AND THERE ARE PARTS IT’S HARDER TO TALK ABOUT, OR harder to see. A litany. Because no medic did see, when I presented at the emergency room and the family doctor’s office with repeated broken toes and fingers, with rashes and smashed teeth; with anorexia at age six; with what were called growing pains in my legs (although I never got any taller) so bad I couldn’t walk upstairs to my bedroom; with a third-degree burn I didn’t even feel myself sustaining on the iron. That wasn’t true; I did feel it. It felt good. It felt ice-cool on a summer day. It felt like being able to feel.
