I recently was reminded that I am a healer. I am a healer, and a helper, and like the "great" Alexander of my namesake, a defender. Let me ask you this: Does a healer have to throw away the beautiful potted plants that never seemed to adjust to the move, get impatient with her cat's chronic urinary troubles, poison her own being? Does a helper accept a role of guidance when she so desparately needs a hand to pull her out of the sinkhole she created? A true defender should protect out of love, not out of fear. Oh, I love, certainly, and I am more willing to help than even I can express, but healer? Perhaps it is the mergeance of love and willingness that makes one a healer, but my eyes are too sick to see myself as such right now.