The flight lands at 1:00 p.m. Can someone pick me up?
I stared at my phone, the group text to my family hanging in digital silence for longer than it should have. My hand trembled slightly. Whether from the medication or the anxiety, I couldn’t tell anymore. The Cleveland airport bustled around me, travelers rushing to reunions while I sat alone—three weeks post‑op from a surgery that had given me a sixty‑percent chance of seeing another Christmas.
When my phone finally vibrated, the responses cut deeper than the surgeon’s scalpel had.
Views: 2,370