When he first woke up, he thought he could see. It wasn’t until the week’s worth of testing and poking and prodding and thoughtful Mm-hmm’s was over that he found out he couldn’t.
They explained it in long complex strings of Latin and scientific-babble, as if somehow the accident had given him an innate grasp of medicine. He refrained from pointing out that it was the dorm that had collapsed on him and not the science building.
But it was quickly over and he was released back into the world, where he played darts and drove, and took his daughter dancing, laughing at the doctors who couldn’t see.