Letter 15.

Dear Mr. Miracle,

Before you walked into see me, a deputy came in and said, “Hey Doc, we have this guy who was already placed in wheelchair housing a couple of days ago, but can miraculously walk today… can you see him?”  With a smirk, I agreed.  As he went to get you, I combed through your chart to figure out what happened.  It said you were a “52-year-old… history of meth abuse… right leg injury… ordered imaging but you refused and then were ordered wheelchair housing.”  

I watched you through the glass as you walked through the hallway, you towered over everyone with your tall, lanky stature and bowed your head to avoid hitting it when entering my room.  We were both wearing masks, behind mine I smiled and said “Hello Mr. Miracle”, but realizing you could not see my smile I awkwardly chuckled.  You didn’t think it was funny.  I explained how I was told you could not walk, but suddenly today could and then I said, “help me understand.” You looked down at your right knee and described a distant basketball injury that you seemed to be replaying in your mind.  The injury seemed to be reactivated when you got into the cell, “slipped and twisted something”.  Then I asked why the chart said you refused the imaging and you refuted, “I was kickin’… I just wanted to be left alone… I knew I just needed time and I did because today my knee was better”.   

Processing your words and thinking about my next doctoring steps, I knew there was not much else I needed to do— your pain was better, you could walk, didn’t need wheelchair housing, and you were likely out of your withdrawal period.  I sat back in my chair, and said, “well there has to be a reason why our paths crossed… tell me about your basketball career.”  The way you looked at your knee paired with your stature; I had this sense that it was something special to you.  You responded with, “Yeah… I was about to be semi-pro, but I was young and dumb… one night I was at a club with my crew… I got into it with someone… it led to me going to prison… and then that was it for basketball.”  You went on to describe how after being released you have been living on the streets using meth as your means to survive.  Even though we spoke behind our masks, I saw the sense of loss in your eyes so I asked if you had ever talked to someone about losing your dream. You sort of looked at me surprised like it was the first time you heard someone describe your experience that way.  I kept going and said, “Isn’t strange how one moment can change your path in life?… Despite it all, there has to be a reason that you’re still here on Earth… why do you think it is?” 

Nearly 30 years after your loss and perhaps the loss of a life that impacted others, because you suddenly could walk again, we sat together discussing how you could move forward.  When our dreams and plans don’t work out, we often find ourselves in this place of uncertainty and dealing with those emotions can be paralyzing.  Perhaps conversations with strangers, like ours, can reveal the invisible miracles in moments. 

Seeking the miracles of each day,

Dr. A