She often went to movies in the afternoon. She got lost in the fantasy of the moment, and only went to funny movies that made her laugh, nothing too emotional or sad. She missed having someone to laugh with. And sometimes she turned on the TV in the apartment, just to hear voices and people in the house. Since the attack, she had led a solitary life. It was what she needed for now. She felt fragile after the trauma of what had happened in Brussels. Her computer was her main source of news and contact with the outside world, and she wrote to her father often. His responses were brief but warm and affectionate. He said he loved hearing from her, and he was leading an isolated life too, shut in at home, while his health continued to fail.
Now and then, she felt a wave of panic in a movie theater, or on the street, terrified that a bomb could explode near her. She read a lot about people who had survived trauma, and bought psychology books about PTSD. She realized that she was in transition between her old life, which had been shattered forever, and a new one, which hadn’t taken shape yet. She still didn’t know what she wanted to do about a job, but she wanted to get through her next two surgeries first before making any decisions. Her mind and her face and body were still engaged in the healing process, which for now was a full-time job.
* * *
—
She flew to New York on the twentieth of December. A light snow was falling when they took off from Paris. She would have loved to see it decorating the city, like lace on the lampposts. She had loved seeing it as a child.
It was bitter cold when she landed in New York. She was wearing an old raccoon coat of her mother’s that she had kept, and a big matching fur hat.
She took a cab to the guest apartment they had assigned to her. It was perfect, just big enough to be comfortable. The bedroom was all done in pink chintz, the living room was a soft ivory, like their office. There were flowers to welcome her, a basket of fruit, soft drinks, champagne, wine, and a menu from the restaurant she could order meals from. She plugged in her computer and unpacked the night she arrived. She had brought mostly warm, comfortable clothes she would wear while recovering from the surgery. They had told her she would probably want to stay in for three to five days when she got home from the hospital, and both the pre-and post-op instructions were on the desk. Everything was meticulously organized.
She had an appointment with Dr. Talbot the next morning, and they did the necessary blood work. Her files had been sent from the hospital in Belgium, and both doctors had studied them carefully. They didn’t want any surprises. They had a full body X-ray done, so they knew where the shrapnel was still lodged. They weren’t going to try to remove any of it. They were only concerned with the surface, and the scars.
She met with Dr. Dennis after she saw Dr. Talbot. He gave her a warm welcome and a hug. Having a daughter the same age, he was fatherly toward her. He could see how excited she was about the surgery, and a little nervous. The only hospital she’d ever been in as a patient was the one in Brussels, and she was familiar with all their pre-op procedures. Here everything was different and unfamiliar, but it all went smoothly, and both doctors reassured her that it would be over quickly, and she’d be back in the apartment after a short stay in the hospital. They were going to keep her heavily sedated while in the hospital, and were going to keep her pain-free once back in the apartment. A nurse would check on her daily for the first few days, to watch for complications, but they didn’t anticipate any problems. She had done very well after her surgeries in Belgium. They had read all her records, which had been sent to them. Aside from the effects of the attack, she was young and in good health.
Dr. Dennis chatted with her after he finished examining her body again. He had a map of all the scars, and had marked the ones he intended to work on, after Dr. Talbot worked on her face. They had worked as a team many times before, and had been partners for a dozen years. They’d met during Dr. Talbot’s residency at Yale, and she gleaned from chatting with them that Dr. Dennis was married and had four children, and Dr. Talbot was divorced and currently single. Dr. Talbot was going to be on call on Christmas Eve and Day, so Dr. Dennis could be with his family. And Dr. Dennis was going to be on call on New Year’s Eve, which he said he didn’t care a whit about. He and his wife never went out on New Year’s. One could tell that he was a family man. Dr. Talbot had two college-age children at UCLA, and neither of them was going to be with him at Christmas. He was meeting them in January for a long weekend to go skiing in Aspen. He had a house there.