How many twenty-seven-year stretches can a person have in their life? I've never counted. I don't dare.
I've been seeing doctors since I was eight. At thirty-five, I was still taking medication, and then I lost my job.
A rare disease, a genetic mutation. The doctor said, "You're only the third case I've ever seen."
The words "severe anxiety" lay quietly on the page.
Later, I signed an informed consent form for a new drug trial,
then went to the hospital week after week, for eighteen weeks.
At New Year's Eve dinner some time later, my son counted everyone present: "Everyone's here!"
This isn't a story about conquering illness.
It's about someone living with illness, getting through life one day at a time.
Staying alive, to see the people I want to see.
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