I held a tissue over my face with both hands, pressing my fingers gently into both eye sockets to catch water before it flowed down my cheeks. I breathed in as waves of emotion erupted faster tears and a scrunched up face to hold them in.
I had begun crying mid-visit. Again.
Two years before, I had sat in the same chair and cried the same tears, but today I felt different. Stronger, in a way. Less afraid. The tears felt good.
I heard the doctor stop typing and swivel their desk chair to face me.
I breathed out. Continue reading “The God of All Doctors,” Sterile Environments, & Dirty Medicine