Elective

“Your surgery is considered elective.”

To you.

Not to me.

You have choices –

an endless matrix of decisions

about space and need,

each variable impacting lives

and swaying fates.

But I have no choice –

not if I want to

walk the Great Wall or

safari in Botswana or

ride the vomit comet or

dig up dinosaurs or

swim in bioluminescent algae

in my lifetime.

“Elective” makes it sound fun.

Optional.

Like new tits or

tattoo removal.

This is neither fun nor optional.

This is the rest of my life

holding its breath to see

what...