Got my CBC results yesterday, and my platelets were 93. Close, but not quite the 100 we were looking for, and my doctor is a
Old Me used to leave the hospital with a piece of gauze and some tape and think, “Geez. That’s kind of overkill for a little
Thought I’d jot this down. Feeling a little better always seems noteworthy. I walked back to the office to grab my laptop this morning. (It’s
So, where was I? Or rather, what part of the story to tell next? This is not a linear tale, if you hadn’t noticed.
At Christmas, my mom cut my hair for me. Something about sitting in a chair while someone combs out my tangles switches my confessional switch.