Donate Your Organs, For Free!
The teacher chose the story about organ donation for my research project. I'm okay with that. I need to find my journals from when I was working at the organ transplant place (we'll call it Present of Life from now on or POL). I have some very specific memories of that place, mainly that we talked about who died over the weekend every Monday morning and that I saw a severed head in a cooler once on a work field trip to visit the Musculoskeletal Transplant Foundation. I will not be donating my body to science.
About my previous post on scleroderma, my mother informs me:
Aim, my cousin Sister Martin Clare, had scleroderma, and might have died of it, but she was killed in a tractor accident on one of very few visits to her parents' home. Her brother, my cousin Paul Koenig, was driving the tractor, when she got caught by her veil in one of the big wheels on the back of the tractor. We went to her funeral in Concordia, Kansas; I rode with Dave in Grandpa LaBrie's car. She had taken her final vows, was very committed to her vocation, and was a lab tech, I believe. I can still see her face in the coffin. Does this pique your interest?
I should write a short story that's just about ways to die on a farm. There seem to be many, many of them. Smothered in a corn silo, shot during hunting season, drowned in a pond, eaten up by a egg conveyor belt (I made that last one up).
But that's enough about death for today. Here is a picture of a dead kitten (not really). This is Maru.
About my previous post on scleroderma, my mother informs me:
Aim, my cousin Sister Martin Clare, had scleroderma, and might have died of it, but she was killed in a tractor accident on one of very few visits to her parents' home. Her brother, my cousin Paul Koenig, was driving the tractor, when she got caught by her veil in one of the big wheels on the back of the tractor. We went to her funeral in Concordia, Kansas; I rode with Dave in Grandpa LaBrie's car. She had taken her final vows, was very committed to her vocation, and was a lab tech, I believe. I can still see her face in the coffin. Does this pique your interest?
I should write a short story that's just about ways to die on a farm. There seem to be many, many of them. Smothered in a corn silo, shot during hunting season, drowned in a pond, eaten up by a egg conveyor belt (I made that last one up).
But that's enough about death for today. Here is a picture of a dead kitten (not really). This is Maru.
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