I thought about my history with hospitals in the spring:
In March or April 1996, I was playing indoor soccer and remember taking the ball away from an competitor one too many times. In retaliation, I was kicked in the head and suffered a concussion. This warranted a trip to the emergency room, and subsequent weeks were spent without contact sports. In April 1998, during a rugby game against the UNH team, I collided with a teammate and broke my cheekbone. A six hour stay in the emergency room provided conclusive proof that yes, in fact, the bone was broken. And I had a fractured jaw. The following week, either Monday or Tuesday, I had reconstructive surgery. I thought I might end up with a massive scar. That was April 13th or 14th, 1998. Sixteen years later, I will have a massive scar. Instead of my face, it’ll be my stomach.