One of the monks answered the bell. His calm face became concerned when he saw the condition I was in. Charlie appeared behind the monk and said, “Govinda, you came here in the rain? You’re here with the ox cart…where’s the oxen…you’re muddy…what happened to your leg?” his voice trailed off to a whisper as the blood left my head and my consciousness faded to black-ridden silence.

Charlie and Lira were sitting in the hospital room when I awoke to hear Lira crying. I was confused by what appeared to be a white sheet with floating trees, I said, “What is this?”
Lira’s hand ran over my brow and she kissed my forehead as she whispered, “You’re in Samsara Hospital, you’re fine, my love, just relax.”

I saw the surgeon walk in and for a moment I actually enjoyed his company. He stood above me ready to break the spell of my ignorance. I lay there not so unfamiliar.

“Why do you call me Govinda?” I whispered to Charlie still much sedated.
“She’s a Hindu Goddess. She raised and guarded the cows,” Charlie said, “a very sacred job in India.” Charlie’s eyes lie upon me so soft and gentle.
“Happiness all around,” I whispered to myself.

It would take me the rest of my life before I saw the individuality of my condition and the patient love of Lira. Her observation of plastics and wood was a gift of intimacy and acceptance. When I heard the news Lira cried and Charlie laid his hand on mine while I reveled in the warm surface beneath my closed eyes. The surgeon quietly said that I had been in a four hour surgery whereupon I had my ankle and foot amputated. There was plenty of regret when I finally allowed myself to understand and opened my eyes again.

“I liked my foot…I needed it…I was attached to it!” was among the many stupid things I said to the doctor to try and patch my life back together, swiftly cut short by optimistic conversations about current explorations in medical science and what my ample insurance would cover. What was really left to explore was the mystery of my burgeoning condition and how sarcastically I could cut down other people’s will to love me. I have to admit by the time I left the hospital, and for the first time in my life, I was sick of the topic of conversation always being about myself.

At home, the creeping shadow of winter came through the window as I lay useless and heard the doubtful groans of the cows being milked by Nelson. The cold climate adaptation made the radical changes to my body seem less like the special sculpture Lira kept calling it. I awoke from the sound of my own snoring and seeing the complex condition upon rising triggered the journey of my deep depression. Of all the things to be taken from me including vodka and water, this was the worst.