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Before the orderly could arrive with my wheelchair to take me back to my room, I rolled off the bench to the treadmill. I used the handrails as a barre.
Long habit settled my posture into a classic première position to begin a ballet warmup, heels together, toes pointed out, left arm hanging down in slight curve with fingertips at the top of my thighs, right hand resting lightly on the improvised barre. The mirror opposite me reflected my long legs, narrow waist, long, dark hair pi
Except my feet pointed straight forward.
I forced them to turn outward along with my thighs and knees. My kneecap should face the same direction as my toes. Both should line up with my shoulder.
I sighed in relief when I achieved an almost normal première position.
No! Someone-someones?-shouted into my mind.
My feet and knees whipped forward of their own accord. My left knee buckled. I clung to the railing with both hands, desperate to master my rebellious body.
I inched myself back to standing. Then I eased my feet and legs outward until toes, knees, and shoulders again aligned. Then before my muscles could protest and change my position, I bent my knees into a demiplié, forcing my heels to remain on the floor.
Sharp pains shot from my knees into my brain. It felt as if someone drove daggers directly into my temples, again and again in rhythm with my elevated pulse.
I collapsed onto the floor, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. The moment I stretched my body flat on the floor the pain stopped. But the memory remained. I cowered there for many long moments, whimpering.
The orderly found me curled up in a fetal position. He carried me back to my room.
For the rest of the day I contemplated my situation from the confines of my bed. I let the nurses and Étie
Alien voices? Nanobots inside my body. Alien voices!
My mind looped around and around the problem. Could it be? Could the mad surgeon with his miracle procedure have done more. Much, much more?
The nanobots repaired damage. The doctor had hinted that they could even recognize new damage as it occurred.
Was the leap to recognizing potential damage too far?
From there might they not need to discourage behavior that could lead to potential damage?
No, I reasoned. That was madness.
Madness. Had the nurse used that word?
I waited and counted the hours until after midnight. The rehab wing grew quiet. The PTs and doctors went home. The other patients slept. Occasionally a nurse walked the corridors on her rounds. I could listen to my head without interference.
With as little bending and twisting as possible, I rolled from my bed and stood. So far so good. The knees did not protest. I took one step, then two in the direction of the bathroom. Still no reaction from the things inside me.
I turned my feet and knees outward-not the full ninety-degree angle I wanted, but enough to suggest a ballet stance.
Ten steps, then twelve. My knees felt a little shaky. A little hum of concern in my nape. I grabbed a towel bar for support. My knees stayed steady. The hum went away.
While I was in there I might as well take care of business. The raised seat of the john was a blessing in my condition. Once more, I turned my knees and feet outward and lifted my heels several times. My calf muscles welcomed the stretch and release.
Grab bars in all the right places helped me stand again. I left my legs turned and rose up on tiptoe. Slowly, ever so slowly, I lifted my right arm forward and up to cinquième en haut. Then I released the bar and lifted my left arm.
The hum in my head started up. I pretended it was music and stepped forward on tiptoe. The hum grew louder.
I overrode it by singing a jaunty little waltz. “One, two, step. One, two, step.”
The hum matched the lilt in my mind.
Arms still up, I dropped to both feet in a modified fifth position, all the while singing. On each third beat I took one step forward on the right toe and brought the left up into fifth position, toes aligned, heels facing opposite directions. Then I came down on the count of three, still in fifth position, heel to toe and toe to heel.
Six times I performed this simple exercise. Six times the aliens hummed along with me, so caught up in the music and the lovely stretch of calf, thigh, and back muscles that they didn’t notice how I moved.
Then they noticed. Straight, straight, straight, they screamed at me.
My feet and knees jerked to an ugly front face and without my will, marched me back to bed. The moment I placed both hands on the side bar, my legs gave out. I had to drag my tired body onto the mattress.
A smile tugged at my mouth as I drifted off to sleep.
For the next three days, every time I had a little privacy in the bathroom, I repeated the exercise, singing my favorite ballet waltzes ever louder to drown out the nanobots’ protests. Each day they took a little longer before forcing me back into their version of a normal stance.
By the end of the week I managed a few pliès-bends-entendues-stretches-even a quick ronde de jambe-a circle of the leg.
“I want a practice room complete with barre, mirror, and sound system,” I demanded of Dr. Bertrand on the following Tuesday. A week and a day after the surgery. Time was ru
“This is too early,” he replied, setting his jaw stubbornly.
‘Étie
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No. You will damage yourself beyond the abilities of the nanobots to repair.”
“I have paid you a great deal of money for this treatment. I still owe you half the fee. If I ca
“You may use the physical therapy room. But only if Etie
I did not retort with the “Oh, yeah?” that burned on my tongue.
The hum in the back of my neck began the moment I took my place at the barre Etie
“Adagio in 4/4 time,” I called to the computerized music system.
The slow, melodic tune drifted over the hidden speakers. I let the sound fill me as I drew deep breaths. The nanos picked up the count. Carefully I ran through gentle plies in first, second, fourth, and fifth positions. Blood coursed through my muscles, giving them warmth and flexibility. I reveled in the stretch and burn. Then I pushed into deeper grand pliés.
Ah! the nanos sighed.
I pushed a little deeper.
Not so much yet, they insisted and shot fire from my knees to my head.
I backed off, but continued through my routine warmup. The microscopic robots let me know when I went to far. We compromised on the grand battlements, leg lifts. I managed to bring my leg level with my hip; half as elevated as I considered beautiful and necessary; much, much higher than the nanobots thought feasible.