I felt my heart begin pounding.
"What does that mean?"
"It means the original accident may not fully explain the extent of your eventual vision loss."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Twenty years.
For twenty years, everyone had told me the playground accident had destroyed my sight.
I'd accepted that explanation because I had no reason to question it.
I remembered the swing.
The wind in my hair.
Nicholas laughing behind me.
The sudden shove.
Then the terrible impact as my head struck the rock.
After that, pain.
Voices.
Ambulance sirens.
And darkness.
"What happened eighteen hours later?" I whispered.
Dr. Harris opened another page.
"According to this record, you underwent an additional procedure involving an experimental treatment intended to preserve damaged visual tissue."
I frowned.
"Experimental?"
"That's what the notation indicates."
"Did my parents approve it?"
He looked uncomfortable.
"That's one of the questions we're investigating."
I looked down at the signature.
