It’s been two years since I submitted this post for a blogging challenge. It shares a heartfelt story about where I was the previous year, fearful of what was in store for me, my family and my friends.
Much has transpired in these last several years, the least of all has been learning more about life and the people we include in our lives. None of the lessons we receive are for naught, if we are willing to stay open to the possibilities that each day, each moment, gives us.
Never forget to listen to your heart.
“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents…”
No, I am not entering the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. Nor am I making a feeble attempt at melodramaticism or trying to be funny.
One year ago this evening, there was a major thunderstorm in the Seattle-Tacoma area. And my emotions were equally as tumultuous as the storm brewing around me.
It had been only nine days since I had landed in the emergency room at the Army hospital. After 10 hours of poking and prodding, repeating my symptoms to every level of the medical staff over two shift changes, and a CT scan later, a woman wearing the gold oak leaf rank of major and calling herself, “Doctor,” came into my room asking me for the umpteenth time about what brought me to the ER, and then coldly and abruptly announced: “You have a mesenteric tumor and…
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