Tentative step from the tunnel

A long tunnel of darkness and anxiety. Eerie solitude, doubt, illness, cold -- and finally, some light. And on this day when the country perhaps is turning. Such a day of hope and celebration.

I am grateful for cats in my lap, a pill that helps me sleep, lengthening days, a dining room table piled with work to do. Morning light sparkling on snow.

My husband lying next to me on the floor, whispering, saying hold on, when I could not get up, frozen with fear. This is something I've never experienced and it frightened me to my core. I hesitate to write it here, but it was real and happened more than once: once in San Pedro, twice here in Flint. Panic rising, adrenaline rushing, dread and claustrophobia.

A doctor who believed me and helped and is helping me. A body in rebellion from a powerful antibiotic, then a violent allergic reaction to the first antidepressant. A paralyzing combination of physiology and anxiety, a toxic and sobering mix. Now, though, an infection going away and sleep returning, beautiful sleep.

I am shaken and chastened by all that's transpired. I could not write about it until just tonight, when there is so much joy in the air. There is hope: gentle, gradual, tentative -- each small step a gift. Phew.