Riding the Wave

As most of you know, I had squamous skin cancer travel up a nerve to my brain stem about seven years ago. Much anguish and consternation followed, but along the way, sometimes I’d do things that made me laugh, painful though it may have been.

Before I knew what was causing my neck pain, I was doing physical therapy to rehabilitate my neck. My therapist mentioned a TENS unit. Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation is the full name but obviously no one says that. It is designed to deliver electrical current to stimulate the nerves to enhance regrowth in the affected area. You can buy a TENS unit online for less than a hundred dollars, however, that $100 doesn’t include a licensed therapist to say, “Don’t do it that way, stupid!” So I did.

The unit is about the size of a mobile phone. My unit was powered by a 9-volt battery, so that seems pretty harmless, right? I had prepared for bed and thought I’d dive into electrical stimulation of my sore neck with my new TENS unit. Two things: 1) The print on the user manual was microscopic. Unreadable by a then-58-year-old me. 2) More importantly, I am a guy. Instructions are for the weak, the timid, and those who are afraid of the future. I don’t need instruction, I’m Kelly Burke. I laugh in the face of fear. I thought “The Exorcist” was hysterically funny. I’ve stared down far greater threats than a 9-volt thing that looks like a transistor radio (how’s that for dating me?). 

I placed the stick-on electrode pads on my neck where logic dictated. I plugged the wires into the unit. I tell Mary Ann something to the effect of “I’m turning it on” as I pushed the power button. That was the last of my ability to operate my vocal cords. 

Fortunately, I was in bed, because I instantly curled up into the fetal position. I could not verbalize. I could not move. The electrode wires were right there, but I had no ability to unplug them. The power button on the unit was staring at me, but the ongoing electrocution made me incapable of voluntary movement as the pulsating one million volts coursed through my body. I knew enough that since I was still alive this likely wouldn’t kill me, but if Mary Ann didn’t act on my behalf, I was going to be in for a long night until the battery ran out of juice. I was totally incapacitated. 

Mary Ann looked at me and asked if I was okay. I wanted to say “Duh, I’m not okay. I’m being electrocuted. Would you kindly disarm the bomb?” Instead, I tried to shake my head to indicate no. She asked me what she needed to do. I mustered enough energy to mouth, “Turn it off!” and she asked “How?” I could not verbalize an answer, but I looked at the unit lying a foot away, and she started fumbling with it, looking for the power button. I hope she was just over-excited and that made locating the off button difficult, but it is also possible she was taking her time since she was in control of my fate. She finally turned it off. 

The relief was instantaneous. It took me a minute to regain my composure, but my voice came back as I relaxed my body, no longer curled up in the fetal position. I thanked her profusely for turning that thing off. Somehow, the power intensity was at 10–the maximum—when I turned it on. I had just Tasered myself. 

Later, I had proper instructions on how to use the device and it offered some relief, but little did I know that cancer was invading my spine and causing neck pain by impinging on the nerve. I am again using a similar unit, but this time I waited for proper instruction. I’ve done stupid stuff more than once, and I will again, but I won’t voluntarily Taser myself again. But if I do, I hope Mary Ann is around to power off the device because that is a ride I don’t want to do again.

Kelly Burke, attorney, former district attorney, and magistrate judge, writes about the law, rock’n’roll, and politics or anything that strikes him. Contact Kelly at dakellyburke@gmail.com to comment on this article or suggest articles that you’d like to see, and visit his website at www.kellyrburke.com  to view prior columns.

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