My state of mind was toxic, my approach to life complacent and my attitude ungrateful. So here I was, reliving the past in my head in a hospital in New York, praying desperately that I would live. I snapped out of my reverie abruptly when one of the nurses came up to me and asked me to stand up. What? How does she even imagine I can do that? Everything hurts so badly. I just can't! And won't! Of course I understood that the nurses wanted me to move my body to begin the healing process.

They encourage you to either walk in the hospital corridor or move around a bit to begin the curative and restorative effects post-surgery. The next moment my hard taskmaster made me do exactly what she had in mind. I clenched my teeth at the onrush of pain. I all but collapsed. Then stand I did, on legs that seemed to be made of jelly. The torture did not end there. On the third day, a nurse came up to me early in the morning and said, 'Come on, honey, let's walk to the washroom and take a shower.' I was horrified. I protested. She was adamant. She handed me a walker and insisted I ignore the pain. 'Oh, it's not too bad, honey!' I summoned up all my courage. Using superhuman effort, I put one foot in front of the other.