Lost

“It’s okay that you have lost a limb, honey, it’ll be okay soon.....,”

I hate this. I do not want to sit here and listen to this wanna-be counselor saying crap like how it’s okay to lose a limb because it’s not okay. I lost a part of my body. Not a lot of people know what that feels like. But I do. She absolutely does not know what it’s like to almost die and lose a limb in the process. Or have her mother in a coma that she might never wake up from. Now every time that I come here I have to remember.

It was a day like any other. I know that everyone says that when they tell a sad story, but it’s true. My mom and I were on our way to the mall to get something. I don’t remember what it was. All I know is that it was dark out. We were arguing about something. I was really

mad and so was she, but that’s not important anymore.

It was a drunk driver. We were on a hill, and the driver rammed into the side of our car when my mom wasn’t looking at the road. Why wouldn’t she be looking at the road, you ask? Because she was looking at me. So when the driver rammed into us....she was looking straight at me.

The impact of the blow was so strong that the car went airborn. The driver hit my mom’s side, and it made my mom pass out. I thought that she was dead, but then I looked, and I heard a little panting noise. I hoped it was her. My left arm was badly cut, bruised, and infected looking.

Quickly, painfully, I grabbed my mom’s cellphone. Thankfully it wasn’t broken or damaged. While I was dialing 9-1-1 I was praying that everything was going to be OK.

***

After that I found myself in a hospital bed. Without my left arm. I stared at it. So many things ran through my mind. It looked......disgusting to me. Why is my arm gone? Am I going to get it back? It feels like its there but it’s not....Why isn’t it here?

“WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON HERE?” I yelled at the nurse who was now staring at me.

“What are you talking about hon?” she asked, but she clearly knew what I was talking about.

“WHERE IS MY ARM, LADY???” I shouted at her. I was being really rude, but I didn’t care. Looking back on it, I really would like to apologize to that nurse. I never even got to learn her name.

“It was too badly damaged to keep. It was infected, and the infection would have spread to your body and you would’ve--”

I cut her off.

“Would’ve what!?!?” I asked her.

“You would have died,” she said with sorrow.

***

Later I asked about my mom, and the nurse told me that she was in a coma. She also told me that she might never wake up, ever again. I freaked out again. With the same nurse. I don’t think that she gets paid enough for her job. I’m really starting to feel bad about that.

***

So that’s my story. Still sitting in the counselor’s office. She has the most annoying voice in the world. It’s like a high-pitched whine. It’s really irritating. Makes my head hurt. Why do counselors always have annoying voices? Like Dr. Phil. Oprah has a really annoying voice too. I can’t stand either of them. Think they’re hot stuff because they have their own T.V. shows. Whoopde-do. I could be on T.V. if i wanted. Reporters wanted to talk with me right after the accident, but they’re almost as annoying as this stupid councelor.

Anyways, back to the voices. They’re just like all calm and mellow like. IT’S RE ALLY IRRITATING. I don’t even know why I have to come here. I lost a limb. Yay.

“Paris, Paris, are you even listening to a word that I’m saying to you?” asked Mrs. Annoying.

“No, not at all,” I muttered.

“Why not?” she asked with that dumb voice of hers.

“I don’t really care about what you have to say to me,” I answered truthfully.

“That was very disrespectful and I do not appreciate it.” She stared at me. It’s like she could see right through me. It’s starting to freak me out a bit.

“I don’t want to be here. I don’t even know why I have to come here and talk to you.” I rolled my eyes at her.

“Because your family wants to know if you’re okay.” She reached out to me. I backed away from her touch. Was she not getting the message that I don’t want to be here?

“Well, my family is overreacting,” I said to her. Rudely. “This session is over. Don’t count on me coming back.” I got up from that stupid, uncomfortable chair and left her sitting in her chair with her pointless little notepad in one hand, and a pen in the other, staring after me.