Rain falling in distance from storm clouds over the plain

Gratitude for possibility

Gratitude 25/40

On Friday I cried in the doctor’s office. It was not a polite cry where you dab a tear drop from the corner of your eye. It was more raw, like my lungs were desperately gobbling up air and my vocal cords were too stress to open resulting in a series extended moans. I wasn’t in control, and I felt embarrassed by it and gave the Ear Nose and Throat specialist a thumbs up while wailing.

I’ve been having issues with my voice and speech for more than a month. I’ve gone for scans and tests, all the while hoping it’s not serious. But in moments before my wail, he told me this was neurological. And from the little desk research I’ve done (thanks Ti), it is not good news.

The ENT doctor with his curly grey hair and grey eyes looks at me with tenderness. His face mask is shaped like a duck bill which makes this moment more endearing.

“Do you have people that care about you in Pittsburgh?” He asks knowing I’m an immigrant.

“I do.” I say.

“Good! While I would like to be your care person, I can’t. But you will need your people now.”

Not only do I need my people, I also need those who can echo-locate me in this darkness. As I drive down the spiraling tar of the parking garage, I leave a voice note for a friend who has MS. MS is one of the many, many possible fists behind this punch.

Her response is soothing. “I know in my own experience how scary this can feel. I am sorry that you are here. You know, I can’t say that I feel hopeful for many things, but I do believe in possibility. I believe in the possibility that whatever comes can be worked with and I want to be there with you.”