One of my father's acquaintances, who worked closely with the clinic at the camp suggested that the doctors here in the US could fix my leg, therefore he pushed his wishes through the office and established a spot for me at the hospital in Baltimore.
This man, I knew and called him uncle as our tradition dictated. He told me once that when we reached America, he would do everything he could to have my leg fixed so I could dance, run, and jump like other girls, because I always looked too sad to him.
Little did he know that I had just come out of an abusive life with my aunt, and I was lost. I had to deal with the fact that everyone thought of me as a useless, helpless cripple. At 17, the sense of being a human was in question when your life had no validation, and that sentiment passed down to the root of my soul.
To honor his promise, the uncle put me on the bus to be admitted to the hospital for tests and experiments. He had such high hope to see me coming back as a "normal" girl, and yet all I could feel was like a guinea pig about to go through all kind of torture!
I was placed on the floor for women and a room for myself at the hospital. The first night passed with so much anxiety and sadness that I wished I wasn't there.
(Listed in Teenager Years series)