About once every decade, I find myself totally besotted with a series. The first was the original 'Star Trek'. Yes, I confess to being a first generation Trek-fan, even if I didn’t quite grasp some of the concepts way back then. It didn’t help that it came on past my bedtime in its third season, either. Star Trek saw me through college. I’d thought I was past all this when I started watching The Burning Zone. Soon, I found my week centering around Tuesday night. I looked forward to it so much. It gave me a reason to get up and go to work every day. For an hour every week, I could lose myself in another place with, and this is one of the most important parts, characters I cared about deeply. Character has always been the key for me. I can forgive plot holes and lapses in logic and almost everything else (and in Star Trek’s third season, there was a lot to forgive!) if I love the characters.
I love these characters. They became real people to me. Role models in their own ways. I wanted to emulate their integrity. I wanted to be someone of whom they’d approve of.
The best way for me to explain how much the series meant to me is to tell a boring story. June 24 was the last night the show was going to be on in any form. While I didn’t like all the changes, I stuck with it because of Cassian and Hailey. I wanted to be sure to tape the last show—foolishly, I hadn’t taped all of the first ones, being under the delusion that they’d be rerun. This is a mistake I care not to repeat.
I was depressed and was passing the time by doing something useful: trimming the grass around a flower bed with some nifty new electric grass shears. Let me say now that I can highly recommend Wagner shears for strength and sharpness. I barely felt it when I inadvertently snipped my left forefinger along with the grass. I did think it was odd that there was a thin line of blood going horizontally across my fingernail, about a half inch down from the tip. Also, the fact that it wiggled like a loose tooth when touched was just darn peculiar. On the positive side, the cut didn’t go all the way around. I had a good quarter inch of untouched skin on the inside of the finger, which is why the nurse later listed it only as a near amputation.
Reluctantly, I decided I’d better pay a visit to the local Emergency Room, but I wanted to be sure I set my VCR first. This proved more difficult than usual. I couldn’t find the proper button to push to start the programming sequence. The sweat dripping off my forehead and running into my eyes was very distracting, even after I kept wiping it away with a towel. I finally decided to try every button that wasn’t a channel and finally found it. I was concerned enough to go find another tape and program a second VCR—just in case I’d messed up the first one. By now, I had some reservations about my driving ability and judgment, so I called a friend to come and get me. We got to the ER just about 9 p.m.—show time. I was not happy.
My hopes of getting home in time to see at least part of the show were dashed when I was told I had to get X-rays of the finger. It had seemed likely I’d gone through bone. (I had) The fingertip had to be stitched back on. I kept hoping Cassian or Marcase or Shiroma would show up to do the job but to no avail—drat! I was a model patient, which the medical staff found a touch disconcerting. I guess I was a bit too cheerful. The fact I wasn’t in any pain was a great help and I was rather relieved not to be sitting in front of the TV crying my eyes out because this was the last show. I confessed as much (about the lack of pain, not the show) to the doctor, but I’m not sure he believed me. That story about grass shears must have sounded darn suspicious, judging from the number of times I was asked to repeat it. I’m surprised I wasn’t asked for a breathalyzer or other test designed to detect interesting substances.
Six stitches, a tetanus shot and prescriptions for antibiotics and pain relievers later, I arrived at home—at 12:30 am. Much to my delight, I had actually programmed both VCRs correctly, so I considered the evening an unqualified success.
P.S. The finger has healed quite well, leaving only a crease where the worst damage was and the nail has grown back. It doesn’t seem quite as numb as it was, except for a spot right above the crease. It never hurt especially, beyond an occasional ache. Losing my show hurt much, much more; however, The Burning Zone will always be alive in my heart.
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