Blood
“There was a moment (1…2…3…) where I thought that I had gotten away with it. And then, no. The blood begin to flow; I had knicked an artery with my number 15. My lips had been stuck together with dried saliva, but a single prayer managed to escape: ‘Oh shit, Lord.’ Heart began to sprint. Blood came faster. A panic of silence filled the room.
Five years of medical school. Three years to specialize. 231 attending operations. 122 lead surgeries. Successes beyond expectation, praise beyond measure, but just one cold truth: Jane, my true love, was lying on my operating table, dying.”
-excerpt from my autobiography: “God’s Hands. My Knife.”
At the docks
“…but I had pulled through, if only on hands and knees. I made my way casually to the waterfront and hopefully the ship that would take me to my man on the other side: Red 82. I prayed I wasn’t too late with my precious cargo (religion reserved for emergency only); I signed the Cross with my right hand and patted the .45 in my jacket with my left. God I didn’t want to use it, but I understood that somewhere on the road ahead I was going to have to do more than talking to make my point.”
-excerpt from my autobiography, “Action Reverend”
