I was nervous before the surgery
even though my friends had reassured me
that there was nothing to worry about.
After all, it was standard procedure -
at least, on paper. So I braced myself
to be cut open by a specialist
who had cut open many before me.
Piled up on the operating table,
I could not help but admire her winding
fingers, which threaded the needle with skill,
and care, like calligraphy without a
canvas. Then, slowly, with sinewy blue hands,
she began to sew the row of holes
lining my spine, using silver tweezers
to make delicate knots, careful not to
tear the neighbouring skin. Once she finished
the sutures, she applied a thin coat of
white glue with soft brushstrokes, her wrist rippling
across the freshly stitched wound. Finally,
she dressed it with thick strips of brown fabric,
pressing it down for the glue to set. Done
at last, she cupped her neck with a smiling
hand, stepping back to view her handiwork.
I stayed where I was, ready to be read.

About the Author
Nida Sajid is a neurodivergent cultural worker from Glasgow. She holds an MA in Cultural Studies from Birkbeck, University of London, specialising in contemporary fiction. She lives in Hackney.