@TheMasterEraser  
Wow, that was great, thank you!

The anesthesiologist smiled in sympathy as she held the mask over the face of Wheatgrass. “Just breathe normally, and count backward from ninety-nine.”
 
“Ninety-nine,” complied Wheatgrass, “ninety-eight, nuuu…”
 
Wheatgrass had always prided herself on her sense of direction. Even inside buildings, she could remember which direction she was facing. She credited growing up in the valley beneath the Canterhorn, always being able to look to the capitol’s mountain to tell where she was.
 
The first thing she noticed as her sense rebooted was that she was no longer facing north. She was facing west, in the recovery suite. She breathed steadily as colors returned in a slow instant to a monochrome world, then a tingle and a rush as her sense of touch came back.
 
She felt a bit creaky as she shifted in the bed. A frown spread across her face; she remembered that, now that it was all over, her leg was gone. She had done her grieving with a counselor beforehand, so the adaptation remained.
 
Wheatgrass lifted the covers. Her thigh ended in a bandage-wrapped stump, her knee now a ghost.
 
Wait. Her right knee? Had the anaesthesia swapped left and right? Was this an aftereffect that would fade? Or was this the truth, in stark black and white?
 
At Nursey’s command station, the beeping of one of her patients’ heart-rate monitors increased precipitously. And then came the scream.

@TheMasterEraser  
Quite so! Due to a terrible clerical error, her right leg was removed instead of the cancerous left. Her other leg will also have to come off, and sooner the better. :(

Uh, was the bandage on her other leg in the previous image?