The Art of Swallowing
Abstract
The biopsy is choreographed to oldies hits on the radio. A small curtain crosses your chest but the flesh tug, the efficient sounds of metal, keep you focused. You scan the masked face for signs. Choose a button, a seashell, a tooth, a stone. Hop on one foot as the half moon rises, lean over slowly. Slowly. Slowly. If you keep your balance, you may go on. A stunning lack of sensation, rachety sounds as x-rays penetrate. No feeling as the needle plunges. The doctor makes a skilled incision,...