I’ve Been in the Hospital

I've Been in the Hospital

“The clocks in here, they’re a joke?”

“You’re back.

“I left?”

“For real? Yeah, couple times.”

“I needed a second opinion?”

“I’ll let you in on something: you’ll always find someone to tell you what you want.”

“What do I want?”


“Let’s try it again. I say, Lesion. You say, Huh? I say, What I mean is cancer. You say, Oh. Huh. Got it?”

“Sorry, Doc. I’m here for the kidney or the appendix?”

“Appendix. The kidney hasn’t happened yet.”


“What about the reimbursables?”

“Mm hmm.”

“The aquatic situation.”

“Deep breath in, William.”

“What am I losing this time?”


“What time is it?”

“It’s ok, honey. I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Ow ow ow ow.”

“Sorry for the pinch.”

“But not for taking my blood.”

“You have no idea how much blood you don’t need.”



It starts with an appendix or a dead mom. From there, it’s anyone’s guess. Events are like children—they return on their own terms. Maybe this is the night you sleep. Maybe it’s the day you’re wearing piss and blood on the outside again, astonished by your crawling pace, the veins spidering your ankles. Good luck letting go. I mean that.