I feel concussed.Įven still, I can’t help but think about Christmas, the holiday that has been my daily reality for two years.
Lying flat on my back in a hospital bed, covered in sap and bleeding out of my forehead, I don’t feel very Christmasy. I’m relieved to detect nothing, just injured people groaning, which by this point in December - the 22nd - is practically soothing. I listen closely for the jingling of bells and the croon of Bing Crosby. Squinting through sterile overhead lighting, I scan the emergency room for traces of red and green.
