Personal stories

  • A Series of Decisive Moments: The Surgery, Healing (Part VI)

    I simultaneously looked forward to the surgery and dreaded the day. As the day approached, I still didn’t know who would operate on my hand — the friendly young surgeon or the mysterious Dr. Bergman, who specialized in hand surgeries and had decades of experience, but whom I had not met. Dr. Grumpy was out…

  • A Series of Small Decisions: Shifting Perspectives (Part V)

    The ten days between my visit to the orthopedic department at Highland Hospital and the surgery went fast during the day and slow at night. Every day I got a new medical bill in the mail. My one mile ride with paramedics to Kaiser ER cost $3,000. I got on the phone with various government…

  • A Series of Small Decisions: Falling Apart (Part IV)

    Tuesday arrived, at last. I was eager to find out what exactly was going to happen with my finger. By then I began to worry it would start healing the wrong way. I still didn’t feel any pain, just discomfort from the splint. I didn’t go crazy with research on the internet; just read random…

  • A Series of Small Decisions: Taking Care of Business (Part III)

    Feeling tired and on edge, I berated at least two customer reps on the phone and emailed multiple complaints when the UPS failed to deliver by debit card on time.  After getting a new phone and some cash, Anna and I went to the grocery store. She then left. I went back to my to-do…

  • A Series of Small Decisions: The Day After (Part II)

    Part I: The Night of the Attack Woke up at 8:00 am with sore biceps on my left arm. The powerful mix of fear and adrenaline kept me drifting in and out of consciousness the entire time I was in bed. As soon as I got up, I dictated a message on an iPad to…

  • A Series of Small Decisions (Part I)

    “Hi Nick. So sorry to bother you in the middle of the night. I’m locked out of my apartment,” I said, while standing at my building manager’s door at 3 a.m. on Thursday before Halloween. “There are two policemen with me, so don’t freak out when you open the door.” The policemen, stocky men in…

  • The Burn: What It All Meant (Part VIII)

    Every story is about what happened and what it meant. I’ve become well-versed in telling what happened, but what it all meant is still unfolding. A fan of quotes like, “everything happens for a reason” and “an invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet regardless of time, place or circumstance,” I often…

  • The Burn: Chance of a Lifetime (Part VII)

    The American and I stayed in touch for a couple of years. He visited my family in the summer of 1994, we wrote letters, and talked on the phone every now and then. He gave me my first and only Barbie, and taught my brother and me how to play frisbee.  We then lost touch.…

  • The Burn: Rose Water (Part VI)

    The washing of the wounds in rose water was a rite of passage at the burn center. It meant the wounds were healing — there was a crust, and scar tissue was beginning to form. It also meant the worst was behind; until then a wound could have gotten infected or the body could have…

  • The Burn: The American (Part V)

    The second day after the surgery was slow. I felt nauseous from all the drugs and fasting and exhausted from the surgery and the red light therapy.  “There’s an American missionary meeting with kids at the hospital,” I heard someone say. I perked up. I had been studying English, mostly children’s songs and poems, and…