When I had my hip surgery in 1991, there was a little girl in the hospital that the media had nicknamed “Fluffy”. Her father had gone psychotic and had set this poor little girl and her mother alight, and then shot himself. Her mother unfortunately didn’t survive, and little Fluffy was left with extensive burns. She was on the same ward as me. She was a terrible sight to see and was covered in bandages and being only about 3 or 4 years old was in a cot most of the time. One day we were in the ward alone together and she started asking me something, but I couldn’t understand her. She was saying the same thing over again, trying to tell me what she needed, and it was heart wrenching because I couldn’t help her. I was only 11 myself and didn’t really know what to do so I eventually buzzed for a nurse and they took care of her. But I’ll never forget that poor little girl, all alone in the world and suffering. I still think about her and wonder where life took her after her recovery. Down a very happy path I hope.?
