Knife Fight
December 7, 2008,
The XX Files,Washington Post Magazine
Photos by Lily Gasperetti, our 11 year old shutterbug wunderkind.
Three nights before he cuts my throat, I dream my surgeon defuses a bomb in my basement. Removing his mask, he ascends the stairs to the kitchen, where he’s met with thunderous applause.
I don't share this reverie with him as I sit in his office. Behind me, invisible, he presses the tumor. He holds my neck in a gentle choke. Thump-thump, tap-tap. Soon, my throat will meet his scalpel. It's a gamble: He may extract the malignancy with ease or fall into a whirlpool of mishaps, among the worst being an errant nick that severs a vocal cord....
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