The waiting place

I can remember a few days after the operation, a package arriving. It was an A4 white envelope. It was bulky and had no postage stamp on it. 

During the morning process of washing and toileting I eyed it up on my bedside locker. Gifts were important in hospital. Once the doctors' rounds and meal-ordering had finished I managed to reach it. It was heavy. I ripped it open. It contained another wrapping. I ripped that open. Oh—it was my hip. My old titanium hip, and its plastic cup. 

Image by Dan Cox