I could not avert my eyes from my broken finger. Red before, it now started to turn a pale purple - and I thought it was already at its worst! Trying to think of something else besides the pulsing pain in my left hand, and to ignore the sickening cracks as the doctor lined up the bones in the right order, I examined the immaculate, disturbingly white room. The smell of medicine disgusted me and a wave of nausea washed over me as I snapped my eyes shut, tired of the too bright, too pale and too strong lights that lit the room. Even so, some of the light still found its way inside my eyelids. "Annoying," I thought, squeezing my lids harder, so that they blocked all the specks of light.
My hand began to feel oddly cold and I kept my eyes shut as I gradually lost feeling in the broken finger. I didn't want to know what the doctor did to it. Then I felt something grip around my broken finger and it stayed clenched to it. To my relief, the pain disappeared completely, as if it was never there.
A few minutes later, I was out of the too white, too bright hospital, unable to use my left hand for eternity (more precisely, two months) because of the shiny, odd-looking metal brace around my pinky finger that disabled it from movement, so that the fractured bones could repair themselves. Or so the doctor said. Nonetheless, I was feeling very glad this less-than-pleasant visit was over.
