Trying to dance through the rain

Chapter 1

I awoke to the sound of beeping; a heart monitor.

I was lying on a hospital bed, my back in severe pain.

I turned my head towards the door, through the window I saw Ms Jones (my science teacher and all around favourite teacher) talking intensely with who I guessed to be a doctor as she was wearing navy blue scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck.

Then the doctor turned to look at me, obviously excusing herself from the conversation.

She was tall and looked like a model that you would see on the cover of vogue.

She had dark brown hair which was French braided and had been twisted neatly into a bun and chocolate brown eyes that had an intentness about them.

Her skin was lightly tanned, her complexion was flawless and as far as I could tell she wore minimal make up: winged eyeliner, a small amount of mascara and a tiny trace of lipgloss.

She walked in and immediately said "good you're awake."

She sat in the chair next to the bed and gently said "Emma, your back is broken and severely damaged, it requires immediate and serious surgery and because its your back that requires surgery it means we have to go through your abdomen and try to minimise the damage as much as possible." She paused. "You will need rehabilitation and will require walking support for a while."

It sunk in then.

I wouldn't be able to dance for a while.

Dancing, one of my only forms of expression; gone.

"When would I be able to dance again?" I asked.

"Not until your back is fully healed which could take up to a year if there's no complications."

A year? I would never be able to survive that long without dance!

Realisation hit me like a wave; walking support.

No dance, no drama: no independence.

"Your operation will take place as soon as we are ready, oh I forgot to introduce myself, I'm Dr Emily."

I started to worry about the operation, what if it went wrong?

I'd never be independent again!

Dr Emily obviously sensed my worry, she smiled, rubbing the back of my hand with her thumb and said kindly "don't worry about the operation, you won't remember a thing about it. Porters will come to take you soon, I'll see you in theatre."

She left leaving me to worry; and there was so much to worry about: Grace, the operation, dancing, Ms Jones sitting outside my room, rehabilitation and my usual worry, telling my secrets.

My head was swimming with worry by the time the porters came, by the time we reached the operating theatre I felt sick and really faint.

As we entered Dr Emily approached us, gowned and masked with the wisps of her long brown hair swept back with a bandana type thing.

She helped the porters to guide my bed to the centre of the room and then spoke "are you sure you don't have anymore questions?"

I shook my head, even though there were hundreds of questions whizzing through my brain.

"Good, then we shall get you safely to sleep and see you in a few hours."

She then stuck a horrible smelling mask over my nose and mouth.

"Can you count backwards from 10 for me?" Dr Emily asked.

I obediently started counting down. "10...9...8...7...6..." I started to feel drowsy.

"5...4...3....." I trailed off, entering one of my recurring nightmares.