Toxic Bliss (1)

   "Toxic Bliss (1)"
    
   Simon squirmed weakly in his bed ornamented in STAR WARS sheets, with an R2-D2 quilt.  He knew he had to go to the gastroenterologist and get his Remicade Infusion, but with the painful anguish of a lower right-sided abdomen feeling like it was being painfully pinched; plus, with the dangerously glacial conditions on the road--he was a struggling soul, knowing the true definition of agony, and that he might miss his much-needed appointment.
   It didn't matter that his father was perishing slowly from a neurological disease, or that pernicious neglect had been offered to his disabled self as well as that of his beloved patriarch, for he had the affection of Nordic-appearing angels.
   Simon had been suffering with active colitis for twenty years, getting close to developing a cancerous large intestine; moreover, his social phobia and OCD (Flagship of anxiety disorders) caused illuminated imagery, not always benevolent, and he knew the fury of diabolical demons upon those baptized by the Holy Spirit, that Good Ghost being infused into the life-giving water contained upon much of Terra's creation.
   Regardless, he had to pull himself out of bed, reaching to the right side of his gut, the pain shooting through his colon like a large caliber bullet; also, a pinching sensation, that was no joy, but like a tainted meal from the nasty snappers of a rundown RED LOBSTER eatery.  What to do?  He prayed:
   "Holy Trinity, yes, You too Spiritus Sancti--help me; specifically, breathe life into my father's ill condition, as well as mine; furthermore, let us find a physician divine.  I love You.  I love the Living Christ.  But You Father--You are the epic architect, the intelligent design of our cognizance.  Please deliver peace to my Dad and my toxic gut and deranged mind, put in there a golden, healing light, and don't make that shimmering wealth of treasure be hard to find."