
We have all been there. Sitting in a clinical, white room, waiting for a specialist whose decades of credentials have quietly granted them absolute authority over our future. They look at a printout, glance up, and deliver a verdict that feels like a heavy mallet crashing down on your life. I am incredibly honored that Sanctuary Magazine recently featured Chapter 29 of my memoir, Soul-Happy, which revisits the exact afternoon I had to decide whether to let a medical chart dictate the rest of my days. I was recovering from a life-threatening physical condition that had left my lower right leg atrophied, numb,...


