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Physician, Heal Thyself
From ME/CFS (Part 3 of 3) Dear Reader, my apologies. Within the confines of my current prison, I have not yet completed the essays I promised you months ago, neither my displays of Medical Pearls collected over thirty years, nor my recent songs of Adventure through Wilderness. Those tales will yet come, God willing. ME/CFS,…
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Resurrection
Dear Reader, I have missed you. The twin sisters of winter, Cold and Darkness, sneaked up on me last December with their claws. Now I find myself emerging, like a crocus from the ground, renewed with hope, a participant in the rising fragrance of spring.
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Day 90 on the Gravanok
It’s been three months today since we set sail with Captain TAT. The boys-a are becoming men-ya. There have been no fistfights in over a week, and we’ve had no deaths, despite the two who went overboard in shark-filled waters.
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Rescue is Coming for Those Who Suffer with Chronic Pain
To the young woman, utterly lost and sore-afraid, imprisoned in the Underground, I say, “Hold on!” To the old man, desperate with pain and blinded by the darkness, I say, “I am coming.” Listen for my voice and follow me. I am heading out of this wicked place in due time.
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Remembering Dr. Baker
Will happy haunting suffice for this week? “The Promise and the Lawsuit, Part One” demands at least two follow-up installments. The same thing goes for “The Dialogues of Solly and TAT.” However, today I hope to go short and light.
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A Song for Sammie
I’m searching for somebody—the person I can help the most through my writing. I don’t know her real name, because she’s a private person, but sometimes I call her Suffering Sammie. If you see her, or if you know where she lives, could you tell her I’m still looking for her? That I never gave…
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After the Cone
After the Cone The Haunted Doctor TAT – Entry 2 Some marathons, like life, are remarkably simple in design: essentially flat; no major turns; straight out to the orange cone, and straight back. Thirteen miles each way. The Bayshore Marathon in Traverse City, Michigan, is just such a race. …
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First Contact
Mr. Solly, I appreciate your time. I have been called TAT by my father, who was a writer, so that’s the name I’d like to use for our purposes. I have heard you are wise but compassionate, and eager to help people like me accomplish their goals.
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Dedication to my Father
Beneath the bones of my skull, imbedded forever, lie all the fingerprints of those who shaped me. But the deepest impressions of all were made by J. Michael Thompson. I was three years old when my father taught me James Weldon Johnson’s greatest poem, The Creation. We memorized it together. But one line was my…
