It was six-fifteen when my shift ended. Sometimes, at the end of a long day, I was stiff and hurting, but I was used to it. Once I got home, I could soak in a hot bath and the relief was immense. I had developed mild scoliosis because of my shorter leg, which itself was caused by a car accident at sixteen years of age.
The shoe lifts had been a godsend, and the slight curve of my body to the left was less noticeable because of them, along with the exercises I rigorously pursued every morning. My limp was much less pronounced, even nonexistent on a good day. Today was a good day. I’d need to schedule a massage soon, though. An hour-long session always worked wonders for my my mind and body.
To complete the charade at the hospital, I took the train to work, leaving my car at the office. I
