The Next Week Was The Worst Week Of My Life.

I sat on my couch, scared and depressed.

The only thing that would save my life was if my diabetes somehow disappeared.

My family treated me like I was already dead. My daughter told me she loved me every time she walked by, and my son got mad and wouldn’t talk to me. He didn’t understand why I wouldn’t be around his whole life.

A couple weeks later, I heard a knock at the door.

I opened it to a face I hadn’t seen in years.

It was Jonathan, my old college roommate. I invited him in, and we sat down.

“I saw your bad news on Facebook,” he told me. “And I think I might be able to help.”

“I’m an osteopathic researcher,” Jonathan said. “That means I figure out ways to help the body heal itself. Most of the time, you don’t need pills or surgery.”

He then examined my legs for a few minutes.

“And you probably won’t need amputation. There’s something I’ve been working on recently, and I think it could help you.”