After, people said that it “would get better.” Or that I “would learn to adjust.” My personal favorite was the one along the lines of my gaining “extra senses to compensate.” I got a great many platitudes those first few weeks. Email after text message after card all boiled down to the same thing: I would survive. I would be stronger for this. I would overcome.
I noticed that none of these uplifting messages came in person. I got a great many cards and flowers. There were balloon-a-grams, cookie plates and fruit baskets, sure – by the dozens. But, no one came into my hospital room to hold my remaining hand, look me in the eye and say that they cared about me. That I wasn’t a freak whose bad luck could rub off on them.