It is decided that I will go to my father’s house in Holland, Michigan, where the outpatient therapy is better than in my mother’s small town. My mother cries and cries. My father and Elizabeth help me into the car, then fold up the wheelchair and put it in the trunk. The chair is new, they had to buy it at a store in the clinic. We all thought the surgery would resolve everything. No one thought there would be a need for one when I got out. Half my face is paralyzed. The right side of my body hardly moves. The surgery, everyone says, was a success.