Ma has a huge smile. “Libby, isn’t this wonderful?” she gushes. “Finally, a clear solution"
As told to Rochel Samet
The sun is so bright.
Ma opened the curtains this morning, letting light flood into my prison cell – my bed. I squint, shift position, wince from pain.
It’s been two days since I woke up with the lower half of my body on fire, and “improvement” means I can shuffle down the hallway and back. No stairs.
I hear quick footsteps and voices, and my parents appear.
“The rheumatologist just called,” Ma says. “She may have some answers for us… we have an appointment with her this afternoon.”
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