It was my neurosurgeon. The doctor who stood at the side of my hospital bed explaining my options, the procedures. The one who nodded silently as I cried. He left a mark - a two inch scar on my back where he removed lesions from my spine. I haven't seen him since.
Thank you, God.
Needless to say, hearing his voice and seeing his face brought back a lot of memories. He remembered my husband and me and asked how I was doing. I got a little choked up when I looked him in the eye and responded, "I'm doing great." Because really, I am. Seeing him reminded me how thankful I am for that. A part of me wanted to sit him down and re-live bits and pieces of the last twenty months. I wanted to bring back to life the pain, the fear and the uncertainty. I wanted to walk him through the journey that followed - the seeking, the fighting, the believing, the healing. But instead, I smiled, took a deep breath and nodded my head. Somehow I think he understood.
All I know is that I wanted to get home and write. I wanted to see the words - black and write, running across the page. I wanted to come back to where it all started. I wanted, needed, to write.
Because hope cannot be contained. Should not be contained.
So let me say this. I am not doing well on accident. I didn't get lucky. I made changes to every part of my life. I learned to be weak, to be strong. I fought for my future, my faith, my family. I read everything I could get my hands on. I juiced. I fasted. I believed. I made tough decisions. I surrounded myself with amazing people. I prayed - for purpose. I chose joy. I gave thanks.
I don't forget the nights I poured over my keyboard with tears in my eyes or the days I was angry and frustrated and in pain. But for now, I am reminded how far we have come and for that, I am thankful.