Tuesday, August 3, 2010


I've made it through a second week out of the hospital. They've been long, each day only marked by what's on TV but otherwise the same; little sleep, long stretches of sitting in the dark or near-dark and wondering if my leg or innards took any permanent damage, or whether I'll wake up. There's been little depression or fear; I tend to just take things as they come and worry about things when I need to.

I wanted information about my condition, but those numbers cut both ways when you're feeling a new pain. One site tells me there's a 25% chance I'll die within the first weeks out of the hospital. Another tells me that it's 40% I'll make it more than 10 years.
Even as I find small improvements--walking a little further, feeling less run-down--my mind wanders, making lists of who should get what when It happens.

Really, though, it'd be a shame to go while my little silver car needs me.

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