November 12, 1993

I’ve been throwing up for the last five days. My inclination is just to lie by the toilet. My parents won’t let me. They carry me back to the couch. "Married with Children"... is on the tube. Just kill me now.

Another doctor, my third, thought I might have a brain tumor. I went to have an MRI. The technician asked me what it’s for, he’s indifferent when I tell him. He sticks my head first into a tube. It’s so small you can’t move. There’s a mirror above my head so I can see my feet sticking out the other end. It takes about an hour, I try to imagine I’m at my grandma’s house on the lake in Indiana.



"MRI Brainscan"

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