I wake up, disoriented entirely, entirely disoriented. I cannot see, I can’t move. An unfamiliar miasma impedes my awareness of self. Or maybe it’s the drugs. A collection of tubes protrudes from the conventional orifices as well as a few
[Editor’s preambling note: All of this was written a couple of years before the author actually developed cancer, and I think before his mom did, so please don’t treat it as a plea for pity, or an accurate reflection of
Hey, I found out I had the cancer in 2016 too! You definitely got way more media coverage than me, though. And to be fair, yours was probably scarier, even though mine might generated slightly more despair at a quick
I am 31. The day after being the subject in a lengthy, complicated resection, I experience the cryptic process of death, finalizing in me waking up in my old, partial body. I am forced to to navigate myself through several
I am 30. I’m in Los Angeles, in the back of a comic book store, watching hopeful comedians say three minutes worth of material. My name is called and I walk onto the stage. I say this: Keep it going
I am 29. I am coughing uncontrollably with a constant headache, full-frontal dizziness, and most disconcertingly, an unqualified absence of energy. Each step I take requires a much needed resting period, which is rather foolish. My attempt at a jog,
[If you have not yet read Part Un, it’s over here.] I spend several weeks in the hospital, culminating in a scheduled major surgery being postponed minutes before the operation, as it is deemed too risky at the time. Discharged
[Coming Soon! Weeeeeeeeeee!]
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
I saw you perform on February 24, 2016. I remember the date not because of how funny you were – although I did get a few good guffaws in – but because it’s also the day I found out I
