The night before my carpal tunnel surgery in 2023, I blogged: I’m certain they’re operating on the wrong thing—it’s a combination of wanting it fixed and wanting to say I told you so when it isn’t. The doctor who sent me to neurology dismissed my theories, clearly annoyed that I challenged his diagnosis. “Right, I picked up carpal … Continue reading The Final Word
Surgery
A Losing Combination
Under the knife… again, tomorrow, the culmination of a year-long wait. “Let’s see if it improves,” they said, but it never did. “It’s just a mild case of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome,” the neurologist dismissed me by turning his back, making this comment already halfway out the door. An affliction of real estate underwriters and insurance … Continue reading A Losing Combination
After Surgery
“How about pain? What should I expect while I’m recovering?” I asked the wrong question. What I should have asked is “Will it flipping work?” The other day, Susan drove me to the Lancaster Surgery Center, an hour-and-twenty-minutes away. A well-respected ophthalmological surgeon cut and shortened the muscles that control my eyeballs. This is strabismus … Continue reading After Surgery
Staring
The verb stare has two meanings. Opposite meanings. To look fixedly at someone or something, or to look vacantly. The intensity of the first cannot be denied—often, it’s accompanied by deep concentration or malice. There’s that ‘cold stare’ we offer when pissed or annoyed. It carries the weight of intimidation. Other stares contain anticipation, concern, … Continue reading Staring
Hello depression, my old friend
I can’t breathe. Well, obviously that isn’t true. I can’t breathe easily. If I don’t keep thinking about it, I hold my breath. Guarded. Awaiting something bad to happen. I just walked home from work. It’s about a mile, a little more. I left work sick. Sick and worried that one of my coworkers would … Continue reading Hello depression, my old friend
Different Lives
This short story originally appeared in the Bangalore Review. Chris My alarm shrieks. It’s 6:57. Out of bed and into yesterday’s clothes. Dizzy from alcohol and insufficient sleep, I step into the morning under-dressed. My coat lies on the couch, the December freeze ignored in my haste. I race the clock to move my car. … Continue reading Different Lives
The Other Stuff 