- My mom in 1958.
The language of health and disease, the language of treatment, is a language we don’t ever really know. We hope we’ll pronounce the words right.
I was on a hospital gurney in a hallway, and I’d been there, confused, for hours. I was wheeled out there after a CT scan on my abdomen.
Am I okay, I’d asked the CT technician. She looked down at the floor.
“You’re going to die,” she said.
And then, animated, “Just kidding! The doctor will see you in the hall.”
She patted me on the shoulder. That’s the kind of person she was.
I was there after being assaulted by my boyfriend…