Breathe in, breathe out. It hurts so much. Can't take it any longer, need to get away. “Keep still,” she says, the doctor I thought was my friend. Snip, tug, stop. Please stop. The room is too bright, too hot, I feel dizzy, nauseous. Breathe deep, breathe slow. I am on a beach, in a forest, anywhere but here. Close my eyes tightly but still the pain goes on. Make it stop. “That's it,” my torturer smiles. “All over.” I look down at my exposed wound, the dressing discarded, bloodstained on the table beside me. I breathe normally once more.
Susan Thompson has written three memoirs about Suffolk and is working on a collection of poetry. Find her on Instagram and Facebook @theanalogueauthor.