On the third day, the surgeon, Dr. Scarpa, visited me in my hospital room -- (tubes in my arms, tube up my nose and down my throat -- the cure was more painful than the ailment -- not surprising, since I was unaware I even had the ailment, the ruptured appendix, that is -- imagine the inane stoicism involved in operating for over 36 hours with a ruptured appendix -- thought it was an intestinal virus) -- he actually apologized for the oddly shaped scar carved into my belly, explaining that a plastic surgeon could spruce it up a bit -- (the last thing in the world I was thinking about was making the scar look better -- I wanted to drink an iced tea, eat a sandwich, pull on some clothes, go outside, breathe the air, run in the rain -- instead, I was fed by and cleaned out through tubes -- disgusting, really) -- I laughed and told him I was quite grateful to be alive, scar in all, and that I had no intention of letting a plastic surgeon touch that bad boy, that it would stand as a lifelong reminder of how fragile the whole experience really is -- (I lost my invincibility lying for nine days in that hospital bed -- sacred music, scripture, morphine wierdness, reruns of the US Open; it was August, and the real thing was rained out -- were my fodder between life-giving visits from family and friends -- you are a prisoner of nurses and aides, and you better read them right or your life isn't very pleasant inside those four walls) -- he looked at me and his face became grave, his words something to the effect that he was sorry that he hadn't really had time to make the incision pretty, that there wasn't much time with the severity of the septic shock --

My body has long since eaten away the titanium staples, and my digestive system purrs happily on, but that scar smirks vertically at me twice a day in the bathroom, a simple reminder that every day is a first, and every day could be my last -- it's not depressing, nor dreary -- it's actually liberating to understand from one's core that we don't write the script, we just live it.