in_the_desert raze in the desert i saw a creature, naked, bestial, who, squatting upon the ground, held his heart in his hands, and ate of it. i said, "is it good, friend?" "it is bitter — bitter," he answered; "but i like it because it is bitter, and because it is my heart." — stephen crane from "the black riders and other lines" (1895) 210407 ... ovenbird She was playing in the dirt when a rabbit ran by, body in the full tilt run of a creature trying to escape with its life. It grazed her leg with the airborne claw of its right forepaw, opening a thin seam of blood in the flesh above her knee. She came inside, pants torn, gash weeping and I wondered…do rabbits carry rabies? The resident nurse said there was no need for a rabies vaccine but the doctor, a man with an authoritative voice and a stethoscope that screamed “I know of what I speak,” said “better safe than sorry” and he invited me to his private emergency clinic. I drove an hour into the desert with my daughter in the back seat and pulled over next to a ramshackle outhouse poking up from the sand. I felt like I was involved in an illicit drug deal. I pulled open the door of the outhouse to find a stainless steel counter and a single rusting metal stool. My daughter sat on the stool until the doctor arrived with a nurse practitioner in tow. The nurse pulled a syringe with a green cap from an insulated bag and administered a rabies vaccine to my daughter. Then the doctor and nurse fought about whether she would need a further two doses or if a single dose would suffice. The doctor won again, and we were sent home with reassurance that my daughter would be fine after the single dose. In the morning I wondered what it meant—the dry air of the desert, the conflicting advice, the surreptitious way I had to access care for my child, the way the male doctor held the balance of power, the sense that I had dropped into an episode of Breaking Bad. Is my life so bereft of care? Am I clawing what I need back from the dust of a dying world? If I were the beast with my heart in my hands, gritty with sand, would I eat it? I would. I’m sure of it. 260514 what's it to you? who go blather from