Blood on the Porcelain

That's how my morning started, spitting blood and remembering that this whole adventure got started standing over the same sink. This time, the blood was flowing pretty freely, it hurt a little and I could feel that it was coming from the site of the surgery about ten days ago.
A few phone calls and then I was driving myself to Fox Chase with a bloody rag sticking out of my mouth,  one hand on the wheel and the other trying to stanch the bleeding. I'm imagining drivers in other cars as they look over at a traffic light and see a guy holding this large red wick in place. Anyway, as luck would have it, it was the WHYY fund drive, a very strange thing to listen to while you're trying not to gag on your own blood. If I hadn't donated just two days before, I would have felt like they were trying to tell me something. I switched stations to WRTI-it's classical music in the morning and that felt appropriately serious, the sort of sound track you'd choose if you were going to pick one for bleeding out in the front seat of your Honda.
(They were playing the overture from The Merry Widow and I'm not married. Go figger.)
An hour later, the bleeding's stopped and no one has the slightest idea about what may have caused it. I have the feeling that more tests are on the way and I'll see the surgeon again on friday. Stay tuned.