Hidden Trauma: A Reflection on Artist Inés Ixierda’s “Fasciotomy” by Karen Germain

Karen Lea Germain is a Los Angeles native who recently relocated to Colorado with her British husband and two spoiled cats. She graduated from the UCLA Extension Writer’s Program and is currently working on her first novel. Her non-fiction story “We…

Karen Lea Germain is a Los Angeles native who recently relocated to Colorado with her British husband and two spoiled cats. She graduated from the UCLA Extension Writer’s Program and is currently working on her first novel. Her non-fiction story “Weight” appears in the Spring 2020 issue of the Intima.

An interior look at a pair of legs: The right side is perfect with strong, intact bones, and the left, riddled with trauma. Scars run the length. Rather than bones, pulsing nerves shown on the left leg. At the top of the thigh, the nerve tied with a bandage. The left foot twisted and hobbled.

In my non-fiction story “Weight,” I explore the complicated relationship that I had with my aunt, as I was her caretaker in the final years of her life. My aunt suffered from a shocking injury when her left femur bone snapped as she was getting her morning newspaper.

In addition to the break, the accident created disc compressions in her spine and neck pain. She underwent multiple surgeries, including a rod in her femur, that had to be removed months later due to extreme nerve pain.

Although artist Inés Ixierda’s “Fasciotomy” is inspired by a different type of injury than my aunt’s, her drawing captures similar suffering. My aunt’s nerve damage was so severe that simple tasks, such as grocery shopping, became impossible.

The trauma in the drawing, scars and what hides beneath the skin, reminds me of my aunt’s leg. After her accident, she stopped wearing shorts and bathing suits. I only saw her injuries when I helped her dress or shower. Her back was covered in scars from disc surgeries, and yet, she was still gorgeous. I remember thinking that I hope I look as good as my aunt when I’m in my 70s.

Despite covering her injuries, her pain was apparent. It was written all over her face. Her posture became curved, and she limped, relying on a walker. She aged seemingly overnight.

Through everything, she regularly reapplied her signature red lipstick, and she visited her hairstylist every six weeks. She invested in French manicures and eyelash tints. She couldn’t hide her pain, but she could maintain her standards. My aunt clung to glamour as a way to keep her dignity and a sense of self.



Karen Lea Germain is a Los Angeles native who recently relocated to Colorado with her British husband and two spoiled cats. She graduated from the UCLA Extension Writer’s Program and is currently working on her first novel. While at UCLA, her novel was nominated for The James Kirkwood Literary Prize, an award for outstanding works-in-progress. Germain spent over a decade in the theme park industry and several years working in behavioral research at a local zoo. Among other projects, she has spent over 2000 hours observing flamingos. Flamingos are no longer her favorite birds.





©2020 Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine