“Right above my head, on the shelf made out of sockets and switches, is the hospital’s kind reminder of my impermanence. A whiteboard that says Lenni Petersson in red marker with a smudge near the final n. The thing about whiteboards is that they’re so easily wiped clean. They’re designed to be used again and again and again for the names of the unlucky few who find themselves in the May Ward. One day, in just the briefest stroke of a dry whiteboard eraser, I’ll be gone.”
