A memory becomes a short story
I was about to publish another post. However, the more I read it the less I liked it. I am distracted by too many things and it is too late to think of another post for this week.
The story is my best recollection of something that really happened. By the way, “the gentleman who had not seen me since I was two” was the top Orthopedic Surgeon in Italy. He performed a series of operation on me to give me viable hands and a viable right foot. The first took place when I was 29 days, the episode descrived in the story was a precursor to the last that happened in the spring of 1960. In September 1959, I was five (I was born in December 1953).
I wrote the story from the point of view of a child of five.
I have decided to keep my Substack free. However, if you decide to support my work, you can ‘buy me a coffee’ a one-off tip by clicking on this link, or you could buy one of my books (the Amazon link is in the caption of the image at the end of this post) or keep reading my posts, it is entirely up to you.I found out what my parents do not want to tell me
September 1959
My mother and I seldom took trips on our own. It was even rarer that we set out on our own when we were visiting granny and grandpa in Venice. And yet, last night dad told me he had to go to Milan to talk to a colleague. They usually were on two different continents and talking was problematic because of different time zones. He had to seize this opportunity to see him in Milan, and could not come with us to Florence.
I don’t know why we are going to Florence, except mum needs to see somebody and she would like to take me with her because we shall also visit a gentleman who had not seen me since I was two and helped us a lot when I was a baby. She and dad thought he would be pleased to see us. I love trains, I am happy my mother decided to take me with her.
We walk into an office with two big windows and a large desk. A lady on the other side of the desk is wearing a white robe. She stands up when we walk in; we sit down on big green armchairs. My mother takes out one of my favourite books and asks me to read it because she needs to talk to the lady for half an hour. If I behave, she’ll buy me an ice-cream later.
I’d do anything for an ice-cream! Especially in Italy, they are better than at home. The nice lady with the white robe is impressed that I can read at my age.
I realise they are talking about me, so I stop reading and try to understand what they are saying. My Italian is not good enough. After a while, I hear my mother mention Amniotic Band Syndrome, then she asks me to show my hands to the lady. I comply (I want the ice-cream!).
The lady looks at my hands and keeps talking to my mother. Now they are planning something for the next time we are in Italy. My mother will confirm dates in a letter she’ll send once we are back home. She’ll send it air mail.
We say goodbye to the nice lady with the white robe. My mother takes me to have an ice-cream before we pay our second visit.
It is only when we are in the taxi to see the gentleman who had not seen me since I was two that somehow I realise that “Amniotic Band Syndrome” is related to my hands. I need to remember it because tonight, when we are back in Venice, I will ask my aunt Myriam, she may know. If she doesn’t, I shall ask my grandmother, but if I do that, my parents will find out. There must be a reason they never discussed it with me, so they may be disappointed I found out.
I have decided to keep my Substack free. However, if you decide to support my work, you can ‘buy me a coffee’ a one-off tip by clicking on this link, or you could buy one of my books (the link is in the caption of the last image below) or keep reading my posts, it is entirely up to you.
N.B. I was not aware that Booklinker required registration. I thought it was a universal link for my books. Please accept my apologise. I hope to find another universal linker that does not require registration.
