14 three ways
Today is 14 December, and 14 days until surgery. The countdown has begun for real now. Pre-registration calls started today and the clerk asked me if I had any problems filling out forms. I advised that I am now an expert at filling out forms — champion level, I believe is what I said. She laughed mightily and noted that she was very happy to hear that. I’m sure she is — because shortly after that I had to fill out the e-check in forms, with all the same information I already provided. I guess we just have to be sure.
And be sure we shall be. It would be a damn shame if the doctor didn’t know if I am Hispanic ethnicity or not, or how I define myself from a race perspective. Not really sure how this is of relevance in the treatment of my spine. It seems like we need to re-assess the questions and data points we choose to collect if we are going to begin to address the issues of systemic racism.
I am a numbers geek (yes, a writer who likes and is good at math), so I don’t say lightly that maybe we don’t need to collect all the data sometimes. Pride and identity can exist outside systemic data collection. My logic here isn’t solid, it’s just a me pondering the idea after having checked some boxes a few too many times in the last week with the question of why is this needed. Yes, I can refuse to answer, but unless we all start refusing to answer, I suspect my silent single abstention without explanation would not be recognized as a contribution to the revolution as intended. But I have been wrong before.
The number 14 is also one associated with change or transformation, or as in Egyptian mythology of death and resurrection: an appropriate theme for the day. The funeral home tonight felt like a punch to the feels. I’d been successful at avoiding feeling anything, and tonight I couldn’t deflect. As I found myself thinking that it wasn’t fair, that Jay should still be with us, I heard his voice in my head saying, “That’s just how it goes sometimes, kid.”
Song of the day: Fly me to the moon, Frank Sinatra
