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You wake up in the morning and something is wrong. You can’t move anything from the neck down. You don’t know what’s wrong, you’re not tied down, you just can’t move. You call for help and daddy runs in.
He discovers you’re paralysed and calls the doctor, and over the phone she instructs him how to examine you and what to check. For the next ten minutes he moves his hands over your body, doing what the doctor said, holding your arms and your sides. Listening to your heart. Feeling your temperature.
Inevitably, this is an opportunity he’s not going to let go…
As the doctor tells him to cut away your clothes, feel your pulse in your wrists and your chest, insert a thermometer, test your thighs for sensation… daddy starts to lose track of why he’s doing this. At some point you start to suspect he’s been off the phone for some time. That some of this exploration is not medically justified, you’ve never heard of a doctor telling anyone to perform a tongue test on a prone patients.
Eventually you start to feel sensation coming back to your body, you can move again. But will you?
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