7. 🌸 Sharon
I enjoy all the beauties and the good in life: a bouquet of flowers, rainbows, the delicacy of porcelain china, the touch of snuggly fabrics, the scent of nature, the list could go on and on.
Samuel and I married early, we bought our first apartment with limited budget, I still tried hard to make the most of it to fit my “perfection”.
The small balcony was filled with plants and flowers. It was my secret garden, I can sip my cup of coffee and watch my greens all morning.
Not just the balcony; my kitchen was equipped with aesthetic and functional silverware and pots; I knocked down the tiles provided by the construction company, just to choose my own tiles, not to mention what I went through to find the right fabric and color for those hand towels.
Thus, I can not accept the fact that I was going to spend the rest of my life in a wheel-chair.
There was no more perfection.
The first year was the darkest time in my life. It felt like decades. No matter how hard I tried to squirm out of the whirlpool of darkness, the more I struggled, the more I was sucked into it. I was drowning.
There’s so much than what you see “a person in a wheelchair” who’s paralyzed. You don’t have bladder control, you suffer dysautonomia which simply means you have pains and cramps sending to your system by your damaged nerves. There are also issues like obesity, osteoporosis, and kidney, heart and lungs problems.
My stubborn tumor cuts me from T8-9, meaning from about 3 cm above my belly button until my waist down, I don’t feel a thing, and I can’t budge a toe. All of a sudden, from 167 cm tall, I became 125cm. With that height, I can’t see the faces of people, I can’t smell the fresh air, and no more scenic views for me.
Due to the PTSD, I started to lose weight, but with no balance and muscle to straighten my back, my tummy always stuck out. I looked like a shrimp that has a 6 months belly in a wheel chair. I had to throw out all my tight and pretty clothes in change of clothes that could cover up the bulging tummy, and easy to put on pants with elastic waists. My beloved shoes had to go too, my feet are easily swollen, I need bigger shoes.
My choice of clothing and trend was banished.
The nerve pains follow me EVERY SINGLE DAY, 24-7. The medications can only do so much. Isn’t it an irony? I can’t feel my son’s hands touching my legs. Or someone just come and pinch me, let me get some real pain here. Nope, they are all gone. Dealing with the pains of my body takes up most of my energy everyday.
I had to record everything that I take in and out too. I had to decide to rely on adult diapers or to use catheter. My pride and frustration was about to explode. It took one year with the help of my doctor to understand my body and find the way that I was most comfortable with.
My legs are paralyzed, and my weight kept on dropping. Physically and mentally I was a mess.
I could never get to my balcony anymore; my pretty tiles had handles on them; my velvet dresser chair became an obstacle for my wheel chair, so it had to go.
My porcelain tea cups were too high for me to reach. I can no more decorate my table exactly the way I want to.
These were nothing compared to how I had to pretend everything was alright with in front of Andrew. He was two, and he was just ecstatic mommy wasn’t leaving him every two to three months. I played and laughed with him everyday, until he sleeps.
But it was a pretty pass.
I have witnessed him tumbling down the stairs in a friend’s house. I was right there! There was nothing I could do except to bite my lips from screaming out loud. Hundreds of things that could have happened to him, and my SOPs zoomed through my mind in the flick of seconds. Samuel ran over to pick up our frightened baby, Andrew held out his arms to me. I held him tight, checked him from head to toe. I thank the Almighty that he was not hurt.
Sometimes, I sat on my recliner instead of the wheel chair. Andrew wanted me to follow him to his room and play. I took a piece of my heart and threw it to him, he catches it, pats his own heart. “Mommy is following you now.” My two-year-old walks always without any complaints.
I tried to be the super-mom that I wanted to be, I took Andrew downstairs to play by myself. When I tried to catch a balloon that flew away, I fell head over heals. Andrew was in so much fright that he refused to go anyway alone with me for the longest time.
I suck everything up in the morning, my tears, my frustration, my sorrows. Once Andrew falls asleep, the waterworks ran like tap water, it wouldn’t stop. No one can comfort me, no one could help me, not even Samuel. We have been fighting this battle for years side by side, we were not ready to face the defeat.
I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about this. I can’t lose my sanity in front of Andrew. He deserves a better mommy and a lot more happiness.
My blue print for being a Mother was to be there for my kid: race in the park, lie on the grass and gaze at the sky, teach him how to swim. When it’s time for school, I want to be friends of his friends, I am going to run for the coolest mom in the whole class.
But now, life isn’t pretty any more.
All good that’s left, was Andrew.
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