Brave

Chapter 5: Pep Talk

"Exactly."

"Well, I don't feel like I will ever be normal again," I tell him. "Last week I was your average college student and now I'm like disabled or something."

"Were you really normal before?" He asks.

I don't quite get him, but I hesitantly answer, "Well, yeah."

"So, you did everything exactly like everyone else? You thought the same thoughts, did the same things for fun, ate the same foods? You were a robot, programmed to be like everyone else?"

"No." I roll my eyes a little. I know where he's going with this now. "But I'm not like anyone else now. All of my friends have two arms and two legs and people don't stare at them everywhere they go. People are going to stare at me because I'm a freak."

"Yes, they might stare at you. In fact, they probably will," he says.

I'm a little surprised by his response.

He continues, "To be honest, almost every little kid you meet will probably stare at you when they first meet you, well at least until you have a well-fitting prosthesis and you learn how to walk with it. And some adults will, too. You should prepare yourself for that."

He's not making me feel better yet.

"What do you think about that?" He presses.

I shrug. "I don't know. So people will stare. I guess it's not a big deal."

He agrees, "That's exactly right. The big deal is knowing what to expect and how you plan to respond to it."

He gives me a genuine smile and tells me that he has to meet another patient. He heads toward the door, but stops and adds, "I would encourage you to get comfortable with your body. Look in the mirror as you feel ready. Accept that this is the new you and you will become less and less afraid to let everyone else see the girl you see in the mirror."

I don't want to accept that this is the new me. It is simply unacceptable. I want to go back to school and catch up on my classes and pretend that none of this ever happened. I'm tempted to flip him off as he leaves, but I decide against it. It's not his fault that he came bearing more bad news.

I look around my room and find that there is only a tiny mirror above the sink. I guess I'm not stripping down to look at myself in my full handicapped glory.

The door to my room is closed, so I decide to take the approach I'd been using. I feel around again. I'm still not used to the idea that my leg is gone. In fact, every time I try to make myself believe that I haven't lost it, I get angry that it's just not there. I definitely can't fool myself.

I manage to trace the outline of the stump without feeling faint. I run my hand over my left leg, over the areas that are swelling and stitched. I can feel some pain, so obviously the medication hasn't come back up to it's full strength yet. I pull the blanket off and wiggle my hot pink toes.

A bizarre thought strikes me – I wonder what they did with my other leg – and it just seems oddly funny. It must have looked hideous. It's kind of strange to think they just cut it off and threw it away, pink toenails and all.

I start to laugh, in spite of myself. Then I continue to explore. Most of me hasn't changed. My arms, my hands, my fingers are all the same as they were before. My face, my neck, my breasts. All the same. I had washed between my legs earlier, but I hadn't taken the time to feel around. I slip my hand into my underwear and run my hand up and down. Still the same, I guess.

I lay back onto the pillows and think, "Okay. Now what?"

A small knock on the door startles me. "Come in," I call.