Authors: Louise Doughty
Her physiotherapist Janey had warned her about what she called the honeymoon phase. It happened to some people, apparently. At first, an amputation seemed impossibly horrible. Then there was the
slight lift as you came out of hospital and realised all the things you could still do, a kind of wild hope, a fierce, perverse belief in your own persistence and ingenuity. But the hardest bit was
yet to come: the day-to-day struggle of incapacity, the fury and resentment. Acceptance would take months, if she was lucky, possibly years. The practical side was easier to deal with. There was
the money from the compensation scheme, which would come in handy as the acupuncture did not come on the NHS and she was going to be seeing Julia once a week from now on.
And, she had put her house on the market. She was moving.
A breeze blew around her head, flicking her hair across her face, then back again, mockingly. Not all stories end happily, she thought. But stories end. And now it is ended, a
whole phase. I can feel things turning, like the earth creaking round on its axis. Two pigeons strutted past her feet, one after the other. Then the first one stopped, turned and strutted back. The
other pursued. As they strode back and forth, their speed increased. Annette smiled. Stupid birds. She placed her feet together neatly and with a small push of her legs, rose from the bench in one
swift, efficient movement.
The pigeons took fright and flung themselves upwards, wings beating the warm light air.
Annette paused on the path and looked from left to right, unsure which way to go but enjoying the possibility of choice.