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Show 200 Dr. Chappie, Doubled I am seeing two Dr. Chappies standing by my bed. One next to the other. "Dr. Howard said you were leaking like a sieve. He repaired at least five holes," she is saying, shaking her head. "He was really amazing," she adds, noting the hours he spent, delicately trying to repair the dural holes and find the lost piece of catheter. Dr. Howard had said repairing the dura was like sewing wet Kleenex. I am not unaware that Dr. Chappie was also there in that surgical suite the whole time, administering the anesthesia, keeping me alive. I am not sure which of the two figures before me is the more substantial Dr. Chappie and which is my compromised vision. I notice that she is holding a length of what looks like thin, uncooked, white spaghetti. It is about eight inches long. "He also removed this from the intrathecal space," she is saying, holding it up between her finger and thumb like an unfortunate worm. It is the missing piece of catheter. "It should have never been placed at this length into the dura." She is walking around to the other side of my bed but my eyes cannot track her. I am closing them, hoping to open them towards the directions of her next words to find only one of her. "The other holes were mostly surgically caused," she is saying and I am remembering what Dr. Howard had said about the required care needed by surgeons placing the catheter, about their not |