Writing is Medicine


Writing is Medicine

When I was a girl, I dreamed of becoming a physician. Maybe, because of my frequent ills and maladies, the smells and rhythms of the hospital became familiar, comforting, even intoxicating to me. I wanted to become a surgeon. My admiration became a kind of secret kinship to these men who cut me and excavated my young body and healed me until the next episode. I gave them my love along with my organs. By my graduation from college, I knew that the relentless urgings in my soul would indeed call me to cut, to excavate, to amputate, to engraft and hopefully to heal. But mine was to handle a region of human life far more tricky than the anatomy. As a preacher, mine was to become a physician, a midwife, a caregiver for the soul.

Excerpts from Dr. Copeland's book Stories From Inner Space: Confessions Of A Preacher Woman and Other Tales

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