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I don’t know when mum and dad last left flowers. Their scent still lingered in their air. Those that remained were brittle. In a way, they were more beautiful when they were ugly to the touch.
“You’re adapting well,” the nurse said. She shuffled around the room a bit, checking my medicines, taking my vitals. Testing me. “You will be ready to be discharged in a few more days.”
“I don’t think I’m ready,” I said.
“If you think like that, you will never be ready. Did you need help to stand?”” she said.
I nodded my ascent, and she held me in my hands. My legs shook, and my arms felt weak.
Click. Click Her steps went.
“Today you have an appointment with Doctor Banks. Why isn’t he coming here? He thought it best to adjust you to walking again. Now the door is just ahead.”
I reached out and fumbled with my hands.
The handle was cold, and my weight struggled against it.
“Careful the door opens towards you. “I backed up a bit. “Good,” she said, “Excellent. Now would you like me to lead you to the bathroom first?”
I shook my head.
“We’re ready to go then?”
Yes. I stepped out first and staggered in the noise. There was the sound of trolleys that rattled on the tiled floor. The drill of monitors and the banter of patients and staff. The sounds competed with one another – a chaos of activity.
“Now the corridor through wing A is narrow and busy. I would ask you stand behind me,” She pushed her guiding hand to what I assumed was behind her.
I tried to imagine mum and dad doing this– every day. Instead, I heard the sound of mum’s tears.
Click. Click, the nurse went. “Left,” She said, and she turned, guiding me.
“Alright, we’ll stop here. There’s a door in front of you. Don’t try the handle yet,” she laughed, “This is Doctor’s Bank’s office. Knock first and I’ll be waiting for you outside.”
I knocked on the door.
“Come in,” I entered, “Don’t worry about the door,” the doctor said, “Nurse Williams will close it for you.”
“Good luck,” she whispered.
The door clicked shut.