I felt detached from what had happened to me, Debra’s anger reminding me how I should be feeling, but didn’t. What was wrong with me, I wondered? Why didn’t I react to things the way other people did, in ways that were normal? I opened and closed my hand, watching the mechanics of tendon and bone. Was this really my hand? If so, how was it connected to the rest of my body? What was my body anyway? What made it mine?
