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Tess Catalano "Take Back the Night" and other academic essays, 1982
Catalano #11 Page 1
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Catalano # eleven After three weeks of poking and proding, of dyes and x-rays, of questions without waiting for answers [they didn't wait to have answered?], they decided that she would need the operation again. It was no surprise. She was supposed to have it every eight to ten years, she was twenty-five now, and the wear and tear of living -- the loss of love, the walks to work, the gasps of passion -- has taken [their [or "a"]?] toll. She was like a beautiful old house, and she needed fixing to be livable again. Eleven years ago the operation had taken ten hours. Starting with an eighteen-inch incision from the top of her sternum to the plexus. [This fragment has dramatic effect, so may be worth using]. [Came] prying apart the rib cage, opening the heart, cleaning the left ventricle and aorta, and possibly repairing or replacing the valve. Then closing the heart, [not needed before the parenthesis] (it was actually only open for two or three minutes), wiring the rib cage shut and sealing the incision. All that was left was an eighteen-inch scar ( A surgeon's graffiti,)[striking phrase] almost three-quarters of an inch wide in places. It seemed like such a destructive process, like chopping down trees, so that more can grow, or burning off a corn field to clear it for planting. A forestry of the heart, agriculture of the body. On the outside was the scar, and inside the heartbeat, like a hoarse cough. Now with all the modern technology it would only take six hours. They assured me. [forceful imagery] I remember the first time I saw the scar. We were changing out of our softball uniforms -- she had scored the winning run from second base. When she took off her shirt I saw it, like a clay red river running between her pale breasts. I ran my finger down it. “It feels fake,” I said. “It is,” she laughed. They told me that they would use the same incision as before so she didn’t have to worry about two scars. They would compensate for the rugged scar tissue by using a larger scalpel blade for the I remember the first time I saw the scar. We were changing our of our softball uniforms -- she had scored the winning run from second base. When she took off her shirt I saw it, like a clay red river running between her pale breasts. I ran my finger own it. "It feels fake" I said. "It is", she laughed. They told me that they would use the same incision as before so she didn't have to worry about two scars They would compensate for the rugged scar tissue by using a larger scalpel blade for the
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Catalano # eleven After three weeks of poking and proding, of dyes and x-rays, of questions without waiting for answers [they didn't wait to have answered?], they decided that she would need the operation again. It was no surprise. She was supposed to have it every eight to ten years, she was twenty-five now, and the wear and tear of living -- the loss of love, the walks to work, the gasps of passion -- has taken [their [or "a"]?] toll. She was like a beautiful old house, and she needed fixing to be livable again. Eleven years ago the operation had taken ten hours. Starting with an eighteen-inch incision from the top of her sternum to the plexus. [This fragment has dramatic effect, so may be worth using]. [Came] prying apart the rib cage, opening the heart, cleaning the left ventricle and aorta, and possibly repairing or replacing the valve. Then closing the heart, [not needed before the parenthesis] (it was actually only open for two or three minutes), wiring the rib cage shut and sealing the incision. All that was left was an eighteen-inch scar ( A surgeon's graffiti,)[striking phrase] almost three-quarters of an inch wide in places. It seemed like such a destructive process, like chopping down trees, so that more can grow, or burning off a corn field to clear it for planting. A forestry of the heart, agriculture of the body. On the outside was the scar, and inside the heartbeat, like a hoarse cough. Now with all the modern technology it would only take six hours. They assured me. [forceful imagery] I remember the first time I saw the scar. We were changing out of our softball uniforms -- she had scored the winning run from second base. When she took off her shirt I saw it, like a clay red river running between her pale breasts. I ran my finger down it. “It feels fake,” I said. “It is,” she laughed. They told me that they would use the same incision as before so she didn’t have to worry about two scars. They would compensate for the rugged scar tissue by using a larger scalpel blade for the I remember the first time I saw the scar. We were changing our of our softball uniforms -- she had scored the winning run from second base. When she took off her shirt I saw it, like a clay red river running between her pale breasts. I ran my finger own it. "It feels fake" I said. "It is", she laughed. They told me that they would use the same incision as before so she didn't have to worry about two scars They would compensate for the rugged scar tissue by using a larger scalpel blade for the
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