This Letter to the Editor appeared in The Palm Beach Post on March 29, 2020: When a healthcare crisis upends our lives, the care of a trusted physician is valuable beyond measure. Now, with COVID-19, physicians are putting themselves at risk without hesitation to save lives, provide testing and reassure patients. On Monday, National Doctors’…
I can't go wrong. There's too much going right.
My husband and I celebrated our 37th wedding anniversary last June in my Amsterdam hospital room. The dietician ordered up a special lunch for the occasion -- pannenkoek, Dutch pancakes. And Ray brought me flowers. He has always brought me flowers, and I am surprised and delighted every time.
I was a lot of different people. A traveler by someone else's design. A writer by genetics. A dancer by my mother's past. A speaker of Castillian Spanish and Colombian Spanish and Italian and French. A foreigner in America. An American abroad. A kid with her family overseas and her roots seeking they not knew what.
A catheter is a wonderful thing.
They say that gratitude is a year-round practice, and that we can be thankful on days other than Thanksgiving. Every time I stand up, I am grateful. Every stair I climb, every tangerine I peel, every egg I beat, every swimstroke I pull -- grateful.
I give "community" as one big reason for my survival and recovery from a serious illness in Amsterdam earlier this year. I lay in a single bed for three months but rarely felt alone.
Physical independence has expanded my world: from a single bed, to a hospital hallway, to Oosterpark, to Florida my home and neighborhood. Yesterday, my husband and I ventured further than we've been since our return, and, as always, we are the better for this little taste of travel.
Two months ago today, my husband, Ray, and I flew home to Florida from Amsterdam, where I'd become critical ill during a vacation.