One of the best thyroid surgeons in the United States looks like Margot Robbie, only in a petite version. I saw her today, on my annual pilgrimage to the Cleveland Clinic.

In the elevator on the way to the appointment, a man in blue scrubs asked where I was from.

“Cincinnati. But I followed my surgeon here from Chicago.”

Dr. Heiden always wears her hair pulled back, and the standard long white hospital lab coat with her name stitched over the pocket. It’s her shoes that give her away.

Today, her feet were spunky in chunky wedges with a hand-painted floral design over the vamp and across the thick heel. Dr. Heiden showed me where her dog had gotten to one of them, little raised triangles of leather at the back, like miniature wings.

My first annual pilgrimage to Dr. Heiden was when we made the deal. I had been thinking about my voice, how I had spent most of my life squelching it or putting myself in situations where someone else squelched it for me.

As Dr. Heiden ran the cool ultrasound wand over my wet-slicked throat, I said, “I think as long as I keep using my voice, keep talking, keep writing, I’m going to be okay.”

She took her gaze from my neck to my eyes. “I think so, too.”

Today, after Dr. Heiden asked about my prescriptions, she asked if I was still writing.

“I am. Just sent another book to print.”
“I want one!”
“I’m sending you one!”

Yep, I’m keeping my part of the deal. And so is Dr. Heiden.

Chewing the Cud of Good

Ginger’s orchids

Thankful for Dr. Heiden, and for being above ground.