I wake up to a miracle.
Snow, in Texas: real snow, not merely a listless splatter of ice and sleet. There must be two inches now, at the least.
Normally, I would be meeting patients, straining to hear narrowed valves and weakened lungs through the prim aluminum of my stethoscope. First, I would make a painless remark to help smooth the shift to the paper-lined examination table; something about the weather, probably. There’s always something to say about the weather.
I have never been a brave person. As a little girl, the monster under my bed—a creature I knew was real—prevented me from sleeping or gave me nightmares when I managed to drift off. That monster morphed into peers who intimidated me with their confidence, their ability to flirt with boys, their freedom to jitterbug on the dance floor. Heights, reptiles and bridges over water continue to frighten me. I guess I am a weak person wrapped in a tall, seemingly strong frame.
Dear Readers,
It’s winter of my senior year of college. I’m returning to my dorm one afternoon and am startled to see its three-story brick edifice almost hidden beneath a blizzard of bedsheets, banners and placards. Is this some kind of celebration?
Drawing closer, I make out the bold letters on these makeshift signs: “NO CO-EDS IN SAGE,” “KEEP CO-HOGS OUT.”
This isn’t a party; it’s a protest.
February More Voices: Bravery Read More »
Avalanche dream—heavy breakage of trees, boulders ripped from
their footings. Chunks of ice bouncing past as the swirling white
mass picks up speed. I’m running running running but can’t stay
ahead of it. Lungs burn, tears stream from the effort, the strain.
Glazed in sweat, I wake up to the blare of alarm clock, hurriedly dress
and drive to the hospital.
“Would you do it again?” my husband’s friend asked. Gesturing to indicate the weight of the decision, Dan held out a hand and said, “On the one hand, I needed 10 liters of oxygen 24/7 and probably wouldn’t last six months.” Then he held out his other hand and said, “Or a double-lung transplant. I chose to live.”
Dan had lived with scleroderma for 20 years, dealing with daily pain and countless medical procedures, while the autoimmune disorder gradually destroyed his lungs. But he loved life and was determined to keep going.
I was in secondary school in Nigeria when I first noticed the lesion on Uncle Eze’s lip. Like many men of his age in Lagos, he’d picked up smoking in the 1980s, when foreign cigarette companies flooded our markets with glossy advertisements and promises of sophistication. The habit stuck, even as the glamour faded. The streets of Lagos were dotted with tobacco vendors then, selling single sticks to businessmen who’d made cigarettes part of their daily routine.
“It’s nothing,” he said, when I pointed to the growing sore. In those days, seeing a dermatologist meant traveling to one of the few teaching hospitals in the country. Uncle Eze, my mother’s eldest brother and the owner of a thriving electronics shop, had his business to run, customers to meet. The lesion could wait.
The Distance Between Read More »
Another trip to the ER. I am exhausted and worried and afraid. Fighting for doctor’s appointments, transportation, medications. No one listens or cares how hard it is.
“How does anyone do this?” I cry frantically into the nurse’s shoulder. She’s understanding and very nice, but she can’t make it all go away. She does what she can, knowing there’s nothing she can do once I take my daughter home.
Another Trip to the ER Read More »
There is a saying that mind over matter comes from using mental willpower to overcome challenges. However, for people with disabilities who have lost bodily function, it means something much more profound: a victory over the terror of disability, a celebration of the resilience it takes to face intense struggles.
Strength Beyond Limits Read More »
It had happened before; the previous time, it was a phone call on a Tuesday morning. This time, the message came by email on a Friday.
“Do you remember me?” wrote the sender.
“Do I remember you?” I wrote back. “I think of you often and fondly, although it has been over twenty-five years since we last spoke, and thirty-four years since we first met.”
“I Fell Out of the Sky” Read More »
I have a hormone-related chronic disease, so I need seven pills per day. I have a hormone-related chronic disease, so I feel alone most of the time. I have a hormone-related chronic disease, so I cannot run or jump. I have a hormone-related chronic disease, so I harass myself most of the time. I have a hormone-related chronic disease, so I get mad with those I love.
My Thyroid Thoughts Read More »
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