Night turned into morning. The sun began to streak through the blinds of the ICU. Suddenly, the pattern on the monitor changed. Margaret’s eyelids fluttered.
Dr. Evans leaned in close. “Margaret? Can you hear me?” Her eyes opened, hazy and confused at first, then sharpening as she focused on his face.
She tried to speak, but her throat was dry. She moved her hand to her stomach. It was flat. Bandaged and sore, but flat. The mountain was gone.
“Am I… still here?” she rasped, her voice barely audible. Dr. Evans smiled, a genuine, tired grin. “You’re still here, Margaret. And you’re going to be around for a long time.”
The recovery was grueling. Margaret had to learn how to balance again; her center of gravity had shifted completely. But she attacked her physical therapy with the same stubbornness that had kept her alive for a decade.
