I stepped toward him and put my hand on his shoulder, thinking that I’d just seen this man’s last breath, and that he was gone.
I underwent laparoscopic repair of an umbilical hernia two weeks ago (my 10 incisions are healing nicely, thank you, although the itching is nearly unbearable). In preparation for the operation, I was asked to have blood work done and to undergo an electrocardiogram.
When I arrived at the office where the electrocardiogram would be performed, the woman at the desk asked me what I was there for. I said, “An ECG.”
And then she “corrected” me: “You mean EKG.”
She also told me that the person who was to perform the procedure wasn’t in that day and that I’d have to come back and. . . . I needed her information—and I couldn’t afford to tick her off—so I didn’t respond.
But I wanted to. […]