I called my wound care specialist to try to get an appoint today, but you know how that goes. ("We have something for you Thursday at 9.")

After that, I gingerly removed my compress while simultaneously saturating it with saline and silver from a spray bottle; "one millimeter at a time, kid"; the bleeding had stopped. I did my standard bandage and sat down to finish editing the video I recorded last night.

I thought it might be helpful to insert an audio at the beginning, so you could hear directly from me what had happened during the night.  

Part of me absolutely hates talking about this stuff, but talking about it with you, the body of Christ, is the only analgesic that really works. Thank you for bearing my burden. I  need it.

A spiritual lesson follows, of course, from 2 Timothy—becoming all the more powerful, I think, in the mouth of a weakened vessel.

While lying on the cold linoleum floor at 4 am, holding a gigantic wad of paper towel against my neck, much of the front of my body—including the area between my toes—caked in blood—a smile came to my face, along with a small yet discernible laugh. Maria looked down at me, alarmed, the blood pressure cuff dangling from her shaking yet ready hand. I felt I owed her an explanation.

"The peace of God," I said.

Thank you for your prayers and undying love for me—the same love I have for you.

As long as there is enough blood in my body to fuel my brain and my mouth, the show will go on.

From the Peninsula,

Martin