Tuesday, July 23, 2013



It was a warm, bright spring day.  I was walking towards my car on the way home from work and was unaware that I was being followed.  Without warning, a leather gloved hand was over my mouth.  It had an indiscernible taste and smell.  Two more hands grabbed my arms and twisted them behind me.  Another gloved hand covered my eyes.  I thought I was going to die from fright.  I almost passed out in fear and tried to scream and kick but couldn't break free from the hold.  I kept wondering how many were holding me.  One of them was tying a blindfold over my eyes and I was pushed into my car. 
Someone held my mouth open while another poured a sweet drink into it.  As I was forced to swallow, I felt at least two pills in my mouth, and my effort in trying to spit them out was useless.  My mouth was held shut and someone plugged my nose  I was praying and crying and I knew I was about to die.  I was feeling faint and then.......Nothing.


There is one word in any language that is difficult to hear.  It immediately brings fear, guilt, anger, and an assortment of questions.  Why me?  How did this happen?  It is an ugly word.  that word is -- cancer.

It rolled off my doctor's tongue far too easily,  I could not form my lips to mutter it.  My mother had died of cancer.  I was only in my twenties. 

"Carol, basically you have two choices and I think it is obvious which one you will choose!  Hysterectomy or death"  He paused for impact.  "You are a very sick young woman."  He seemed far too nonchalant about the whole subject, very matter of fact.

Something inside me welled up and I stood up and said "I do not accept those choices.  There has to be another way!  I will find that alternative."

I might as well have told him that he was ugly or stupid or both.  Rage overcame him.  I had challenged his intelligence.  He was a learned doctor; a specialist in good standing and a young uneducated woman was telling him she did not accept his opinion as fact.  He rose up from behind his desk, leaned over it towards me and pointed his finger square in my face.  He was so angry he was shooting spit when he said, "Well, then, young lady, go home, suffer and....die!"

In each chapter of Battered Hope, I deal with a trauma that many of you may have faced.  One more challenge to overcome.  One more set back to break through.  This story will encourage and strengthen you.  I would love to hear your comments.  I answer all questions.

You can email me at batteredhope@gmail.com

Battered Hope can be purchased at Amazon, Nook, NewBookPublishing

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