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I walked reluctantly to the neurosurgeon’s rooms. “I don’t want to be here!” my mind screamed. I had seen him four years prior, after slipping over in my town. I had heard a snap in my back, and sure enough, I had broken my spine in several places through the thoracic region. He sent me for an MRI, and I had it, but never went back to him. I couldn’t face it at the time. I had a small child, practically a baby. I was nervous about seeing him again. Would he be angry with me? I was immediately put at ease. He put me through an examination, and found there is quite a significant deficit in the nerves through my right side,from my foot to my hand. I cried when he said he was in awe of me and how I kept going. He knows the pain is severe, and he knows nothing he does will make it better. “How did you survive that fall? Nobody could survive that!” he exclaimed. He wants me to bring a copy of my book to give his daughter. I told him that his praise meant a lot. More tests have been ordered, and I am going back in July. A day I was dreading-which had dredged up the crime responsible for this appointment-had been transmuted into a day of clarity, pride and redemption.