… this morning, after I got the news about this latest diagnosis over the phone from one of my many doctors, my first thought was once again: memento mori (remember you will die). I used to have that little bit of sage Latin in my electronic calendar, and I guess I ought to put it back. (I had replaced it with, “It’s always Easter.” I think I’ll keep that too.)
A couple of years ago, when I was in the hospital for what I was told was a life-threatening condition, I had no affect. I don't know why. Probably because I was in no pain and figured (correctly) that the surgery would resolve the problem. But the wretched cold that I have had recently, which really wore me down — I probably shouldn't have done some heavy work around the house — and from which I am only slowly getting back up to par — has reminded me that I am old, the time I have left is limited, and that I am going to die. Of course, I have always known that, as we all do, and as a Cathodic I was taught to remind myself of it every day. But now is different. For once in my life, I find it hard to be glib.
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