The light in the pre-op flares up with noise. Doesn't blind. Here he is not as merciless as in the adjoining room, where I performed twelve operations. I won't go there. I'm not ready yet.

I look back as I stand. Come on. Haven't done that in a long time. I roll up my sleeves. I bend my arm, press my elbow on the lever. The water is cool and soft. Antiseptic without fragrance, thick and transparent. I repeat the ritual fully, all, as if preparing for an operation. Only Karine is not around. The rustle of bags for sterile towels now seems special, unique, long forgotten, just like the...