Chapter 1 : Part 3

A Sundog Moment
by Sharon Baldacci

(Page 3 of 6)

Tight, anxious breath escaped in a singular sigh of relief. Gone was the awful spinning, like an out-of-control top, and now that the world was no longer twirling it was soundless, the quiet so rich she felt she could snuggle down into it. This was not the case days ago, or was it weeks? Time had little meaning then. A second had taken on the weight of hours as she waited and prayed and hoped and bargained for life to shrink back to normal.

That infamous moment when she had got up in the middle of the night and stepped out of bed into a frenetic world of swirling motion with earsplitting calamity was too real a nightmare. She no longer had command over her own body, nothing worked, it was too horrible . . .

But now, in its place was the world she knew, had known all her life, one of checks and glorious balances, of gravity and reality that could not do what was unintended. The relief was enormous. How long had it taken for this to be resurrected? Had it happened a month ago? Two days ago? She was clueless.

Elizabeth stretched timidly, rewarded as a smile began to erase the worry from her face. Everything worked! Her legs were just where they were supposed to be. She could feel them and almost laughed out loud at the pleasure of it all.

She looked toward the clock; it was very early. She should be sleeping. Then her eyes caught the play of light from the early morning sun on the wall and she was mesmerized. How could something that was nothing have such energy? She wondered what music made it dance so lively.

When she noticed the clock again she was astonished that thirty minutes had passed. Suddenly the early morning reached for her, pulling grateful eyes slowly shut, and she drifted off to sleep a little longer. Her last conscious thought was heartfelt prayer: Thank You, God!

Hours later, with her eyes still closed, Elizabeth could feel Michael's presence. A smile started lifting her heart, and when he leaned near enough to kiss her forehead, blue eyes opened slowly, cautiously.

"Michael," she breathed, embracing the smile he gave her and giving one in return; she was so happy to see him.

His heart jumped. "Elizabeth darling, how are you today? Better?" His eyes were encouraging but the voice was tentative.

"I can hardly believe how much better I am today; it's a miracle."

He had missed the sound of her voice, he suddenly realized. It had been several tense days, and she had been too dizzy, too sick to do more than slur a few words together, or to whisper, her voice ragged and strange. Now it was a sound that moved him nearly to tears.

Her voice was a husky alto and danced with the cadence of cultured Virginia at its southern best, like a pretty woman wrapped in fur-and nothing else. He cleared his throat. "Nothing could make me happier, Beth."

Impulsively she held out her arms. "Watch." Both arms straight out from her sides, she held his gaze, then shut her eyes and slowly brought both hands with knowledge to touch the tip of her nose. She felt his exultation even before he hugged her.

"Elizabeth, my God, that is wonderful. It's incredible." Yesterday she couldn't do this simple thing. That she could today was too wonderful to put into words.

Moments later the door swung open and Dr. Gordon Jones walked in, shuffling papers. He was a tall, solid man who was often unkempt. Either his hair was in need of a trim or his shirt was skewed because buttons done in a perpetual hurry were mismatched; there was too little precious time to waste on nonessentials. His appearance was deceiving because he was a first-rate doctor. And the kind of friend who'd meet you anywhere at a moment's notice if you needed him.

Elizabeth clutched her husband's hand a little tighter as Gordon came closer. The doctor sat down in the small rolling chair, dropped the charts on the side of the bed, and smiled. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Incredibly better. Whatever is in that liquid you have dripping through my veins? Why, it must be magic!" Her smile became a little smaller as she asked the next reluctant question. "Gordon, what happened to me?" She gripped Michael's hand even tighter.

Gordon's eyes glanced toward Michael, eyebrows raised. He noted the slight shake and cleared his throat and donned his professional cloak. "Elizabeth, the good news is that it's not a brain tumor-"

Her shocked exclamation cut him off. "No one told me that was ever considered. Michael, did you know?" Astonished, she looked at Michael and saw his face redden.

Copyright © 2004 by Sharon Baldacci

About the Author

Sharon Baldacci was diagnosed with MS twenty-one years ago. An award-winning journalist, she lives in Virginia with her husband and two sons.