Diagnosis Accepted

"He was forty-four years old and tired.  He took a hand mirror from his pocket and stared at it.  The face of a stranger stared back.  The hairline had receded far back from the forehead, the cheeks were puffy, there were large pouches under the eyes.  Theo realized that he himself was ill." - Doctor Paracelsus, Sidney Rosen, copyright 1959, p. 202

And as I'm traveling on this journey, I begin to feel it.  Of course I try to ignore the discomfort for awhile, thinking it just might go away on its own.  Might resolve itself.  But no.  It's still there.  Sometimes almost imperceptible.  Sometimes just a dull ache.  Sometimes a full throbbing pain.  And I'm scared to look.  To look into the mirror.  To reflect.  And see my reflection.  The stranger staring back at me ...  Horrors!

I rush to the established doctors.  And they're full of advice: Clean yourself up!  Put on a mask - no one will know!  Blame it on someone else - it's not your fault!  Play the comparison game - you're not THAT bad!  Deaden it with distractions!  Just stop looking in the mirror!

But I can't.  And now the pain is becoming unbearable.  I just can't go on like this any longer!  I've got to change!  So I make an appointment with the Physician.  And He examines me.  Gently.  Tenderly.  And He gives me His diagnosis - confirming what I feared all along.  It's my heart.  

And as I turn to leave, He hands me His prescription.  My hands shake as I turn the paper over.  It simply reads, "Surgery."

To be continued ... Ready and Waiting