The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

Susan took me back to see Dr. Graham so he could explain. He did not
reexamine my foot. We sat in his office, all three of us, and he talked, and I
listened.
“First of all,” he said, “understand that we can’t proceed without your
mother’s permission. At this point it would have to be considered elective
surgery, and that’s why we’ve been waiting for her approval.” He glanced up
at Susan. “You haven’t gotten it?” She shook her head.
“Well, I have been reading up on the procedure,” Dr. Graham said. “It
wouldn’t be me who would do the surgery, we’d have to send you to a
specialist. I’ve written to one that I think would be best. He does say that you
won’t ever have a normal foot. Please understand that. You could have if
treatment had started early enough, but you can’t now. You won’t get a
normally functioning ankle. But we could hope for a foot that looked
normally positioned, that you could walk on with the plantar surface down.”
He looked at me and added, “That means the bottom. What should be the
bottom of your foot would be the part touching the ground.”
I thought about this. “Would it hurt?” I asked.
“You would be sleeping during the surgery,” he said. “We would give you
special medicine to make you stay asleep, and you wouldn’t feel anything
then. Afterward, yes, it would probably hurt. You’d need to stay in hospital
for quite a long time too—probably several months. Your foot would be kept
in plaster casts.”
“Would I be able to wear shoes?”
His eyes smiled, even though his mouth did not. “Yes,” he said. “When
everything was healed, you would.”
I thought of something else. “Who pays for it?” I asked. It cost a pile of
money to stay in hospital.
Susan and the doctor exchanged glances. “We’ll deal with that problem
when we come to it,” Dr. Graham said. “I’m sure there are charities we could
get involved.”
Susan and I walked home silently through the blustery freezing wind.