Peeling the Onion Read Online Free PDF Page B

explain about my mother's herb nursery, grown from hobby to passion to business.
    We reach the steps. One, two, three and I've made it, Dad and Julie hovering on either side. The lounge room, left untidy in the early morning rush, still looks fresh and new, bigger somehow, and welcoming. I'm ready to sit down.
    The couch is too low. So are the chairs. I try to bend and it doesn't work.
    'It's okay,' Julie says. 'You can still go home! We'll lend you a high armchair.'
    With that—as well as a shower chair, a shower hose and non-slip mat, a raised toilet frame, a long-handled reacher, a bed cradle to keep the blankets off my sore feet, an angled bookboard so that I can read and write, and of course the wheelchair—I pass.
    Tomorrow I can go home and stay home.
    Mum arrives at the hospital right after breakfast. After she's packed she has a lesson in putting my frame on and taking it off; in sitting me up and lying me down.
    I say goodbye to the new patient in Mrs Hogan's bed, wish Ruby all the best and leave her some of my flowers.
    Mum signs me out, we're given tablets and an appointment card to see Mr Osman in a fortnight. Tablet Sister and Busy Butt wish me luck—and for a few moments I feel quite weepy, as if I'm leaving behind some significant part of my life. Maybe I am.
    Finally I'm home. Mum and I celebrate with a cup of coffee and a chocolate cake; her face starts to relax. She's as glad to have me back as I am to be here. The house glows with peace, and quiet.
    Mum puts me to bed for a nap; I could almost ask for my teddy. In my own bed, in my own room, I sleep for three hours.

C HAPTER 4
    ' H ow come you've still got that thing on? I thought you'd be all better!'
    'Matt, you're so stupidl We're supposed to be nice to Anna!'
    'And how come they let you bring all those flowers home?'
    'Because they're her flowers, idiot!'
    'Bronwyn, stop calling your brother stupid!' Mum harassed, kids fighting—now I know I'm home.
    'Can I have some in my room too?'
    'Me too?'
    'Okay—just not the carnations.' But they're not interested in Hayden's plain white flowers, they want the biggest, the brightest; the extra ribbons and bows. They choose and change, tearing from mantelpiece from windowsill—with a weird kind of slow-motion tiptoe past my chair—and whisk their prizes back to their own rooms.
    Teatime now—feels like midnight—fried rice, my favourite. I drop my fork. It's barely hit the tiles before Matt and Bronny are out of their chairs and under the table, cracking heads in the race to pick it up.
    'Relax, you two,' Dad tells them. 'You'll have lots of chances to help her.'
    'I'm not going to need help for that long!'
    I shouldn't have snapped. My first night home; everyone's trying so hard. Too hard.
    You'd think it'd be easier having your mum undress you than a stranger. You'd be wrong. Mum's getting me ready for bed. I have a go at my shirt buttons but my good hand has the shakes; she has to do it all, shirt, shorts and knickers. She's as embarrassed as I am, drawing her breath in sharply as she strips off my shirt. Then it's nightie on, unclip the frame, slip on the collar, take off the frame, lie me down, hoist my legs in, and do up the nightgown once I'm safe on my back.
    I don't know if I can do this. Matt's not the only one who thought I'd be better once I got home; part of me must still believe in magic and thought that getting out of hospital would be an Abracadabra. No drum roll or fireworks — just a tiny little miracle, that's all I wanted.
    And I'm warning you, God, I still feel the same way — you're not going to cheat me again. I'm going to be better faster than anyone you've ever seen. Beating an injury is just a question of how determined you are, and I'm determined. Six months is plenty — I'm not turning eighteen like this. That's a threat, God, or a promise; take it however you like.
    Trapped in the blackness again. Suffocating, choking; motionless