When China Breaks//Ed Sheeran #Wattys2016 #NewVoices

crazy people

An unfamiliar doctor came into my room several days later to change the dressing on my leg. It was my least favorite part because I hated bothering my leg, but I didn't have any choice. Just when the pain subsided to a throb, here he came, ready to mess everything up again.

"Hello, Aaliyah." He said, adding more emphasis than needed on my name. "Ready to change the dressing?"

"Nope," I said honestly. "And if I could run, I would, but I only have one leg, so..." I shrugged helplessly. The doctor examined me carefully with a questionable expression.

"Is that your way of coping?" He asked me, washing his hands and arms up to his elbow in the sink before drying them and applying gloves.

"What?" I asked. He had all the materials for dressing my wound, which wasn't leaking or draining as much as it had been two days before.

"Humor. Most patients with new amputations don't make jokes like that." He went on quietly.

"Sorry, did I offend you?" I asked, not actually caring whether I did or not. He had both his legs, so what did matter to him?

"No. People have different ways of coping with grief or stress. You just have to know when its healthy and unhealthy." He told me, undressing my leg. "I need you to pay attention this time because you might have to do this on your own one day."

"Of course," I mumbled. Because my mother isn't here to help me.

"I hope this whole thing hasn't been too stressful for you." He went on. The used dressing went into biohazard bags, which made me feel more like a mutant being quarantined than a human. Of course, it was standard procedure, so maybe everyone felt that way at some time or another.

"Where is Doctor Zander if you don't mind me asking," I say, hoping that this didn't take too long. Change dressings, take anti-bacterial pills and pain killers and rot until Ed came back. That was my life and I didn't want to disrupt it at all.

"He is busy with another patient today. He sent me to help you."

I sighed. After my leg was successfully cleaned, I took my pills like a well-behaved girl and sank back down in my bed to pretend like things were the way they were before I got my leg cut off. Normal, but not exactly normal. The doctor thought that I used humor as a coping mechanism, well, he was right. Would he rather see me laugh or cry? What was healthier, sadness or happiness? Isn't it great that I don't make people feel uncomfortable around me because I'm now missing almost half of my leg?

I vegged for a couple hours before the door to my hospital room opened. Ed came into the room, balancing a pink box, his guitar, and his backpack. "You will never guess what I got in this box." He smiled at me. I smiled back a bit, honestly happy to see him.

"You're right, I won't."

"This box contains a godly mix of flour, sugar, milk, and a shit load of other ingredients that must be good for you since they taste so good. Oh, and there might be some yeast." He says, dropping his things on the floor and setting the box on the bed.

"Well, what the hell is it, Ed?" I asked him, laughing.

"It's a donut!" He beamed. He opened the box and there sat the prettiest looking foods I had ever seen in my life. The smell wafted up my nose and I almost felt myself gaining weight just looking at them. "I don't know which kind you like, so I got fried and cake."

"There is more than one kind of donut?" I asked him. He simply laughed at me.

"You strike me as a girl who likes pink." He says, pointing to a pink donut with a healthy amount pink sprinkles on top.