Touching Others Touches Me

I checked my professional email account yesterday, and got so excited when I saw that I had mail:

Hi Gretchen,

Thank you for writing this book - our daughter [Kiddo]'s just been disagnosed with migraines (at 2) - so will be great to be able to read this and talk things through with her.

Regardsxxxx

[Kiddo's Mom]

The book that Kiddo's Mom is referring to is My Secret, my children's book about chronic pain, and how the child is not alone. I was absolutely thrilled when I read this email. I "squee"ed, clapped my hands together, and was grinning like a fool.









No, I wasn't celebrating that there's a two-year-old kid out there who just got diagnosed with migraines. Instead I was celebrating that I had helped a "chronic kid", and their family. I had made a difference!


Of course, the complete euphoria didn't last, and in the afternoon my mind started drifting to my earliest memories of head pain and migraines.
The memories of me hiding under the stairs at preschool because I didn't want to play or go outside because my head hurt; the memories of me hiding under my mom's desk, seeking comfort and darkness at the same time, things like that. But then I remembered that Kiddo was going to have a leg up on me, because she was getting the message that she wasn't alone. And that I had made it possible for her to learn that.

So I ended the day on a happy note, with a sense of satisfaction that my experiences have not solely effected me and my immediate circle. Instead, I was broadening my reach, and making a difference.

And that's awesome.



Quantum in me fuit,

~Gretchen