10 days out, the wave breaks

After a few days of stuff hurting more, the burn on my neck appears to have crested (although there’s a nasty raw part I won’t detail here–suffice it to say that I’ll be stopping by the nurses at radiation oncology tomorrow on my way to the respirologist; also I was motivated to buy some open necked shirts and v-necks today). My throat pain is also noticeably decreasing. I’m going to try it without narcotics tonight. It might be too soon, it might not be, but it’s worth a shot. My voice is still kind of crap, and definitely worse than last week, which means I am staying off the phone for now. I have managed to go out in public without too much trouble, though sometimes Carrie can’t hear me.

I had hoped to be “back to my life” at this point but that was of course both unrealistic and, well, silly since I’m only just over a week out of radiation and I still need a nap every day. I have started doing some things and will continue to try and clear off my desk next week. I’ve also got an art project to keep me occupied as well as the World Cup, and of course a social schedule.

One reply on “10 days out, the wave breaks”

  1. Well, having spent the better part of yesterday trapped inside of the U.S. consulate attempting to get dual citizenship for my baby, this article certainly resonates. His mother is from Quebec and I am from the states…he was born in Montreal. The United States asks for the citizen parent (moi!) to prove five years of continual residence…with very vague guidelines. Just enough open ends, I assume, for them to legally deny status.

    Anyway, the point is that consulates, like airport terminals, are absolutely fascinating spaces where abstract negotiations around identity are brought to the fore. From the security guards who filter access to the elevator with only one stop — floor 19 — through metal detectors to the dozens of stressed people in the waiting area, the long lines worse than dmv and bored looking embassy bureaucrats behind thick plexiglas. Here one recognizes how fragile identity…national, racial, class…really is.

    Are there such things as “birth rights”? We could go on to link this to larger questions of law and sovereignty.


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