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Five of us have met for coffee every Friday morning at the same diner for nine years, and it went around our table one cup at a time until all five of us were on it. I want to tell you the whole story. My name is Carol. I am 60 years old. I live in a small town called Medina, Ohio. I am a retired school secretary. Every Friday morning at 8:30, five of us — all retired, all friends since our kids were in school together — meet in the corner booth at a diner on the town square. We have done it for nine years. We drink too much coffee. We split muffins. We talk about everything. Here is the problem I had been quietly living with, and the problem it turned out all four of the other women had been quietly living with too. For about three years my body had stopped feeling like mine. My face was puffy in the mornings. My rings had not fit in over a year. My ankles swelled by the afternoon. I felt heavy and tired in a way that did not match anything. My doctor ran the labs. Normal. Watch your sodium, it is your age, drink more water. I had not brought it to the Friday table. You would think I would have — these are my closest friends — but the truth is that the things you are most ashamed of are sometimes the hardest things to say even to the people closest to you. So I had been sitting in that corner booth every Friday for years, quietly grieving my own body, three feet from four women I would have died for, and I had never said a word. It turned out they had all been doing the exact same thing. It came out slowly, the way things come out at a coffee table over weeks. It started with Janet. Janet is 62. Last spring she showed up to coffee looking lighter — her face, her hands. We all noticed. We all said something. And Janet, after some prodding, told us about the drops her daughter had found. A formula of seven organic herbs that supported the lymphatic drainage system. Two drops in water every morning. Foster's Goods. Then the next Friday
