Cottonwood
“During her stay in the hospital, Sarah had found it weirdly comforting to think of her pain like a pregnancy—a solid, heavy, separate thing she carried in her belly, something she presently nurtured but which would not last forever—but it was no longer the worst pain. Now that she was on her feet and walking, the worst pain came just from breathing. The doctors had pulled her ribs into alignment with compression tape, but then they’d taken it off, saying they’d heal just fine on their own in six weeks or so, which fortuitously enough was the same deadline they’d given for her internal injuries to either start healing or get grossly infected. So here she was. After almost four weeks in the hospital, they gave her a box of bandages, some bottles of pills, a pat on the head and they sent her home. She had to call IBI for transportation. She waited in front of Sacred Heart’s modestly inspiring and not at all racist statue of an Indian brave kneeling in prayer before a vision of the Virgin... Mary, resigned to the surety that it would be Piotr Lantz who came to pick her up, but no.MoreLess
Write Review:
User Reviews: