Doug came here just before noon. He had quite a time getting up in the elevator and when his big hulking form showed up in the door, I told him what was on my mind. "I'm scared."

The first words out of my mouth after he rang up and as I was waiting for him to come up were "Brave Sir Robin bravely ran away."

He sat down and wanted to know why I was scared. I couldn't answer him. He wanted to know when Mass was and if Father Lindsay would be presiding. 12:15, I said. As it was, Father Lindsay was running the service.

Afterwards, a beggar was accosting an old woman on a walker, who told him loudly that she had been working all her life. I felt quiet guilt at this, because I felt like a burden on society. Doug would not let me be quiet, but kept wanting to know my thoughts. I told him. He said, "Well, you have excuses for not working, he doesn't. I didn't want to debate the point with him that the beggar might have had a mental illness or an unseen disability, at least not at that point.

Doug took me out for lunch out on the Byward Market and told me I could have whatever I wanted. When he saw me reaching into my purse, he laughingly tried to stop me for about five minutes until he realized I was reaching for a prayer card.

I was terrified that I would tip and fall at some parts of the sidewalk, but Doug stayed with me, calming me. We were a tourist trap with some seedier elements. There was an old man kissing a young girl young enough to be his granddaughter. Doug was sure that this girl was a prostitute.

We ate lunch by a fountain and Doug kept encouraging me to talk and not to sit at a distance. He told me how much more fortunate I was than the people around me, to not be leading an empty life, that that old man accosting that young girl was more unfortunate than me, even though he had both his legs.

I talked of moving back to Southern Ontario to be closer to my folks. Doug said he would help me every step of the way. At one point, my talk turned to darker feelings. I said I had thoughts of suicide, but hopefully would not act on them. (I took Doug's hand at this point.) He said "You'd better not!" We talked about the true purpose of life, important to me given the circumstances.

I couldn't eat. My appetite was non-existant, even though a beloved friend was there and the food was free and better than I'd had for a while. After a time, we headed for home. Doug asked me if I planned to move to Toronto. I said, "Yes". (Having a friend there makes it much easier.)

On the way back, he stopped at an ice cream shop that was up a step. He asked what flavour of frozen yogurt I wanted. Figuring I couldn't get inside, I said "Something pink". Doug went inside, while encouraging me to have a bit more of my lunch. I had a few more bites of my burger before abandoning it on Bank Street.

I told Doug how hopeless things were. He said that was giving ammunition to the pro-euthanasia people. (Great! I can't get depressed without turning my sickness into a political statement. Can't I just be depressed without jeoperdiizing the lives of every disabled person alive?)

After I got home, Doug went through a prayer exercise on forgiveness for my parents and the surgeons who had messed up on me 20 years before. He just talked me through it tenderly, having me forgive my parents for what they had done to me.

It was very emotional, even though I could barely cry. I could also barely speak. I could only look at Doug in the face once during the whole thing. I put my head in my hand as he talked, trying not to get emotional in front of him, hiding my eyes.

When Doug saw this, he reached over and gently took that hand in his own, imprisoning it in his grasp. At one point, I gave him my other hand and he continued to talk in that soft voice of his.

It took some time, but I forgave my parents for some things. I paused, because I was afraid my voice was going to break. When it was done, I still felt sad, so Doug went through the exercise again, as I forgave my parents for other things. Then I forgave the surgeon. I asked Doug beforehand how I could forgive if I couldn't forget. And Doug said that was in the hands of God. So I forgave the surgeon, after telling him what he had done to me, as if he were in the room.

Afterwards, I put my arms out, and Doug hugged me and said he was proud of me. He asked for a photo album and flipped through some pictures. He said I was a cute kid. Flipping through the photo album didn't hurt as much as looking at the photos usually did.

I took some pictures of Doug and then he left.

I'm confused. I never felt so peaceful before, or so tenderly loved.

Doug had said I had looked more peaceful and less scared than during his last visit, but when I looked distressed during our talk, said he wasn't going to leave until he had the "I'm in control" look back on my face.

He was concerned on leaving, because when he took my picture, I looked tired and way too serious.

There is a thing more crippling than cerebral palsy: the prison of your own mind.