Today marks another birthday in the Tinhouse.
There will be no cake, no candles and no presents. It’s not really that kind of birthday.
My pacemaker is six years old today.
It’s six years since they made me part android by inserting a small metal box into my chest, protecting forever me from the blackouts caused by my heart-rate dropping, and protecting forever me from the X-ray machine at airports (though this has condemned me to a lifetime of being patted down at airports instead).
It works happily away, 24/7, possibly singing “hi-ho, hi-ho” as it goes about its work. It probably does deserve a present, so perhaps I’ll stick my finger into a light-socket sometime today, just to give it a bit of a thrill.
It’s earned it. It’s keeping me alive.