artists, but we were bringing them back to the trade and, in many cases, these self-taught surgeons were developing techniques to exceed hospital standards. The best case of outstanding new technique came from a young contributer, Evan Archer.

Dr. Archer was a twenty year old biology student at James Meyers College in New Hampshire. A year earlier, he had developed the method for home-rhinoplasty using an equipment kit that cost only $85 and just $50 of anesthesia. We, at the magazine, were impressed by his talent, but Archer floored us when it was found he performed the initial operation on himself to repair his own deviated septum. From then on, he was a surgical legend. As it can be imagined, I was thrilled to learn that the magazine had selected me to travel to New Hampshire to interview him for a special issue. I anticipated him revealing the next progression in personal surgery.

Archer had a modest college apartment, where he lived with a zombie-like Business Management student that Archer was keeping on an intense regiment of mushrooms and MDMA in order to cure his ADHD. Immediately he stacked a pile of notebooks and journals into my arms detailing the results of his roommate's treatment. “Surgery is a passion of mine,” he explained to me, “but my medical approach extends much further.” Archer explained he had an ill brother that had been staying with them as well, and that his brother Franklin had been the inspiration for his surgical accomplishment.

“I honestly respect what you do and what the magazine does,” he told me, “but I think we need to push the movement further, expose more people to this opportunity. The only people who read SHM are already in the hobby or H.P. Lovecraft nerds that like the novelty of it.”

“I know what you mean,” I corrected him, “but we do have limitations-”

“Stop it! Stop what you're saying. You're a hobby writer and you write what people want to hear. Some one needs to start telling everyone else. The science is the same, but the application has been made more accessible and affordable. This is a cause we need to stand strongly behind, if not for the American health care industry, then for the less developed world.” He declared, waving his arms and stomping about the tiny apartment. He saw great depth in our field and I was excited to hear more of his thoughts.

“If you don't mind,” I asked him, “I'd like to start by asking you where all this passion comes from.”

“I'll show you. And you can show the world in your magazine!” He pushed the coffee table to the wall and kicked some clothes and other objects aside to make a clearing in the center of the room. He stood atop the couch and looked around the room as if viewing a great audience. “Years ago, I was blessed with a little brother. A beautiful soul, but it was carried in a flawed vessel. He has his weaknesses, undoubtedly, and his intellect is developing slowly, but these can be overcome in time. He has suffered from worse though, not by his genetics, but by his society. One that laughs and mocks, that both stares and turns in fear.” His roommate rose from his stupor and stumbled down the hallway to stand by a closed door. “I've cured him. I given him a chance to walk amongst everyone as an equal. I present to you,” he motioned to his roommate who slowly opened the door, “Franklin Archer! The first man to be cosmetically cured of Down Syndrome and without a single hospital procedure.” A tired, wrinkled, young man strutted quietly through the hallway to the spot before Evan. He looked at his older brother with eyes of sad pride. His face was scared, reshaped. His hairline was rigid and manufactured. His thin eyes looked swollen, as did his lips. A thin, sharp, discolored nose protruded out from his face. He stood awkwardly straight and walked with bowed legs. He fixed his eyes on a spot on the wall, tilted back his head and posed as if I were to paint his portrait.

I finished the interview asking simple, practical questions. I asked about his other interests, favorite movie, restaurant, website. I took his picture and several of Franklin. On the way out I dropped my notepad in the street. I took my camera to the police station.