HIP

AUTHOR Isobel Cunningham

His hand poised for just a moment over flesh, past its prime but still serviceable. A good body that never failed, never betrayed, until the fall

A crack, a fissure

A million steps, a billion, carrying her along, fast and slow, light and burdened. A myriad of steps after the fall

Pain, a grinning visitor

Never bored, never leaving, never taking the hint of pills of smiling young therapists. Insolent Pain tickled her groin, made her shift on the hard chair, made her limp, gasp, hobble, made her mutter the same prayer, a thoughtless charm as she folded the poor body, past its prime, into her jaunty red car

She laughed when the surgeon told her the new hip had a bar code.

Now, scalpel in hand, hand that has so often drawn the elegant crimson line over, down, breaching the fortress of the body, past its prime.

Isobel Cunningham is a retired hospital social service worker Isobel got their "new" hip when they were in their 60's. The criterion was pain. "I walked the 790 km Camino de Santiago in Spain on this hip Soon it may be time for another one, but not before I walk the Portuguese Camino, I hope "

Art by Sergey Dobrunov Sergey was born in Lugansk, Ukraine, where they studied at an art school Now, they are studying at the magistracy of the Institute of Culture and Arts in Poltava, Ukraine Their specialty is glass painting and employing the oil and ink This glass painting is 20 x 30cm "During an operation, I was under anesthesia and I had an image (in my head) as if I saw a shepherd who grazes a cow in his room He does not write off anywhere and enjoys peace and comfort I depicted this image in my picture This was my experience under anesthesia I think I became different after that "

The other one, the one who guards her breath, scrubs, mask Needle inserted – smooth and quick. “You may hear what’s going on.”

Smiling.

But she descended into a dark well as the surgeon split the skin, bands of muscles, tendons, wrestled, sawed, fixed, pinned. Drove home the new hip, the bar code hip. And the other, curating her breath, her soul, nodded, a little surprised Murmured, “Went right under.” Awake in the cold recovery room, shivering, shuddering, teeth chattering, wrapped in warmed blankets

The surgeon and the other one wash their hands