I watch unhappily as a medical bracelet is put around my wrist. This is really happening. The bracelet makes it official. For a few panicky seconds I consider standing up, excusing myself and heading back out the door I’ve just come in, back out into the sunny summer day going on outside. Instead I take a calming breath and try to picture something happy, like my dog at the beach.
Six months ago I was joking with co-workers about my umbilical hernia that had seemed to appear out of nowhere. You could see it through my clothes. “Have you felt Kristen’s hernia yet? It’s like she’s pregnant!” We had named it Henrietta.
Three months ago I had gone to my GP, frustrated by the pain I’d been having after my hernia surgery. He had looked up from his laptop. “Wait, where are you having this pain? It says here on the CT report you needed follow up for your…
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