I remember meeting her 22 years ago or so. Her hair was cut short and dyed an impossible shade of copper. It shone like a penny and not one strand moved. She was a great stylist, my doctor. I talked to her a couple of times, trusted her.
She has since been replaced by another doctor who is equally fastidious about her hair and appearance. It is comforting. If they couldn’t take care of themselves, I would be less inclined to listen to their suggestions for my own appearance.
I have always been really inspired by the doctors at the clinic. They seemed to really care. Right now, they are trying to get me to stand up and say my own opinions without fear, but with tact.
With the virus, the doctors are the ones who are leading the world through the darkness of misinformation, fear and pain. We listen to their recommendations and follow so that we won’t get sick.
22 years. I have coped with a chronic illness for all of these years. It is a deadly disorder. But if there is one lesson here with me is that it can be beaten, whatever it is. The key is to figure out if you want to. Then, you do everything in your power to survive and thrive.
The fear may look at you in the mirror as you look back in a hospital room. It might look at you with pity and love in the eyes of your child. It might look at you with anger from a person who wants to stay healthy. You cannot be afraid to look back at it and say, “I will not die.”
The dear doctor is still wearing her beautiful haircut. My hair has become a lot longer and thicker. She has kept me healthy. I have not always followed. I survived with her and the others who are going through the same thing.