Credit:
Alex Sandoval
When I was admitted to the hospital recently after a fall that resulted in a broken leg and two sprained ankles, I had to retell the story of the fall to several people who kept coming in and out of the room. In the midst of doing so, they also asked what I did for a living, where I lived, and, scarily enough, whether or not I have a living will — apparently something we should all have but was breaking news to me. When I told the first, then second, and then the third small group of nurses that I was a writer, they didn't waste any time looking me up.