Neil O. Nelson

It was a journey in words and miles and death warmed over.

I was being ushered by an acquaintance of a friend to a Fargo hospital for an invasive procedure.

We’ll leave it at that. Details in the procedure are of the private nature, you understand.

Names of doctors and nurses will be withheld to protect the innocent.

Screams of pain and anguish will be muffled, quieted to the written word, if I get to that point.

I wasn’t feeling very good at the moment and I looked worse.

Anxious to the point of being fearful of the pending invasive procedure, I was the perfect patient-passenger: quiet, feigning sleep, not asking to be awakened, even in case of an accident.