In my home town, Pori, there was a punk rock band in the early eighties called Appendix. Their hit album was called Money Is Not My Currency.
Now the band's name plays in my head, because I went to hospital late last Friday having felt severe pain in my stomach for almost 24 hours. They removed my appendix and I spent two days in the hospital. The first day went almost by sleeping, but in the afternoon I was able to read and I almost finished the Finnish horror/paperback writer Kari Nenonen's late hardback, Ken kuolleita kutsuu/Who Calles Upon the Dead (1991) which was quite good, even with some implausibility and occasional bad writing.
Now there's a scar in my belly. I move rather slowly and can't really lift Kauto up. It was a small operation and there seems to be no after-effects, but I still got scared when I first heard from the doctor that it might be the appendix that's causing the problem and if spread wide, it might kill you. I burst out crying waiting for the results of the blood test. They showed nada at first, but then the pain got worse and I got the fever and I was sent to the hospital and other tests were done. It was a big relief when the operation began - I got to fall asleep decently after trying to sip all through the day.
The other guys in the hospital room were a scary bunch. One hadn't eaten for a week because of an infection in his stomach somewhere and he was belching all the time, other was yellow all over for problems in his liver, one had a cancer and mumbled something to himself all the time (he tried to get out of the bed late last night saying he's going to deliver the post). I couldn't help thinking: what am I doing here in the midst of this death?
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When I came back and read the e-mails, I noticed that Dennis Lynds AKA Michael Collins AKA William Arden AKA many other names is dead. He was a great writer. I was going to interview him and it was already settled, but I never found the time. Now the opportunity is gone forever. He was a guest of the month in the Rara-Avis e-mail group only some months ago and wrote long, eloquent essays about his writing and the state of publishing and writing. I hear that he lived long enough to finish proof-reading his Slot-Machine Kelly collection that's coming from Crippen & Landru.
I'm glad you got to the hospital before it became an emergency. And I'm glad to hear you're recovering well.
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