Now that I know the outcome, the diagnosis isn't so bad.

How do you feel? The Doctor asked.
Awful, not well.
"Fine," I said.
Really? He asked, because you're not.
"No," I said, "Not really."
His bluntness scared me.

The funny thing is, the Doctor said
Though it wasn't funny
The funny thing is that I don't know.
"Don't know what?" I asked.

Don't know what is wrong with you, he said.

At this point my mind did three things, in succession:

1. Shut off
2. Imploded
3. Turned back on.

How do you feel? The Doctor asked.
"I think," I said, "my brain has been fried."
With butter, and maybe some onions, for ten seconds over very high heat.

Yes, the Doctor said, that's definitely where the problem lies.
"In the frying pan?" I asked.
In your brain, he said, and I wonder how I will treat you.
"Yes," I said, "How will you guinea pig me."

But here's the truthing,
I was dead already.