I sat hunched in the wheelchair in the hospital's sterile waiting area, floral maxi dress draping soft and loose over my milky white legs—still limp, numb, and useless from the toxin damage.
Losing any of your body part, even for a period of time makes you self-conscious about your health.
My raven waves tumbled glossy and loose from Hellen's morning care, pink-polished nails tapping anxious rhythms on the armrests.
Clinical air hummed oppressive: distant monitor beeps piercing quiet, sharp disinfectant stinging my nose, low haemoglobin dragging a heavy fatigue through my bones like lead weights.
