Somewhere between closing the metaphorical door of any traumatic situation and getting sucked into the constant vortex of pain and victimhood, there’s a middle place of relative contentment. Of just understanding that it is what it is.
The night before the procedure, I didn’t sleep. I googled my symptoms and like any decent Dr. Google consultation, confirmed the worst. At 3:30AM, though, annoyed with sitting around, I went into my closet and packed up my bag for the next day. A book. My phone charger. Socks. And then, right there, sitting on a shelf as if it somehow knew, was my long, lost cape.