"I've got good news for you," said my mother, sitting down at the head of my bed.

I rubbed sleepy eyes and dragged the covers up over my head.

"You need to get up now," she insisted and tried to pull down the covers.

I held on.

This was one of my most favourite moments with mom, grappling with quilts and pillows.

"Let me be, Mom," I said, well aware of the fact that my voice was groggy with sleep.

"You need to come downstairs. You missed your medications yesterday," she asserted, fussing as usual. "I was so worried I called Doctor Phillips."

"Why bother him, he must get so frustrated," I yawned and sat up. There was no way she was going to let me sleep. "You said there was good news?"

"You are going to college!"

"I – What?"

"You're going to The Rose Valley Academy to study English Literature and you're free to take up music or contemporary art as a second subject. I bet you'll like it. Moreover, it will get you to read more books, research more and help to enhance your writing skills," she ranted, out of breath.

I just stared at her like an idiot, trying to take it all in. I'd never expected to survive school let alone be accepted into college. While my friends had been applying for colleges and grants, I'd just been grateful to be alive each day. I'd missed out on all the excitement-the worry. I couldn't believe this was really happening.

"I'm seriously going to college? Honestly, I don't know what to say... It's amazing." I couldn't stop smiling. "I promise I'll work so hard, ace everything..." the surge of joy rose up, it was almost overwhelming. And then it hit me – like a steam train – slam - right in my gut.  She saw it in my expression, it was impossible to hide the fear.

"Phoebe, what's wrong? You look terrified?"

I couldn't bear to see her so worried but I couldn't pretend.
"No one will know me there, Mom — no one will know about... me?" I held up my bandaged hand, staring at the grubby gauze.

It had taken me years to make friends in school, for them to even start to accept me. How the hell was I going to cope with a whole new bunch of teenagers, all their weird ideas about fashion and beauty? What was I going to be known as, Gothel the witch? 

I'd had a lifetime of taunts and people muttering behind my back. I really didn't know if I could face it all again...

"I won't give you false promises and say everything will be fine," said my mother. She slipped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed gently. "But I know my girl is a winner and I am pretty sure about her abilities... You can do this."

"Thanks, Mom," I whispered.

"You are very welcome," she gave my shoulder another squeeze before she uttered the dreaded words. "It's time to change those dressings, Phoebe. I'll see you shortly."

Hate isn't a strong enough word.

I dragged my unwilling body out of bed, found my padded slippers and grudgingly trudged to the bathroom. The daily routine hurt – a lot because I had blisters just about everywhere.  Mouthwash done, I laid out the plastic sheeting on the bed and sat with my legs on top, waiting for the torture to begin... what else should I call it?

She arrived with the packs of dressing, bandages gloves, everything needed to keep me whole. 

While she cleaned her hands, pulled on gloves, I sorted the fresh packs. The silver hydro fibre dressing was supposed to keep my cutaneous lesions pain-free and stop any bleeding.

Then it was off with the old. I always did that, doing my best to keep my eyes away from the damage under the final layer of bandage.

Her gasp made me open my eyes and then wish I hadn't. There was a large, bright red blister, right on the top of my big left toe. "How did this happen?"

"No idea," I said. "I don't remember banging into anything. Maybe it was those new shoes although you padded them straight away."

"You know I need to lance this," she said. 

"Just do it, Mom," I said and gritted my teeth.

I ripped open a small needle packet and dropped it into her gloved hands.  We'd had lots of practice over the years. 

It hurt — but not so much that it made me cry. The needle went cleanly through the blister, the end appearing on the other side and then she squeezed gently encouraging the fluid inside to flow out.

The gauze was soon soaked but it was a big blister. "I'll have to syringe the last bit out," she said.  That bit always hurt.  We were both sweating by the time it was finished.

And it wasn't over yet.  Once my feet were back in clean bandages it was time for my hands. They were the worst. I had been born without any skin on them, to begin with, what there was now was always breaking down.

Then she took up a small cotton swab, dipped it in diluted hydrogen peroxide and gently washed the opening of the Mic-Key tube.

With the final spiral wrap of gauze firmly back in place, she sat back and smiled,
"Breakfast time, Phoebe, I'll go and start preparing shall I?"

Reviewed by lindajonesAuthor

A/N Phoebe is going to college! Isn't that good? Did you know about the dressing thing though?

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