6 days in the hospital.
1 physician's assistant
7 nurse assistants
1 infusion therapy pump and 8 bags of antibiotics
5 bottles of pills.
And a bill hovering over the edge of $17,000
Today I type with arms unshackled by an IV cord pricked into my arm.
Today I am unencumbered by a cane, a crutch, a chair, or a cause.
Today my hands don't cart a canvas bag full of fluid.
Today my hands no longer grasp a grudge nor hold any hope. Today they protect my unseen pride. I pocket my palms; they're unavailable for a handout and are unneeded for a petition. My lips pay the price for my Graced. They silently slide through all the syllables of supplication. My solaced soul is weighted with gratitude to my God.
Today I am free to take measured paces on the pavement.
The timing was synchronized; my first royalty payment from my novel was deposited into my account the day before my hospitalization. So, I offer my profound gratitude to all of those who've supported my work.
Today I teeter on the brink of bankruptcy.
But at least I retain two feet to help me as I totter.