We're done! It's been a long road, but Mom and I finally finished our co-written account of our lives and kidney transplant surgeries, tentatively titled Ask Me Why I Have Three Kidneys: A Mother-Daughter Memoir. When I get depressed about how hard it is to sell a book, I just remind myself that the best personal essay I've ever read had to be self-published.
Ethan just bought this for $180. It's signed by the author, who printed a run of a thousand copies. Thirty-two excruciating pages.
Like our memoir, A Guide For the Undehemorrhoided has an activist slant. Mom wants to spread the word about the damage lithium does to the kidneys; Willeford wanted to prevent other men from suffering as he had:
I will make this statement at once and at least once: if a man is past thirty, it is not worth his while to have a hemorrhoidectomy. I say this flatly and categorically, because there are not, simply, enough good years remaining to any man past thirty to make the pain of this operation worth it. Moreover, any young man under thirty, especially young men who have relatively dim futures anyway, should realistically and judiciously examine his post-operative prospects before submitting his ass to the proctologist's knife.