Hugh Neeld: The Curmudgeon Report

You probably read the story in the Tyler Paper recently about the suspect in a kidney transplant ring in Nepal being sent back to India. I look for offbeat things like that when I get tired of the usual fare.

Anyway, it was about a syndicate accused of illegally removing hundreds of kidneys, sometimes from poor laborers held at gunpoint. Weird stuff happens. I know.

About 10 years ago, there was a story circulating in the tabloids about a man whose kidneys were stolen while he was passed out. I remember thinking at the time that it was only an urban legend, but then suddenly something eerily similar happened to me.

My legs were stolen from me one February night shortly after my 70th birthday. It was quick and without warning. I went to sleep with my regular legs and woke up with somebody else’s. The new ones were lumpy and ugly. I hated them. They had large veins showing and were prone to cramp at night. Who, I wondered, would have done such a cruel thing? Those legs had been perfectly okay for years.

I spent most of that summer looking for them, mainly on the golf course where there were lots of legs exposed. No luck. Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to playing golf in long pants, risking ridicule and suspicion. Then, just when my guard was down, they struck again.

This time it was my rear end, the replacement for which was bigger than before. I knew it was the same perpetrators because they matched the new one (although a couple of inches lower than the original) with the legs they had left me earlier. Now, my posterior complemented my legs lump for lump. I knew that all my long pants would now have to be altered to accommodate the new change.

It was just a few months later that I realized my arms had been switched. One morning while shaving, I watched with surprise and horror as the flesh of my upper arms swung to and fro with the motion of my razor. This was really getting frightening. My body was being replaced, slowly but surely, one part at a time. Now in deep despair, I went to long-sleeved shirts. If you ever want to arouse curiosity in your golf group, just show up some day in mid-July in long-sleeved shirt and long pants.

What could they do to me next, I wondered? I wasn’t sleeping well at all. My wife suggested the changes were simply a result of the aging process. I couldn’t accept that. Age, I told her, was supposed to creep up unnoticed and intangible—something like maturity. No, I was being attacked by body snatchers repeatedly and without warning. Now that the siege seems to be over, I felt safe in sharing my story.

I don’t know who the body snatchers were, or if they’re still operating in East Texas, but I know what their motive was—profit! I believe they stole body parts in the dead of night, and sold them to anyone who could afford an upgrade.

The next time you see someone you know whose appearance has improved, check it out. Face unlined? Waist smaller? Butt not sagging? Anything look familiar to you?

All I can do now is hope that someday the perpetrators will be brought to justice. I’d love to see them (if you’ll pardon the pun) pay through the nose for what they did to me.

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A question to ponder:

If round is a shape, and you’re round, can you say you’re in shape?

putterhugh@suddenlink.net

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Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.

Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.
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