It was one of the weirdest, oddest, tragic but not tragic days of my life. It was right after school; I went to my friend’s house where there were a lot of us. A guy took my phone, my phone that was unlocked. I went to get it back and then slipped. I tried to catch myself and I guess you could say I did.

 I fell into one of those old basement door windows with the easily breakable glass. I broke the glass; my hand had gone right through the pane. I quickly pulled my hand out; I was not thinking. In fact, I was petrified. I looked at my hand and thought I was sleeping; I thought it was a dream. This must be a dream I told myself. Still, I quickly realized it wasn’t a dream, I began freaking out. My fingers looked like they were about to come off. I gave them my mom’s number so they could call her; my friends called my mom franticly. When they called my mom, she almost didn’t answer because she didn’t know who it was that was calling her. She did answer though. My friends were so upset they didn’t know what to say. Somehow, I was the calmest person there, but also frantic at the same time. My mom rushed to my friend’s house.

I was in shock. I just sat there, not a thing went through my mind; I was completely mindless. They ended up not amputating my finger but the following day I had to go into surgery. It was supposed to be a one-hour surgery; it lasted three hours because of how bad the window had damaged my frail fingers. They said it was going to be a long recovery, and gosh were they right.

Fast-forward to six months later. I was still wearing my splint and going to physical therapy four days a week, just to tell me to do the same thing every time, they told me to do the simplest things, like bending the tip of my finger. I couldn’t do it, I was so frustrated, I was angry, angry at myself; asking myself why I couldn’t do the simplest thing. I was tired of it. I didn’t care if my fingers got better or not. I was so drained. I could only use my left hand for six months. I could only write and type with my left hand. I couldn’t do anything with my right hand. It took so much more thought and strength to use my left hand. I could only get a shower with my left hand and had to cover up my splint. It was all of this, that I asked myself for what?

 Fast-forward again to now, I am fine. My fingers are fine. It is all good now, I am back to normal, back to the same things I was doing before my surgery. My hand is finally normal again. With scars that will never leave my fingers. It’s done, its finished, that time is gone.