October 13, 2026
Meat Trees Deluxe: We Couldn’t Open the Door
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Previously on Drafts from the Wreckage: our protagonist discovered that her internal landscaping had become a little too ambitious.
Today, we returned to the gynecologist for the season finale.
Unfortunately, the writers have extended the storyline.
The meat trees are confirmed.
For anyone who missed the previous episode: the Dutch call uterine fibroids “vleesbomen.” Literally: meat trees. They’re growths of muscle and connective tissue in or around the womb. So the indoor forestry terminology comes courtesy of the Dutch language. I’m just reporting from the fucking garden.
Meat Trees Deluxe.
Apparently, my body saw everything else happening in my life and thought: What this woman needs is an indoor botanical project.
Nobody asked for this garden. There was no planning permission. And yet here we are, discussing access to the grounds.
INT. GYNECOLOGIST’S OFFICE — DAY
I am in the familiar position of someone whose dignity has been folded neatly over a chair beside her trousers.
The medical team attempts to investigate.
My body declines.
Apparently, the entrance is shy.
Whether the uterus is responsible, the ovaries have formed a residents’ association, or someone has simply lost the fucking keys, I cannot tell you.
What I can tell you is:
We couldn’t open the door.
There is something spectacularly absurd about being physically present at an appointment while part of you refuses to attend.
I came all the way here.
The internal department is working from home.
CUT TO: TALKING-HEAD INTERVIEW
“How would you describe the experience?”
“Like being a car at the garage.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“I’m lying there while qualified people investigate why they can’t get into a compartment. I’m waiting for someone to say they’ll need a different tool and ask whether I’ve noticed a rattling sound.”
The camera pans to my face.
“I have. It’s my remaining patience.”
At this point, I half expect someone to emerge from behind a curtain wiping their hands on a cloth.
“Well, we’ve had a look.”
Always an ominous sentence.
“We couldn’t access the area today.”
Of course you couldn’t.
This model has had several repairs. The manufacturer no longer answers emails, and the service history is becoming difficult to carry without a trolley.
“Is it still under warranty?”
Everybody laughs.
I do not.
But there is a plan.
In three weeks, I return.
They will flood the canal, send in a camera and take more samples.
This is my understanding of the appointment, expressed in the language of someone who has mentally left the medical briefing and joined the production team of a low-budget submarine adventure.
We are going in by sea.
The front door wouldn’t open, so apparently the next episode requires a water feature and a reconnaissance vessel.
Somewhere, a tiny captain is being briefed.
“Your mission is to enter the canal, locate the flesh blooms and collect samples.”
“Any known obstacles?”
“The owner is sarcastic, the entrance is uncooperative, and morale is low.”
INT. SUBMARINE — IMAGINARY
A small crew studies a map.
One points to a suspicious growth.
“Is that the meat tree?”
“That’s one of them.”
“One of them?”
“Yes. This is the deluxe package.”
The captain removes his glasses.
“Who authorised the deluxe package?”
Nobody speaks.
Above the surface, I am once again being told to relax.
An ambitious request for someone whose appointment has just acquired a naval component.
I would like to submit a formal complaint about the phrase “We’ll take a few more samples.”
It sounds so casual.
Like someone offering another cheese cube at the supermarket.
Except I am the cheese counter.
And I have to come back in three weeks so they can access the display.
I had other plans for my autumn.
None involved becoming a location scout for Twenty Thousand Leagues Under My Knickers.
CUT TO: TALKING-HEAD INTERVIEW
“Are you looking forward to your next appointment?”
“Oh, tremendously.”
“What are you most excited about?”
“The atmosphere. The activities. Finding out whether the submarine has parking validation.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. I’d like my body to stop introducing new plotlines. We have enough material.”
So that is where we are.
Meat Trees Deluxe: confirmed.
Door: unwilling to open.
Car: back to the garage.
Next appointment: three weeks.
Transport arrangements: apparently maritime.
It’s going to be so much fun.
The laugh track plays.
I stare into the camera until it stops.
The appointment happened. The submarine crew is fictional. Unfortunately, I still have to go back.
