Gemotions

He’d always relied on them. His parents, then his wife, now the social worker. The social worker had arranged everything, from appointments to prescriptions. He liked the social worker. She was kind. The appointment card had been lost on his way home from picking up groceries, a mishap that filled him with dread and panic. Then, the call from the clinic. A flustered nurse, a mumbled apology. The records weren't his.

The truth slammed into him. The surgery, the physical therapy, the restrictions… all for someone else. Relief was not the first emotion. Confusion was. Then, a chilling emptiness. He sat on the edge of the bed, the familiar rhythm of the world outside – traffic, birdsong – suddenly foreign. How would he cope? How would he remember what to do now that he wasn't beholden to the regimented recovery schedule?

He called the social worker, his voice trembling. He felt a desperate need to feel secure, to have everything handled.