_lady_vanity_

And here we are, not chapter eleven.🥹

From that day on, the little girl had to start taking this new medicine to make sure she could cope with the days to come. She couldn't be alone; she would have to rely on someone every day of her life.

After the little girl recovered, the doctors began to order regular check-ups to monitor the little girl's problematic health. Thanks to these check-ups, my parents were able to live a little more peacefully.

After the little warrior's convalescence was over and she was discharged, the little family was finally able to approach the hospital exit. It had all started as a normal check-up in their minds, but unfortunately, as I told you, it turned into something completely different.

As my family headed for the highway, the little girl had another very severe seizure. Despite this, my parents decided not to take the little girl to the hospital again—a reckless move, yes, but definitely understandable if you think about it. We all headed to the car (despite my seizure). My mother sat with the little girl in the back seat and rested her head on her sister's lap. She, also very worried, caressed her face while their firstborn daughter cried. My parents looked at each other, partly out of exhaustion and partly out of relief that the seizure was over.

The miles ticked by like car tires on asphalt, and after a few hours the family finally arrived in Piedmont, more precisely, in their hometown, and a few more minutes later they were home.

The months passed without pause, and the little girl was still confined to bed with casts that immobilized her feet. Unfortunately, the little girl was also forced to endure unbearable itching, which wasn't easy to bear, but the little girl had overcome much worse. Furthermore, she was still unable to communicate; the intubation had scratched her throat, and this caused her great pain. My mother, however, had devised a way to make her communicate without the slightest effort. She had placed an empty cup and a spoon inside on the little girl's bedside table. Moving it would make a loud noise, and at every clink my mother would rush to her. Everyone in the family cuddled her so as not to make her feel the pain of the operation. What they didn't realize was that the little girl wasn't thinking about it that much. The only thing that was unmistakable at that moment was the pain from the wounds from the operation, a pain so strong that the little girl could do nothing but cry. My parents, however, seeing what the little girl was experiencing at that moment, stood next to her and tried to calm her down. My father, however, also tried to help with the itching, but this didn't help much with the pain issue. The little girl felt a stabbing pain in her tendons, she felt a pull, her tendons were pulling. She couldn't suppress this pain, she couldn't take medication because of the epilepsy, they didn't know how to help, they tried everything, but it didn't help much.

With time, the little girl felt less and less pain, and this meant that she could finally begin physical therapy. In fact, a few days later, my mother took her little girl to the physical therapist to begin rehabilitation. Months before the operation, the doctor had warned that this would be very painful, that they would have to further stretch the tendons with "force." This scared my parents a lot, but it didn't discourage the little girl. She wasn't afraid, not of the pain, she had to be able to walk again. When we got to the room, the physiotherapist picked the little girl up from the wheelchair she was sitting in, and she was placed on a bed, and so the suffering could begin.

The physical therapist, slowly moving her legs, trying not to overdo it, allowed the tendons to stretch.

After a while, the physical therapist picked up a blue machine. This device felt like a torture device to the little girl. What should she expect, what kind of pain?

My mother took her little girl and positioned her standing on this machine. After tying her down so she couldn't fall, the torture began. This was truly torture, a searing pain that coursed through every cell in her body, an almost electrical sensation that inevitably caused little drops of pain to run down her face. Every minute that passed, the little girl prayed for this torment to end, but unfortunately, for her, this was only the first step on the path to rebirth.

And here we are again at the end of the chapter.