No breakfast. They give me another injection and I lie there waiting for it to do something—anything—but instead I get this strange, creeping sensation, as if my leg is no longer properly attached to me, as if it’s being poured onto my face. I can’t quite make sense of it. It’s not pain exactly—more like distortion.
The operation has been done. My leg is in plaster. Everything smells of it—wet plaster, antiseptic, and something sour underneath, like sick.
I feel dizzy most of the time.
They won’t let me eat or drink. My mouth is dry and I feel weak, hollowed out. Time moves very slowly.
There’s nothing to do except lie there and endure it.
I watch television for hours—whatever is on—until it closes down. Even then I’m not tired. Just stuck there, in the feeling.
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