Chocolate

There is a secret repository of chocolate in the pre-operative office across from the intensive care unit. The first thing I do is look furtively down the hall, and when the coast is clear, I pocket a piece. Then I look again and take a second piece. Then a third. Why I take them one-by-one I can't explain; it just seems wrong to take off with a handful of free things. Through the day, my stash slowly wanes. A Snickers to replace lunch, a Butterfinger after a tearful family meeting, a Tootsie Roll while fielding phone calls, a Hershey's on the way out of the hospital. At the end of the day, I empty my pockets and among dried pens, scraps of paper, a pager and keys, I throw out wrappers and count how long that day was.

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