Yet more lessons of a broken arm
Sometimes you can get to thinking that your life will be defined by this. You imagine that at the end, when your narrative can finally be revealed, they will talk of you as someone with two distinct periods in his life. "He was never the same after the accident".
You can imagine that after this, you became older, and more delicate, and even fearful. My wife sees the fear a lot in men's eyes. She can spot the ones who have had a turn, or the open heart surgery, or a fright of any kind. She maintains that after something like that, you can always see the fear in their eyes.
I sometimes wonder does she see the fear in me now. Do others? A long-time colleague told me I looked better the other day. I was surprised. I hadn't slept properly in two nights. And the night before, just when I had convinced myself I had turned a corner in the broken-arm saga and that things were getting better, I had discovered a golf-ball lump by my wound. It just appeared, very suddenly. And I'll admit, I freaked a little. And more hospital, then home to bed, assured this lump isn't going to the heart or head, and then out to hospital again in the morning for lump -checking. And all the while screaming inside that there has been a mistake, that I am not this person, I am not a person who goes to hospitals. Lumps scare me.