I would not be worth – all of this – high action traction where the arch of the story itself could explode from pure adrenaline. That tone from word one to the end, lightem up, up, up. Litem up, up, up. I am glad people can coordinate and go for it. Medical rock and roll on steroids. I am sure it saves lives. I do not know what that even means. Who gets access and who does not. The writing here is coordinated so flawlessly with the photography – it’s a cudgel. Most photography these days is Insta. Thank you for another dimension in what photography could have been. We do not often get such a copacetic existence in journalism. The tubes. The dark. The grit. The muscle. The heavy lifting. The rush into the night. The rush into a vehicle. The rush onto a table. The rush to scissor off the clothes. Break those bones. Break those barriers. Break off from those hands that hold you back. Why did I just write those words. Because I do not believe in any of it. I wanted to know what those breaking words sound like. I can accept that maybe, it’s just me. But if this is the struggle of it, sometimes, some things, are just too much. Is life worth – this peer into the dark abyss. And then what. It’s going to be a life of Things You Cannot Do. Cross my heart, and hope to die, life is saved but for what. For what. Existence is fine. But not for me. The struggle painted here takes off the gloves. I don’t want the ugliness. I don’t want an abyss. I don’t want to be touched. Let me go.