Archive for July, 2012

A Day in the Life


People get all twisted up in their skivvies when it comes to writing. I’ve always thought if you can answer the following three questions it makes it much easier to get down something sensical.

  • What do you want the reader to learn?
  • What do you want the reader to feel?
  • What do you want the reader to do?

Here are my answers for today:

  • What’s up with me.
  • I have no freakin’ idea.
  • I have no freakin’ idea.

You’ll probably feel that I’m cute and such, but whatever I write, that’s likely to happen just from the picture. You can sort the rest out with your shrink.

In terms of action, I suspect some of you will want to meet me and gimme some lovin’. Some of you will be keen to pop out some more kids of your own. Perhaps others will start researching IUDs and vasectomies. Who knows what you’ll actually do, though. I heard you’re the volatile type.

It’s really not your fault, though because, frankly, I have no idea where I’m going with this.



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Tribute to nurses

Destiny be warned. Your grip may be strong, your judgment severe, but we resist you. We have the strength.

Who are we? The broken children. The little warriors.

Were we alone you may defeat us. You’ve fought this battle and won since the dawn of time. You are powerful, and, yes, we are small.

It may seem sometimes that you are too strong. That the die is cast. That the ending has been written.

Not true. We resist.

But not alone. Were it not for the Warrior Nurse, the Guardian, you may defeat us.

When we are drained the warrior renews our strength. She empties her well to fill ours, and we raise our banners anew.

When we are afraid—terrified—so frightened we may lay down our fight, she pours in us her bravery, absorbing our fear and restoring our snarl.

When in the midst of the battle’s darkest hours our skins get tough and the walls around our hearts grow taller, she steels herself to give us laughter. She swallows our pain and gives us joy.

When Kayla down the hall falls after her mighty battle, even the warrior is shaken.

Warrior, we need you still. The fight continues.


She does not fall. She returns to her post. Guardian in the night.

Destiny be warned. The warrior will not stand down.

So we, the broken children, the little warriors, will defeat you.

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These days I think of myself as a 2000 Saleen S7 Twin Turbo. (You were probably just thinking that, too, right?) Stunning and sleek, the ladies love me. I can go from zero to 60 faster than you can say intracardiac wires, but I’m delicate, so be gentle. Try to test my limits and I’ll be back in the shop needing more replacement parts.

It seems the doctors feel the same way, because now that I’ve been doing quite well for a week or so, nobody wants to push me. They’re taking me off of breathing support and medications slowly. I mean slow for realz, slow like a bale of turtles charging through a vat of Nutella. Goodbye Speed Racer, hello Rollin’ With My Homies.

Meanwhile, I’m doing swell. I asked my doctor what he thinks is going to happen.


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A Little Sun

Great googly moogly…let’s not do that again!

Look, I know just because I am who I am you all think I’m like some crazy-ass superhero who can take anything, but this open heart surgery thing is getting old. I mean, I’d like to get home before I qualify for an AARP card.

In the meantime, here’s quick update on some important doings. Still living in the cardiac intensive care unit here at Boston Children’s Hospital. I’ve been here now for about 80% of my life. A really long time, right?!?

To honor me, or something like that, I was interviewed by the Boston Children’s Hospital blog, Thriving. Nifty stuff.

Here’s a sample:

Ari, how’s life been treating you these days?

Well, you might say after two heart surgeries before birth, two balloon catheters shortly thereafter, and a major open-heart surgery at 12 weeks old that it’s been a bit of a grind. But you play the cards you’re dealt. Win the boobie prize? Make breast milk. That’s what I say.

You’ll also find my answer to the question, “Michael Jackson had the world in silver gloves. Madonna in ripped fishnets. Superman in blue Underoos. How will you have the world to emulate you?”


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