“Margaret, dreams aren’t instructions.”
“I know.”
“And we’re not young.”
“I know that too.”
“This could be dangerous.”
“I know.”
He reached across the table and took my hand.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
That sentence broke something inside me.
Because that was my fear too.
I had already lost one child.
I didn’t know if I could survive losing my husband.
And I certainly didn’t know if I could survive leaving him alone.
For several weeks, we talked about it.
Then we stopped talking about it.
Then, one evening, Thomas walked into the living room carrying a piece of paper.
It was a phone number.
“A specialist,” he said.
I looked at him.
“You called?”
“I made an appointment.”
My heart started beating faster.
“You’re serious?”
He smiled sadly.
“If we’re going to do something this crazy, we’re going to do it properly.”
Finding a doctor willing to even evaluate me wasn’t easy.
