
Before the Doors Opened
Several years ago, I attended a community event. Like most people attending, I arrived shortly before it started. Conversations had already begun by the time I found a seat.

Several years ago, I attended a community event. Like most people attending, I arrived shortly before it started. Conversations had already begun by the time I found a seat.

Last year brought me to Italy. Sitting at cafés watching crowds of people pass by and wandering through villages and cities I had only read about, it was difficult not to think about the path that had brought me there.

The U. S. Department of Education has announced changes that will shift some special education and civil rights responsibilities to other federal agencies.

Recovery after surgery, changing balance, and the everyday tasks that depend on two working hands.

There is something strange about surgery. You know the day is coming. It sits on the calendar for weeks. You talk about it, prepare for it, and think about it.

A poem about changing light, water, shadows, and the movement of time.

The clock is ticking down. In less than twenty-four hours there will be surgery, anesthesia, discharge instructions, restrictions, and a sling waiting at the end of it all.

The door catches before the latch. A voice lingers in the hallway, no words, only shape, then fades beneath unhurried steps. Inside, a trace of warmth where someone lingered longer than they should.

Clinical care is built on what can be observed at specific points in time. Clinical decisions rely on these snapshots, such as tests, scans, and recorded symptoms.

Function narrows before anyone calls it loss. The first change was subtle. The sensation between the ring finger and pinky on the left hand felt off. It was numb, but not in a way that was complete or alarming, just dulled enough to feel different and difficult to define.