A Letter to my Doctors: My Very Simple Hope Manifesto.

Via Tara Lemieux
on Mar 18, 2013
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“When the world says, ‘Give up,’ Hope whispers, ‘Try it once more.’ ~Author Unknown

I had the most frightening experience recently, and one that will be etched in my mind as one of those ‘forever moments’ as I know in some way, it has forever changed me.

Truth be told, and over this past year, I have had a few of these sorts of forever moments.

And with each one, I’ve had to work just a little bit harder to center myself and clean up this ‘spiritual mess.’

Being sick is really hard.

Being sick every day, even harder.

And, I know I’m a much weaker version of what I once was—but, my heart and my spirit, are still quite amazingly strong.

I am resilient, but not so completely unbreakable—as perhaps, this process, has left my spirit feeling just a bit ‘raw.’

And yet, each day that I wake up, my heart spills over with gratitude, before these two feet ever hit that floor.

Because, I’ve learned that healing is much more than a bottle of medicine; true healing rises up from a much deeper ‘within.’

So, today I believe I will be redirecting these sails and setting down a brand new, and much better course.

One that surrounds me with the most love and joy….because…love and joy are the very best, and only true spiritual medicine.

In closing, and to all of my doctors and friends—this is my very best, and most simple ‘hope manifesto’…I just hope it makes a little sense to some.

A Letter to my Doctors: My Very Simple Hope Manifesto

Dear Medical “Community”…

Dear doctors, dear lab techs,

Dear difficult-to-pronounce specialists…

I am not your experiment, your head scratch, or very best guess… your bother in the middle of the night when no one else is there on call…

And, I am not the one to get shuffled on again because you’ve just reached your maximum thinking point.

I am tired of surgeries… of the pin pricks and pokes…

The looking over of charts and notes which are written in a language I just don’t understand…

I am tired of the wheezing when I walk gently these few stairs.

And the million and one side effects from all of your pills and potions?

I am tired of those, as well.

In treating my heart, you’ve broken my soul.

And now, it seems, you won’t even look me in these tired eyes when it is that I sit in front of you these days.

Is that your guilt? Your own fear?

I am afraid, too. 

I am afraid that these moments passing will never be found again.

I am afraid that each day I will feel myself grow just a little bit weaker, and with no help in sight.

And I am afraid that those I love most will get that call in the middle of the night.. the one that will take their breath away and change their lives in forever sorts of ways.

I have this fear, too.

And yet, I hold hope stronger than each and all and every single little shred of this fear…

Because, I know…so very down deep in my heart, that even this darkness will someday define my light.

And on those nights, when fear challenges me the most—hope is always near to help my heart smile again.

They say, hope rises in the most mysterious of ways, and on these such days—when it is that your heart is finally open to it.

My heart is always open to hope. I suggest you let yours do the same.

Because, where there is hope… you’ll find a limitless possibility…

And in that space of limitless possibility,

That’s where all the best miracles begin.

So, why don’t you come out and meet me right there?


Bonus Poem on Loving Life Again:

The Thing Is by Ellen Bass

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.


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Ed: Kate Bartolotta


About Tara Lemieux

Tara Lemieux is a mindful wanderer, and faithful stargazer. She is an ardent explorer and lover of finding things previously undiscovered (or, at the very least, mostly not-uncovered.) When she’s not writing, you can find her walking in the woods and sometimes changing the way we look at things, one simple moment at a time. You can contact her at via her website Mindfully Musing or, take one second to "LIKE" her on Facebook at Tara's Facebook Page. Or email her directly at [email protected]. All roads will lead to one home, and rest assured she (and Nudnick, the wonder dog) would LOVE to hear from you.


9 Responses to “A Letter to my Doctors: My Very Simple Hope Manifesto.”

  1. Carolyn Riker says:

    Sending lots of love.

  2. Edie says:

    Tara: such strength, such beauty…and Truth with a capital T….not sure what else to say but sit touched by your heart with a bit of awe beckoning me to stand in my light and allow my own sadness to rock me in only the way sadness will~~it's gentle as daffodil petal that drifts toward the grass and comforts with the bloom's promise that every Spring brings.

  3. Rachael says:

    This made me cry, with gratitude someone else feels the same and I am not alone. Suffering for over 10yrs with a back problem, and being on serious meds for about 7 of them, without ever having a physical, MRI or cat scan, I recently got a full diagnosis, however my back has got worse. My mental state is brilliant, hopefull, loving, kind..but the fact my back worsens and I can barely walk at the age of 31, hardly see my son, because I can’t take care of him alone in my pain and on my meds, am about to lose my job and have no social life whatsoever, is killing my soul, despite trying to find a silver lining in each of these issues was difficult but it can be done. My blessings to you Tara, I have the same blank looks, the washing away of me hands and lack of ‘care’ doctors and nurses should have. Thank you for this article, for making me feel less alone xx

  4. Keturah says:

    Thank you!

  5. Tara Lemieux says:

    Thank you, Carolyn…

  6. Tara Lemieux says:

    Thank you, Edie… and that is a really beautiful image of the petal drifting towards the grass…

  7. Tara Lemieux says:

    Rachael – always feel free to email me… I would love to chat. -> [email protected]

  8. Tara Lemieux says:

    You're welcome, Keturah.. thank you for reading my ramblings.

  9. Karen katz says:

    I don't know if your physical condition has improved-I hope it has….I found this on elephant journal, and just wanted to send along my little offering of hope-I am an oncology nurse, and often I try to remind my patients (when it seems appropriate to say so ) that they are still THEMSELVES they are NOT their disease or their symptoms or their medications or their side effects. sometimes when I say this I get a blank stare or an angry word back….but most of the time, if I have cleared my heart of any expectation except that my statement will be a gift to them, the offering is accepted and appreciated, and offers them some comfort…..