[Every once in a while, we have to go something that blows. Something we’re not prepared for. Something, that at least, makes a good story…]

I walked around my apartment, touching things, pulling my blankets tighter around my bed, staring at the window, and then eventually sitting down on my couch. The TV was playing in the background, Olympic synchronized diving, and I tried to concentrate on what was happening on the screen, but besides a few thoughts about how synchronized diving is an odd sport and how did it get into the Olympics? — I couldn’t keep my head clear.

In a little less than a week, I’ll find myself lying on a hospital bed, hooked up to beeping machines, and wheeled by a bunch of masked people I don’t know into an operating room. The surgery is either simple or complicated — nobody can seem to decide — and all that’s clear is that there’s something foreign that needs to stop renting space on my 9th rib. I’ve been thinking about the surgery for a few hand-wrung weeks, and the closer it is to happening, the fuller my brain gets with every. possible. horrible scenario. Read More »