Part 6 (1/2)
I still miss your grandfather. I think of his kindness every day.
Some things you never get used to being without.”
Like a right leg.
Like moving effortlessly everywhere.
Like dance.
FINDING.
My
VOICE.
A nurse enters, carrying a sponge and a basin.
She draws the privacy curtain around my bed and starts undressing me as if my body belongs to a doll she owns.
My body is not hers.
It's mine.
I still have most of it.
”What are you doing?” I'm surprised I sound strong enough to make her step back.
”Sponge bath.” The nurse's voice wavers.
”I can do it myself.
I've got arms.”
I'm finding my voice though I've lost my leg.
EXPERIMENTAL PROJECT.
Dr. Murali is followed into the room by a strange man with flame-gold hair and bright blue eyes.
Is my pain medication making me hallucinate?
”We're lucky,” Dr. Murali says, ”to have, working with us, Mr. James, from America, who is collaborating with an Indian research team to create cost-effective modern prostheses.
He's agreed to help with your rehabilitation and with the fitting and making of your prosthesis . . .”
He suggests I'm lucky, too, to be part of the project, because my family doesn't have enough insurance.
I feel the American's eyes on me, looking as though I'm more than an amputee, a number, a ch.o.r.e.
He crosses over to me, his strides large, a broad smile on his lips.
”Veda? Did I say your name right?”
”Yes, Doctor.”
”Call me Jim. Please.” His left hand in his pocket, he holds his right hand out to me.
As though we're equals.
”Thank you, Doctor-I mean-just Jim,” I say.
He chuckles. ”Haven't done anything yet.”
He has.
No older man ever invited me to shake hands.
No other adult ever asked me to call them by name.
He even said ”please” although I'm a patient.
A smile tugs at face muscles I haven't used for a while.