I nodded. That was more than I expected.
“And walking?” I whispered.
Dr. Easton’s voice softened. “You may not walk full-time again, Noa, but partial mobility is still something we can work toward. Don’t give up on your body.”
Tears burned the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back. I didn’t need to cry in front of Teagan today. I didn’t need her worrying more than she already did.
Dr. Easton glanced at Teagan. “She taking care of you?”
Teagan grinned. “Always. I’m trying to get her out of the house more. I keep trying to tell her that being in this chair stops nothing.”
“That’s right, Noa.” Dr. Easton smiled warmly, eyes bouncing from Teagan back to me. “I hope you’re not staying cooped up in the house,” she said gently. “Are you still doing things that bring you joy? Going places, seeing people?”
I hesitated. I could count on one hand how many times I actually left the house in the last year.
“Not really,” I admitted. “I paint. I sell a few pieces online sometimes, but… that’s about it.”
Her brow lifted. “You’re still painting? That’s wonderful.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Nothing major. Just commissions, online stuff. I don’t do shows and travel anymore.”
Dr. Easton tilted her head, but she didn’t say anything. She tapped the edge of her tablet and looked back at me.
“My best friend is hosting an art gallery showing next month. It’s part charity auction, part community spotlight, and they’re featuring local black artists. I want you to enter.”
“Enter?”
“Mmhmm.” She smiled. “Submit your work. Be part of it.”
My first instinct was to laugh, but the sound caught in my throat.
“I don’t know, Dr. Easton…” I shook my head, eyes already darting toward the floor. “I have done nothing like that since before I got sick. I post sometimes, sure, and I’ve sold a few pieces. But showing up somewhere like…” I trailed off, chest tightening. I was getting anxiety from just considering. “It’s a lot.”
She didn’t rush to speak. Instead, she sat forward, her voice lower now, closer.
“Noa, I know it’s easier to stay inside. I do. Your body’s unpredictable, but isolation, especially with a condition like lupus, can do more harm than good.” She placed a gentle hand over mine. “Getting out, connecting, creating, being seen—that isn’t a luxury. It’s medicine. It’s a part of your healing, a part of your survival. I want you to have every tool that helps you keep living, not just existing.”
“Which is exactly what I’ve been trying to tell her.” Teagan chimed in from the corner like she’d just won a damn bet. “This gallery sounds like the perfect event. She’ll do it.”
I rolled my eyes, but my mouth betrayed me with a slow, reluctant smile. “I’ll think about it,” I corrected. I’d have to make sure they had wheelchair accessibility and figure out what I’d even paint.
“Don’t think too long. Art is therapy, Noa.” Dr. Easton smiled.
“I hear you…”
“Good.” She glanced back at the tablet. “I’m going to tweak your Plaquenil dose slightly, nothing major, just based on your latest labs. Still no prednisone unless we see a further decline.”
I nodded.
“And I want you to try that new compression sleeve we talked about last time to help with the swelling.”
“Okay.”
She printed the new orders and handed them over.
“And I better hear you at least looked up the gallery link. It’ll count as homework.”
“She’s a stubborn one, Dr. Easton.” Teagan chuckled.
