Holding on to a pound of flesh

As she paced the dark corridor  of the hospital, her mind was fraught with myriad emotions. Half sobbing, she braced herself for the dawn to break and free her of the self pitying emotions that were bobbing up and down. So what if her son had no leg ; he would still be able to walk  - the medical and technological advancements would make sure of that or so the doctor had assured her. Listlessly she recollected the traumatic year that had gone by. The apple of her eye had braved quite a few unfortunate act(s) of God and the last frontier was going under the knife for an amputation of his right leg. The cherubic infant who was on the threshold of celebrating his first birthday was blissfully ignorant of the fact that his leg was affected by a congenital deformity. The morning broke a beautiful hue and she stepped into the room gingerly. Watching her sleeping son she shed copious tears clutching on to the deformed leg. That disfigured stump, literally - a pound of flesh, was the most precious thing that she could think of at that time!

This is my entry to this week's theme A Pound of Flesh by Sra. It goes to Sra & Aparna's  The Fifty - 2 Weeks of 2013 Project .