supplementary matter

This afternoon my brother-in-law/house builder called me. I thought that for sure my building permit had been issued and I could drop my pants and scream enthusiastically around my work with  fair reason. Instead he said that my sister was in the hospital en route to have an emergency appendectomy. O. My sister, now she’s a gem. She’s as lovely as spring. As wound up as winter. I am who I am because of her. Only she’s kind, beautiful, has a husband, a home, and the two most precious daughters this world has known. And she exercises 3 to 4 times a week.

From today’s incidident I learned:

  • I work for a magical place that asks, “why are you still here?” when you explain why you need to leave.
  • 300 telephone calls between family that seemingly convey nothing, no news, convey EVERYTHING.
  • Carrying a large bag offers dig-thru entertainment when your sister floats to a netherworld and it offers plenty of room for contraband 22 oz. cans of Sapporo smuggled in with cuban sandwiches from the outside world.
  • When your sister, straight from recovery, sees you and asks after her husband don’t say, “He’s off to find a woman with all her organs.” The nurse may glower and your sister may just look at you still in pain, not comprehending.

The appendix is about the size of your thumb. It is, typically, a pale yellow pink in color. Think summer sunset or pink lemonade gum. It has NO PURPOSE. Except, according to my sister’s doctor, to pay his house payments. He showed me a picture of her appendix. This paragraph is the appendix of this post.

Appendix II: Just spoke with my sister and she is sore, but doing well. Dashing off to see her pretty face now.

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