GSW victim

Just some further thoughts on the topic of getting shot...

1. I was extraordinarily lucky. Every time I look in the mirror and see the scar at the crux of my neck and shoulder, I realize how lucky I was. Any minor deviation in the act of shooting the gun or in the trajectory through the railing and I would be dead--or at the very least, badly maimed. In so many ways, I shouldn't be here now, but I am.

2. There may be nothing stranger in my 36 years so far than saying the words "When I was shot." Every time any variation of this comes out of my mouth, I stop for a brief moment. There is nothing right about saying it. And nothing I can do but marvel at the strangeness of the words.

3. I prevented a robbery from taking place. Perhaps something much worse. I don't know why I have to remind myself of this, but it's not the easiest thing to process.

4. It still hurts. Physically and mentally.

5. On my earlier post, I was vague about how much deeper the bullet was than expected. My attending surgeon expected it to be close to the surface--not more than a quarter of an inch. Instead, it was more than an inch under the skin and had cosseted itself just on the edge of the deltoid, kindly avoiding the ribs, clavicle, lung and other vitals. I was lucky.

So ends this moment of navel-gazing. Thanks for tuning in.