Читать книгу Spiritfarmer...the other secrets - Hugh Sr. Mann - Страница 8

Hyper-thyroid is the biological equivalent of a supercharger, and this little gem provided me with energy, strength, and speed beyond that of a normal person.

As much of my work was mechanical and labor-intensive, it was handy for getting extra work accomplished by avoiding the necessity of time-consuming devices such as jacks, hoists, or helpers. I did, however, lose my appetite for arm-wrestling after snapping an opponents forearm in two.

Since earliest memory, I had been fascinated by mechanical devices, but also by distant horizons. I gravitated toward a business that involved heavy equipment and long distance transportation.

Married at 20, business owner at 21, and father at 28.

A decade, a million miles, a business, a family, ...and while convention was suggesting that I had "arrived", ...my soul, inexplicably,yet clearly, ...still yearned.

And when I was awakened one night to discover my daughter of three conversing with a being in her room that I could neither hear, or see, I knew I had forsaken the magic for too long.

An attempt at a few years of "conventional satisfaction" put further chinks in my armor, and of course would not quell the longing of my spirit. Minor drawbacks to my "supercharger" were starting to appear, ...little things, ...like my heart stopping accompanied by a loud ringing in my ears. Invariably it would restart, but the process was somewhat annoying.

I suspected that one day it may not restart, and investigated my options. In those days hyper-thyroid was a rare disease for which the only band-aid was a pill you could ingest for one year. Reason being, it carried a nasty side effect of liquefying one's bone marrow.

How does that even qualify as a treatment?

Remember my observation regarding "credentials"?

I was further informed that there was, however, a radical (read: "uncontrollable") new "nuclear'' medical procedure involving the ingestion of radioactive iodine,which in turn killed some indeterminate portion of the thyroid.

Or I could just die.

So, being the selfish, fun-slut that I am, I pondered that bevy of attractive options at length, ...for five seconds, ...and craftily chose the one that did not involve CERTAIN death.

I entered into a process of a formidable battery of requisite analysis, interspersed with snippets of overheard conversation involving "guinea pigs".

I assumed the staff must have been referring to their children's pets.

And so, the day arrived that I stood, part incredulous, part exasperated, thinking "how the hell did I get to this?!" And a jolly fellow in a lead suit emerged from a lead-encased cubicle, to present a smoldering vial with his lead-gloved hands.

It was not deemed necessary that I be protected, as,after all, I was drinking the stuff!

Bottom's up!