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AUTHORBUZZ: Discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win: Goto: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader
Dear Reader,
"I donated my brain," I told my hairdresser in the midst of our casual conversation.
"You what?" she shut off the noisy blow dryer and stared at me. "You donated your brain?"
"Yep, it was weird, but I filled out a card last week and sent it to the Benign Essential Blepharospasm organization (BEB), so when I die they can have my brain, take a look-see around, maybe figure out why I had the eye disorder, and then go fix the problem for someone else."
"So if I topple over dead some day, while you're doing my hair, tell the paramedics, 'There's a brain card in her wallet,' but don't let them carry me away until you finish my hair."
No joke, my hair appointment is the most important appointment I have noted in my daytimer. I've even been known to say, "I'd have to be dead not to show up for my weekly hair appointment." But I guess that's not really true, because if the paramedics insisted on taking me away before my hairdresser finished styling my hair, I'd expect her to ride along in the ambulance with her blow dryer, to make sure I look good for the final big event.
"It was a little weird filling out the paperwork to giveaway my brain," I told my stylist. "I made sure to read the print, just to be clear I wasn't signing up to donate my brain next week."
I don't know why it felt so unsettling donating my brain, because I've had the organ donor box on my driver's license, checked for sometime now. But then again, the first time I checked the box I was young and felt like I would live forever. Filling out paperwork to donate my brain at the age of 59--felt just a little too real. I made the decision to donate my brain, the day my neighbor (and good friend) told me he needed a heart transplant. My friend, who's now on the shortlist (in a hospital in another city) is waiting for a heart. Of which he says, "...could take over 20 weeks to find a gracious donor, who has the same blood type as myself and is taller than me, and who had the foresight to leave his heart to someone like myself..."
It's funny, because the first thought that went through my mind when my friend told me he needed a heart transplant was, 'What can I do for him? Can I give him mine?' Of course it was nonsense thinking, but it made me realize how important it was for me to share, even after I'm gone.
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
AUTHORBUZZ: A PARIS APARTMENT (Fiction) by Michelle Gable
When April's boss tells her about the discoveries in a decrepit Parisian apartment, the Sotheby's furniture expert doesn't hear the words "dust" or "rats" or "shuttered for seventy years." She hears escape. With the help of a salty Parisian solicitor and a deceased courtesan's private documents, April tries to uncover the secrets buried in the apartment, as well as those hidden in her own life.
Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader click on A PARIS APARTMENT to read more and to email author Michelle Gable, you'll get a reply.
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