Friday afternoon

I am sitting in the waiting room of the pre-surgery assessment clinic. In the hour that I have been sitting here, I have finished reading my novel, and now I'm left to contemplate those around me.

Given the nature of this waiting room, we are all going to be cut. I will be punctured, "stabbed", actually, in the words of my family doctor, four times. Out of the largest of these holes, my gallbladder will be taken, and a part of me will be gone forever.

What pieces will these people be missing, when all is said and done? None of us look like we have any vile, foreign appendages that have mysteriously manifested themselves. Some of us are even laughing, while others are intently watching CTVNewsnet, and I'm just sitting here, taking it all in.

I'm feeling sleepy, and my insides are grumbly, as if needing to remind me that they are responsible for my being here.

This just needs to be over with. As much as it disturbs me to become pieces, rather than a whole, I need my life back.