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when my daughter’s ankle needed a second opinion,
and her doctor, our friend and cousin,
a dear and caring soul
who gives the best hugs ever
was unavailable
while focusing on his own healing,
I met a woman,
a doctor,
I would send Nancy to
without hesitation.
A woman,
a doctor,
who, like Frank,
knows that healing
involves caring
and eye contact
and laughter
and hugs.
A woman,
a doctor,
who, when she saw me stitching,
asked what I was doing
and stopped to listen,
really listen, I’m telling you,
and when I said I’m doing this
to give Nancy
and others like Nancy –
people from whom we tend to turn away –
voice and visibility,
grabbed her heart
and asked to see more,
vowing to find me on Facebook, even.

This woman,
this doctor,
is called Judith Chauvin.
She now knows my daughter,
and me,
and maybe one day,
if the need ever presents itself,
she’ll know Nancy, too.



She is my developmentally disabled sister-in-law, Nancy,
and I am Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her.
Go here to start at the beginning.