Can You Hear Me Now?

I have some very bad news, ya'll, and it is a shame that it comes on the cusp of the New Year. My sister, Alison, has been diagnosed with Hyperverizonitis. The doctors at Seymore Butz Memorial Hospital told us that she will have to have her cell phone surgically removed from her right ear as soon as possible to save what little brain waves remain. The nerve endings in her fingers are damaged, and permanently crippled from all the texting she has subjected herself to.

We are hopeful for a positive outcome, but deeply saddened by this news. When Alison was home for Christmas this year, the little red phone rarely left her side. I felt like one of Pavlov's lab aides-whenever the phone rang or beeped with a new text message or voicemail, her demeanor visibly brightened. I think we should have set a place at the table for Christmas dinner for Phone.

At one point, I wrestled her for the Phone. She didn't like that. I lost. She is freakishly strong.


Alison's relationship with Phone goes back some years. One of the worst nights of my life involves Phone. I can't remember why I got stuck sharing a bed with her at my grandparents' house, but I did. I must have offended the gods in some way, because they really got back at me. Sharing a bed with Alison can be dicey to begin with. She is very particular about what side of the bed you can sleep in, how many covers you can have, how much you can talk to her, etc. She also usually requires her bedmate to get out of bed and turn the lights out. Why do I listen? You might be wondering. Because she is scaaaaaarey. Read on.

So I was all tucked in bed in one of the guest rooms at Granny and O'pa's house. So sleepy. I had just nodded off when a horrible, droning buzz shook the bedside table. I opened my eyes to see Alison grab her lit-up phone and flip it open. She proceeded to click away a response to the text she received. Click, click, click. Rapid fire--her fingers fly over the tiny keyboard like an Apache helicopter on the battlefield. (Sam, did you get the helicopter reference?) This only occurred about 17 more times, each time after I had just fallen back to sleep.

When I finally worked up the nerve to confront her, she hissed something so nasty at me (I honestly don't remember what it was-it must have been so horrible that I have blocked it from my memory) that I jumped up and ran out of the room...after stealing the comforter and turning the lights on for spite, of course. I spent the night on a makeshift bed of couch cushions on the family room floor, where my grandfather found me the next morning, so traumatized that I can only now speak of the incident.

Alison's ties with Phone run deep. I wonder if the Betty Ford Center offers some sort of rehab for people affected by Hyperverizonitis. If anyone knows, please leave word in the Comments section. My family is desperate to help her before her wedding in September. If she can't have the surgery and rehab, we might have to have the florist place Phone in her wedding bouquet so she can have quick access during the ceremony.