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wondered what I’d be dreaming about tonight while I waited for my appointment with Lizzie Sparks, medical intuitive extraordinaire.
    A darker skinned woman with a bindi mark on her forehead wore yoga attire and a headset. She typed vigorously on her computer situated on top of an ergonomically designed Ikea desk, paused and smiled at me. “I’m Ms. Spark’s assistant. My name’s Indira. She’ll be with you soon….” She squinted at her computer then looked back up. “Miss Priebe?”
    I nodded.
    “Have a seat. Can I bring you some tea?”
    “Oh, thanks. No, I’m fine. I got here a little early.” I sat down on a worn green vinyl couch and its tired seat springs squeaked in protest.
    Indira nodded. “Good intuition on your part. Most first-timers arrive late. L.A. traffic.”
    I’d read and re-read Lizzie Spark’s books since I stumbled upon them several years earlier. Her first: You Can Heal—No Matter What. Her second: Heal Your Disease—Naturally. And her third: You are the Healer—Not a Disease. And now here I was, in her waiting room, just moments away from talking in person with the woman, the legend, the diviner.
    The light was fading outside in a muted display of colors over the Pacific Ocean, maybe only a mile or so away. Wow. Gorgeous. Even though I had been nervous as sin about doctors injecting my spinal cord with stem cells, everything about today had gone easy peasy. The polar opposite of yesterday.
    Indira touched her headset. “Okay. Yes.” She nodded at me. Goosebumps grew on the back of my forearms. “Lizzie can see you now. Come with me.” She beckoned. I followed her as we walked through a doorway and down a narrow corridor lined with framed healing symbols on the walls. Indira opened a door for me. “Good luck!”
    It seemed wherever I went in Los Angeles someone was wishing me good luck. I wasn’t going to complain. I’d take all the luck I could get and then some.

    * * *

    I was in a small room with one barred window that was cracked open. I sat scrunched forward on an older upholstered chair. A single lamp rested on a side table next to a big cushy armchair where Lizzie Sparks sat across from me and held my hand. Even in this dim light, considering Lizzie was close to seventy, she was gorgeous. She had silver hair, high cheekbones and looked fit. I knew she was the medical intuitive to the stars but she wore unpretentious khakis and a floral peasant top. I hoped I would be lucky enough to look like her when I hit her age.
    If I hit her age.
    “You’ve traveled a long distance to be here, Sophie. You want answers about a disease that you were diagnosed with not too long ago. Your disease is early onset, but I sense it has already given you several debilitating symptoms.”
    “Yes,” I said. I really enjoyed the tremors that would come out of nowhere, the weakness, fatigue, dizziness and quite possibly my favorite symptom: a random seizure.
    Lizzie’s face was still. “You fear your symptoms will increase.”
    “Yes.”
    “You’ve been through radical change in the past year. You had seizures, experienced blind spots. Your boyfriend left you. This hurt. Caused you pain. But you knew he wasn’t the one.”
    I nodded.
    “You came to L.A. to find someone.”
    “No.” I shook my head. “I came to L.A. to find healing.”
    “Healing doesn’t necessarily arrive in the package or the pill that we think it will come in. We picture how our lives are supposed to play out. How healing is supposed to look or feel. But you know the old saying?”
    “Which one?”
    “Tell God your plans and then listen to her laugh.” Lizzie squeezed my hand and smiled.
    Laugh about this, God. I wasn’t expecting MS. Yes my Nana had it, but my mom didn’t and I thought I was free and clear. I was graduating high school and accepted at U of Wisconsin, Madison. I wasn’t anticipating that I’d have to stay closer to home and go to U of W, Whitewater. I was planning on majoring in