Left Handed

4

Ah...my aunt. The bitch.

I woke up in the hospital to the pungent smell of antiseptics and old people. They both emanated from my aunt.

She leaned over me, her grey hair brushing my face.

"Nice of you to wake up," she said.

"Wuh?" I answered. I had a splitting headache and my whole body felt bruised. I lifted my hands to rub my eyes. Something felt wrong. Only one hand touched my face. I glanced down to see what was the matter. I let out a scream. My aunt stepped back but luckily a nurse was nearby. She rushed into the room and made soothing sounds while administering a sedative.

I thrashed and sobbed until the drugs set in. Then I whimpered.

"Always knew you were useless," my aunt said.

"Fuck off, Franca," I whispered. Then I fell asleep.

Then I woke up. Guess what? My problems did not go away. I know, shocker, right?

This time my mother was there and my aunt was blessedly absent. Mom looked the way I felt: hit by a truck. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were red from lack of sleep and tears. She wore some kind of running gear. With crocs. It is safe to say that I have never seen her in such a state.

When I opened my eyes she stood in the door, in an intense conversation with a hospital staff. She glanced over to me and her eyes widened.

"Tracy! My darling," she said and rushed over. She stepped up to the left side of my bed, reached out a hand and faltered. I could see the tears welling in her eyes but she kept it together. She's a star.

I reached out with my right hand and she took it as she sat on the bed.

"How are you feeling, baby?" mom asked. Yesterday (before all this, anyway: I might have lost a day) I would have never let her call me two different endearments in the space of a minute. Tragedy knit us together more than losing my father ever did.

"Mom? Where is my arm?" I asked. A tight ball of grief formed in my stomach and every time my thoughts wandered to my loss, it threatened to push up through my throat.

"Baby, we will get you a new arm. We can sell the restaurant. Whatever it takes," she said.

"Okay, mama," I said.

But it was not okay. This little cafe in Mercadal was in our family since at least four generations. I was not going to be the one to destroy this tradition. But did I have a choice? Was I really going to walk around life with only one arm?

Mom offered to stay the whole day and the night but I refused. Slowly I was reminded of my responsibilities and I didn't shove them down like I often did. I sent her home, told her I'd be fine and if she could visit again tomorrow.

"And mama," I said.

"Yes, blossom?"

"Please, please, please; keep your sister away."

"Alright."

The the nurse walked her out shut the door. I buried my head in the pillow and wept.

I don't know how long I cried. After a while I felt a hand on my back and hair, gently stroking me. Someone made cooing noises. Maybe it was the German. I did not turn around. At one point I stopped crying. I had a headache coming on so I screwed my eyes shut and tried to sleep and I did.

"Hey," said the nurse. I blinked. The doctor was I my room.

"Hello, Ms Ortega."

"Please call me Tracy."

"Tracy." He smiled. "I'm the doctor who performed the surgery on your arm. I came to see if you have any questions."

"Uhm...why?"

"Straight to the point. I will return the favor," he said. "When you crashed your car, it flipped and your arm got stuck outside the window. Unfortunately you did not manage to pull it back in when the car settled on that side and trapped it. It then skidded along the road.."

"Please stop," I said, horrified.

"I'm sorry. I got carried away. The point is, your arm was already almost off and what remained attached was not salvageable. We will fit you with a prosthetic arm of course, once your wound has healed."

"Oh, cool!" I exclaimed. "Will it be one of these robotic arms?" The threat of the loss of the restaurant receded a little.

"No, unfortunately not. We do not have the funding for that. You'd have to purchase such a one yourself."

Aaaand it was back (the threat, I mean, not the arm).

It honestly was all a little too much for me. I did not cope well. At one point I might have thrown a pillow at the doctor.

He left and I was alone with the other patient. I pushed my head into the pillow and tried to cry again but all the tears had flown and there were none left. Exhausted, I closed my eyes and the movie in my head started to roll.

Here is Tracy. She is now useless to her mother and grandparents in the restaurant that she probably was to take over one day.

Here is Tracy. She can't take care of herself probably and is a burden for herself and her loved once.

Here she is again. In school. Everyone. Laughs. At. Her.

And so it went. I tried to shut out the voices but they kept coming back. Every avenue I explored in my brain inevitably led me back to my armlessness: round and round like a one-handed scarecrow in autumn.

Oh and the pain. Somewhere in all this the painkillers stopped working and I hurt everywhere. I wanted to call the nurse but it hurt to move and it hurt a little less not to move. In the end I took out my phone and began to write this entry.

I hope you enjoy it because I sure as hell don't.