What we once were

Chapter 16: healing.

I don't remember any physical pain.

Not from the accident at least.

Waking up on the hospital bed on the other hand, that was a different story.

I can vaguely remember that moment, slowly drifting back to consciousness, feeling like everything is burning, like my entire body was just broken, like I've been hit by a car.

I was later informed that the latter was true.

I remember the doctors running tests and asking me questions which I could barely hear over the pain and the sound of my own heavy breathing.

I don't remember answering any of them, but I probably did, because the next thing I remember, is my mother crying into my father's shoulder.

The thing I remember the clearest is the moment I realized I can't feel my legs.

The doctors explained my injuries to me, using a bunch of complicated medical terms which I could barely comprehend and definitely couldn't pronounce. In a nutshell– I was temporarily paralyzed from the waist down.

"But we are confident you'll get back on your Feet in no time." The doctor assured me.

I don't answer, staring blankly to the side.

"Could you leave us alone please?" My mother asks the doctor politely, she nods and exits the room.

I feel my mother put her hand on my shoulder and squeezing it "This is good news Korra."

"This is relatively good news." I shot back, snapping my head in hear direction, causing her to jump back in suprise "Sorry." I mumble.

"It's fine," she sighs "Korra, you got lucky here, if the driver didn't hit the brakes in time–"

"I know, I could've died."

"But you didn't," she urges "you survived that, and you'll get through this too."

"This is all my fault," I whispered quietly and my eyes filled with tears  "if I only focused on where I was going..."

If I only told her sooner, none of this would've happened.

"I won't hear it," I hear my father saying and he kneels down besides me "there's no use in blaming yourself, whatever happened happened, and now all you can do is  focus on the future, because you will get better."

"How are you so sure about that?"

"Because you're the second most stubborn person I know, after me of course," I choke down a laughter at the remark "you're a fighter, you've always been, and you'll fight through this and win."

I give him a sad smile.
He's right, i am a fighter.
I can't give up.

That thought held me on the first few days of physical therapy, I felt determination burning inside me.

Then a few days, turned into a few weeks.

Which brings me to the next kind of pain– the mental pain.

It was much more memorable, because unlike the physical, I wasn't sure if it would ever go away.

I remember the frustration when I felt like I wasn't making any progress.

I was impatient, so when I didn't start walking immediately after one session, I was already discouraged.

And though they would never say it aloud, I could see my parents getting disappointed too.