Dear Dr. Lynch,
You don’t know this, but tears fill my eyes every time I drive to see you. It happens as I head east on Archer Road, right as that big Shands hospital comes into sight and just before I plant my feet in your waiting room and begin contemplating the reason you and I know each other. These are not sad tears, though. They are “Gosh, I am so glad I fell into your hands” tears. They are simply my body’s way of conveying what words cannot.
Thank you, my friend, for rescuing me from the doctor who told me to toughen up when my blood counts numbered 700, for telling me Taxol was not the drug for me (I knew it wasn’t!), for signing me up for the hopefully-life-saving Herceptin, for fielding my endless questions and worries, for helping fund my run (your name on a pink ribbon, October 24), for giving me another clean bill of health today and for so much more.
See, words just can’t sum it all up.
It’s happening again.
In good health (yours and mine),