I am not sure. But something happened.
I’ve published five books with Tate Publishing.
Yesterday, I received an email with the same message that now replaces the Tate Publishing main website url for all authors and the public:
Tate Publishing is experiencing a transition period and we are no longer accepting any new authors or artists. All authors and artists will be contacted directly within the next few weeks about the status of your production and your options for completing your projects.
Alternatively, if you wish to terminate your relationship with us before this transition is complete, please fill out and return the appropriate form for each title:
That was the end of the email, but for the links, which you can take.
Before you read further, it’s important you experience what I did – and other authors, too. Go ahead and read the links, to get the picture.
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I wanted to write about this and what it means to me.
Personal testimony. I’ve been bed-ridden and disabled for almost 11 years, after a tragic car accident took me to the doorway of Heaven. I lost my standing as the Keck USC-and Stanford-trained anesthesiologist that I was. My coveted Fellowship training in critical care was spent on my own body. I’m grateful that much medical knowledge remains in me.
I’ve miraculously survived, when people took me for dead. Many gave up on me.
Mostly, I won’t give up on myself because I know that God doesn’t give up on me.
I’ve suffered. I went through hell learning how to walk and talk again. I still can’t stand up without almost fainting.
The physical struggle has been one gigantic and unforgiving mountain. And it hasn’t been filled with green pastures, no. It’s been an icy, slippery, cold and dark. And lonely. It’s one messed-up, challenging mountain of recovery, every single step of the way etched to perfection. Or else. I fell. I got DI again. I got up.
No one told me I was on this mountain. I fell again. I had no preparation, no gear. Just God, and the ‘No More Tears’ I felt… and the ‘Hum, drum, drip, drop’ of my PICC line IV, 24/7 … these were constant reminders of a life worth living. A Live Worth Living. My LIFE.
Loving friends on Facebook, You Tube, and Twitter wrote me, sang a song to me, and supported my efforts. #MyCaringFriends are there to the end. They saved me, too.
I didn’t look like myself. I looked dead.And at other times, I looked pretty but felt dead. I was ridiculed and taken as a liar, like millions of patients with chronic or invisible illnesses not readily diagnosed by trained doctors who are trained to think in a certain, structured way: the doctor’s SOAP Note.
I’m not structured. I don’t fit into what doctors learn.
I knew that inside, I radiated life. I felt it.
I wasn’t myself, but I was still ‘me.’
Being an ‘M.D.’ didn’t always help me; in fact, it hurt me many times as I was smart, female, and pretty – that’s a bad combination for questioning doctors and defending one’s self to people who are supposed to love you. Then. I fell. NO, a doctor dropped me on the neuro exam. Oh well. I dusted myself off. I did that every day, and kept my eyes on God. That’s my focus for survival. I don’t know any other way of living: I got up one more time.
After five books, I wanted to go off disability and become a full-time writer to tell my story in the hopes that it would help someone else. I also wished to make a new life for my children, to salvage something from all the losses. For this, I was laughed at even more. I don’t care: my fate does not rely in man, but in God.
I still have hope that my dreams will come true.
Now, I don’t know what is going to happen to my books.
The Little Missy Two-Shoes Series is what worries me the most, as I want my grandchildren to giggle at them.
I Can Hear Their Laughter
I want to sit in the sun-lit rays
By a leaded glass window
In the stillness of glistening, misty light.
I’ll read to my grandchildren
As I simultaneously recall
Reading it to my daughter for her birthday
So long ago, before the car accident.
I’ll sit with my back very straight,
to show children that reading is something
you sit straight for – it’s something … special.
And I’ll smile.
Because I’ll know that my dream came true.
All for the grace of God, My Dream Came True.
My grandchildren will hold these books in their tiny, little hands. I can see their fingers.
I still have to teach many other children about not being worried or frightened about such things as ladybugs and going to school.
Missy’s brother has a special stuffed animal. They sometimes fight over it.
MandiPandi is her best friend, with Lyme Disease.
Little Missy Two-Shoes loves everyone, as she hasn’t been tainted by peer pressure. She’s pure…That’s my dream.
Assessment. Believe me when I say that I’m used to taking negativity and turning it into positivity. Every problem has a solution. Life is like math. Just take the problem and turn it into a variety of solutions, if needed. I go over all this in my newest book. Oh!
But I can tell you one thing, as I have great clarity: It’s going to be a new beginning. Something good is going to happen, something that would not have happened if events didn’t line themselves up just so.
Remain hopeful. Keep writing. Be kind.
Keep moving onward and forward, My Caring Friends!
~Dr. Margaret Aranda
Because that’s what I do:
I take the negativity and turn it into positivity.
You can do the same thing, too.
And if you listen very carefully, you too can hear the pages turning as I read Little Missy Two-Shoes Likes a Ladybug to my grandchildren … just listen ….
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02/26/2017 UPDATE: What Does Luck have to do with It?
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Dr. Margaret Aranda
Author, The Rebel Patient
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