When one’s jaw hangs grotesquely on its hinges, and ‘many many’ (a rough estimate on the part of a medical professional) stitches sprout from the forehead like coarse hairs on the chins of so many witches, it becomes surprisingly easy (almost absurdly so, I now realize in retrospect) to overlook the severity of a painless (on account of the obliteration of all associated nerve endings) burn on the calf.
Yesterday marks seven months since the motorbike accident I sustained one balmy night in the small Thai town of Thung Song. I was the passenger; my then-boyfriend (who, I’ll clarify to avoid any unintended negative connotations with that description, remains a cherished friend) was driving when we were blind-sided by a turning 18-wheeler (I should, again, clarify for those not in the know that we hit the truck, and not the other way around, otherwise we’d be talking about a truly miraculous happening. Though I suppose the events as they occurred probably warrant such an adjective anyway.). Continue reading