Issue 271 | The Sun Magazine

July 1998

Readers Write


A misdiagnosis; a long, wet kiss; a ring from the garden

By Our Readers


Some people think that doctors and nurses can put scrambled eggs back into the shell.

Dorothy Canfield Fisher

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Goodbye, Johnnie Walker

Until recently, I hadn’t gone to bed sober in twenty-five years. I was a drunk when I first met my wife of twenty-three years, and I have been one ever since. I have been a pretty good drunk, as drunks go, without the usual DWIs, abusive behavior, or too dear a price paid for being too honest after my seventh or tenth drink.

By Neil Davidson
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Surviving The Fall

A Physician Comes Of Age

Now I gradually reconstructed the story of my father’s death, piece by piece. Despite the many gaping holes remaining, I realized that it was most likely not, as I had grown up believing, an accident. The truth was he hadn’t fallen from that window; he’d jumped.

By Peter A. Selwyn
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Where Life Begins

This spring I am almost thirty-nine, the cut-off age for success with most infertility treatments. Under thirty, thirty to thirty-four, thirty-nine and under, forty and up — these age categories used to seem so arbitrary, but now the startling difference in success rates between the last two is a measure of how much hope I have left.

By Karen Propp

Naked Before Strangers

My first strip jobs were down in Chicago, secretarial pools and bachelorette parties where the girls squealed and ran their hands along my abs and up over my pecs. My old man would shit one of his very own bricks if he ever found out what I do.

By Teresa S. Mathes

The Lap Of Luxury

Russell was telling the three of us — Melody, Leigh, and me — about the last moments of his mother’s life. The three of us were crying, but Russell wasn’t. His face was pale, not his usual ruddy hue that made him look as if he’d just come in from jogging a few miles.

By Nance Van Winckel

Photographs By Bob Bayles

My father was diagnosed with cancer near his seventieth birthday, in September, and passed away the following April. During his illness, I made four trips back home to Westville, Illinois, where both my parents were born and raised.