I hate to hear that about your bible student. It’s funny how you have to go through something like that to gain insight into someone else’s world. But her experience made you a better, more compassionate person and when someone tells you that they’re sick you can feel they’re pain and you understand. And that’s what all of us really need in these times–people we can call true friends. Love you!

Keep enduring and I hope you get a chance to pick up Unbeweaveable. You won’t regret it!

Thank you so much for sharing this story. It means a lot that you took the time to make a difference in that young girl’s life. I’m sure she will never forget your act of kindness.

I soooo did not want to talk about my sickle-cell. Ever. I didn’t want the pity party, you know? But I’m finding that it’s okay for someone to feel empathy about your situation, to take your pain into their heart is a good thing. I don’t plan on talking about it all the time, but it’s good to let people know what you’re going through. Some people were taking the full-time writer thing too literal. Chile, this is a forced situation, but I’m blessed to be able to have my husband provide for his family.

I think that’s why I use humor so much in my writing. When you are dealing with something that might take your life you have to find something to laugh about. Tears of a clown right?

Thanks so much for being transparent. I knew there was something special in your writing! You understand pain and that it transmits into your writing. During my time in the school system, I worked with young people with sickle cell. As an Outreach Worker I once had to search for a parent of a student who was having a sickle cell crisis and needed a home to go to or for someone to pick her up. She lay on her side on a small school cot, in so much pain she was only able to nod when we spoke to her. We could contact no one by telephone so I drove through the North End to her Granny’s house who said she could come to her house if her Mother would bring her. Granny sent her younger brother to ride with me and show me where the student’s mother was. Younger Brother looked like all he’d done for the last five years is sit in the same polyester pants he was wearing in front of the TV. He was the uncle who lived in the back room, you know? He was little challenged mentally and when he talked his breath was so foul from his rotting teethe that it seemed to fill the car. I turned my head to keep from wincing. I didn’t want to roll the window down and chance hurting his feeling so I held my breath. We rode a few blocks and as soon as he said, “Turn here,” I knew what the deal was. It was the crack house. As I pulled into the drive the student’s mother came out of the house. I told her about her daughter laying on the cot in pain at the school. She looked at me bleary eyed and asked, “Did you go to her Aunt’s house?” I swallowed my anger. “Yes,” I said. “She needs someone NOW!” Mama agreed to go pick up her daughter and I got in my car and took the brother home.

I don’t know no why I just wanted to tell you that story. Maybe because you put into words what that student couldn’t say and you make me so glad that something pushed me to be persistant that day.

Keep writing Katrina, girl. I can tell you have great stories to tell.

Cheri