I went to the doctor the other day for a very persistent headache. After looking at the results of all my tests, the doctor kindly explained that I was fine, it was just a chronic migraine. But, he told me, there was a magic little pill that would solve all my problems and take this troublesome pain away. Not only would it get rid of my headache, he promised, but it would also help me lose weight.
To me, this seemed like a win-win situation. A miracle, in fact. But it also seemed a bit too easy. I was thrilled, and skeptical. Yet when I took the pill, my headache did begin to subside. The bliss of having 30 minutes without pain was overwhelming, as I’d been feeling war-ravaged from the constant throbbing for four solid months.
But then it happened ¾the part my doctor did not tell me about: I began losing my words. I checked the fine print, and was stunned with what I saw: Side affects may include difficulty speaking. How could my doctor think that losing my words wouldn’t be a problem for me?
I panicked. In the midst of all my tears I began to think about my words, and how I could lose just about anything else, but not my words. I love my words. My words are what make me me. My words create stories and characters that people fall in love with., It’s my words that fight for injustice. It’s my words that teach my grand children right from wrong. It’s my words that create bedtime stories for them. My words are my life. It was an unfair choice I was being forced to make. I cried that night, facing the fate of either living with pain or losing my words.
The next morning, I flushed those magic pills down the toilet, knowing that I would always fight for my words, never sacrificing them for anyone or anything. I refuse to let this headache take my words.