“I really think I’m getting better. I think I’m fine. Maybe it was all just a virus or something”

As told to  Rochel Samet

I finally discovered a gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free breakfast that tastes halfway decent — a fruit smoothie with almond milk. Yummy, nutritious, not too filling, but a welcome change from squishy date bars trying to masquerade as tasty. Ma bought a smoothie maker, and we keep experimenting with different fruit. Turns out that this part of the crazy diet is actually kind of fun.

Today when I come down to whip up breakfast, Henny’s doing her hair in the hall. “How’re you doing, Libby?”

Ever since I came back from that appointment a few weeks ago, she’s been treating me differently. Maybe Ma told her something, or maybe she just heard me in hysterics and feels bad. Better late than never, right?

“I’m great,” I tell her sunnily, skipping the last two steps. I can skip steps! I can walk! It’s been a whole week now that I’ve been to school every day. Things are changing, I just know it.

Ma and Ta are both sitting at the kitchen table, reading something on Ma’s computer. They have matching frowns on their faces, and I just know it has to do with me. Well. I won’t allow my mood to be ruined.

“Hi,” I say significantly.

Ma looks up. “Libby! We were just— here, have a look at this.” She slides her computer over and I take a look at the email that they’ve been reading. It’s from Dr. Isabel Parker, and for a minute I squint at the unfamiliar name, then I remember. The rheumatologist, middle-aged, rimless glasses, kind face. She was the one who’d referred us to the endocrinologist. And he was the one who’d thrown it all back in my face, saying there was nothing wrong, everything’s in my head. Recommended a psychiatrist too, I think.