In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

13 Waiting Out Your Surgery Waiting. Waiting is pacing. Waiting is kaleidoscopic, there are prisms of anxiety, blinding facets to my impatience, broken glass under my feet and what attention falls on. Patients and magazines expire here. My stomach hurts. The umbilical phone in the waiting room ravels into the surgery. When it rings, even the children stop talking, and every head turns. If I turn too fast, I’ll fall out of balance. What does hours mean? What destiny determines the stealth of my breathing? Am I imagining, or have I grown dull from holding my breath? What more could I have done to get ready for this? It takes the church years to confirm a single miracle. ...

Share