RONDA RICH: The healing power of narrative

For 25 years, I have had the same doctor. I like her so well that when she moved her practice several years ago about 45 miles south, I followed.

Over the years, we’ve come to know each other somewhat well. I know her husband’s name, her children, where she goes to church (and that she sings in the choir), from which college she graduated, what a handful her daddy can be, how her mama died kinda sudden, how she votes, which unpretentious car she drives, why she decided to blonde up her hair, the compelling letter her youngest daughter wrote when she wanted a dog and how the child has faithfully kept her promises to take care of the dog. I even know that the dog’s name is Ernie.