I Replaced My Leg Tendons (For Yoga) And Now My Leg Is Haunted

December 8, 2018 by
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Many years ago, there was a rash of killings in my town. It ended up being the work of deranged serial killer Lester Garry Bearl. He was caught, convicted, and sentenced to death. Ever since then, I have vowed to live my life to the fullest, because you never know when some crazy dude is going to come at you with a khopesh and start talking about how much they admire your teeth shape.

My main passion is yoga, which sounds unimpressive, but you don’t even know. I’m super into it. I’ve trained all over the world under many famous yogi and yogini. I have mastered it all. Well, mostly. There’s one pose I just can’t quite get down, no matter how limber my mind, body and spirit are.

The Yoganidrasana, Or Yoga Sleep Pose

I took a butt load of cash to a great tendon surgeon in my area and convinced her to replace my tendons with better ones in order to finally achieve inner peace via longer, more flexible ligaments. We agreed on cadaver tendons over some sort of artificial or animal replacement because I am vegan and anti-polymers. I don’t want that poison leaching throughout my body, and how could I claim to be a vegan if I had pig parts inside of me at all times?

The next day, I showed up at Dr. House’s (no relation) clinic with a Hefty bag full of dug-up legs. I wanted her to have her choice in freshness and length of tendons to work with. She looked at me in horror and nearly called the police before another stack of Benjamins convinced her to forget the misunderstanding and dispose of the evidence/parts in the hospital incinerator. She explained we’d be getting replacement tendons from a donor body, which she was expecting “sometime after midnight next Saturday.” I also caught her later talking on the phone with someone she kept calling “Warden,” making sure the “transfer” was all set and that there would be no “last-minute stays” from someone named “the governor,” whatever all that meant.

On surgery day, I was nervous, but there were many wonderful nurses with many wonderful drugs to calm my fears before being wheeled down to the O.R. There were a lot of cops around, for some reason? That might have been the drugs. I don’t remember anything after being brought to the O.R. until Dr House woke me up in the recovery room hours later.

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The first thing I thought when I opened my eyes was how beautiful her smile was. I’d never noticed before how her teeth flowed from one to the other in perfect harmony. Despite the post-op pain, I felt like I had to reach out and touch them. She took my strained movement as a sign that I was still in too much pain and quickly injected my IV with a magic sleep potion, and I was under again.

After recovering in the hospital for a few days, I was itching to get back into the swing of my routine. (Literally, my aerial yoga swing.) Everyone had told me to take it easy and only follow the recommended physical therapy regimen, but honestly, I felt better than I had in years. Soon, I was flipping and contorting like never before. I just felt so amazingly free from some unimaginable cage.

I started noticing strange charges on my credit cards a few days later. Places I’d never heard of that turned out to be online antique weapons dealers. I was on the phone with my bank when a UPS truck pulled into my driveway. When I opened the package, I saw the most beautiful combination of glinting metal and wrapped leather. Maybe I was sleep-shopping online due to the pain medication? My legs started twitching in anticipation when I reached for the handle. I swung it around experimentally. The control over my body yoga afforded me must have translated to expert sword handling.

The paperwork said it was a handcrafted khopesh.

My legs started itching around my incision sites. I wanted to search for the perfect mouthful of teeth. My toes tried to reach for the khopesh. I tried to stop them, but I wasn’t in control of the lower half of my body. Something whispered “Yes … yes … it’s been so long … ” as I sank to the ground and my legs delicately caressed themselves against the sharp metal of the weapon laying on my floor.

I began to think this was not a side effect of too much Percocet.

I dragged my body over to my phone, my legs fighting me the whole time. I called Dr. House. When she finally answered, I explained what was happening and begged her to tell me if anything weird happened while I was under. She gasped but quickly composed herself and claimed she didn’t speak English before hanging up.

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I was on my own.

As soon as I hung up, my legs kicked themselves over to my laptop and started typing away.

“Listen,” my feet typed, “I know what you want, and I can help. All you need to do for me is get me some teeth, say, every four to six months? I can make sure you don’t make the same mistakes I did. Resistance is futile. Do you know many yoga poses that don’t use your legs?”

I couldn’t believe the words that were appearing in front of me. Teeth? What does anyone need teeth for? How do I even get teeth?! What was going on?

That’s when I remembered the crowds of people in town the week before my underground surgery. Protesters. Flashes of the coverage about serial killer Lester Garry Bearl whirled through my brain.

I needed to think. I needed to make my body calm and be still, both within and without. “Okay,” I said out loud, “please, just give me a few moments to think. Let me just do something real quick.” I felt my legs relax back into my control as I contorted myself into a Formidable Face Pose.

As I inhaled and exhaled, I thought about life and reincarnation as I lowered myself into the one position we’d both been working for. Isn’t that what all of the money, the surgery, the grave-digging had been about in the first place? I promised myself I’d never back down from a challenge, and killing people for teeth without getting caught sure seemed like one hell of a challenge. I exhaled and returned to the laptop, positioning it near my feet.

“Okay. Who’s first?” I asked my empty room.

Slowly, the words “no, Who is on second, lolol” appeared, quickly followed by “But no, really, let’s go get that doctor of yours who suddenly doesn’t know English.”

Five days, one murder, 32 perfectly yummy teeth, and some very happy tendons later, I finally took one last deep breath and sank into the Yoga Sleep Pose. I lay back with my eyes closed, my soul at peace, and my legs satisfied.

For now.

Images: PexelsPixabayKino YogaWikimedia Commons


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