July 1, 2018

Walking in Memphis (or Wherever the Spirit Might Speak)

I think of how desperate I was once when my daughter, at the age of four, was suffering what seemed to be simple ankle sprains.  Both ankles at once.  We liked her pediatrician a lot, but all she could recommend was wrapping the ankles and waiting.

Well my daughter started feeling very very sick one night and we took her to the children’s hospital in Portland and the doctor we saw there, after midnight, looked her over and unwrapped one of her ankles, and nothing prepared me to see the mass of purple bubbles of skin her ankle had become.

All at once I thought this must mean she was deathly ill,  but for this specialist it was proof, without the need of a blood test, that she had an auto-immune condition that could be serious but that, for most, was just a stage of development that should pass in a period of a couple of months.  It was like going from a sentence of death to new life in a matter of moments for me, the desperate dad.