“SURGERY,” I had written in bold red letters on the calendar square for January 30, 2008. I scheduled my thyroid surgery for early in the year thinking I would supply the remaining 11 months with healing ammunition. Eight is my favorite number and this was going to be MY YEAR. At that point, I couldn’t see the flaws in my logic anymore than I could have predicted the year that followed. Just three weeks on the mend, on my way home from work, my sliced and scabbed neck still hidden under silk...
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