Last week, my son had surgery and I had a poem accepted for publication.
The two events are unrelated except that both happened to me, and I started thinking about how life pretty much goes on whether you think it will, or want it to, or not.
For example. When I say “my son had surgery,” what I mean to say is that my son FINALLY had surgery. I recently posted about yelling at doctors and health insurance people. All of that was a direct result of numerous attempts to get the damn surgery scheduled in the first place.
Hopefully (?) blogs will be obsolete enough in the future that my son won’t ever have to know that I told the intrawebz about his right undescended testicle. Sorry, bud. Continue reading