One of my nieces graduated from law school Saturday. On that day six years ago, she was my personal assistant at a conference and she took a photo of me and Claren gazing at a stuffed polar bear. That was, I thought, a good sign.
Less good was today's second call with the hospital ahead of Wednesday's "procedure." (A friend at work calls it "surgery," which makes me like her all the more.)
I have to pay them in advance!
What are they saying?
We need your money upfront because you might not survive?
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