I anticipated another typical morning when I woke up.
Rather, I was stuck when I woke up.
I was unaware that anything was wrong for a short while. After yet another sleepless night, my body felt heavy and stiff, but that wasn’t unusual. I cocked my head slightly to listen to the house’s soft hum while gazing at the ceiling.
Then instinct took over.
I grabbed for my wheelchair, which was always on my right.
My fingers came into contact with nothing.
I froze.
Perhaps while I slept, I knocked it out of position.
Even if that had never occurred before.
My heart began to race as I leaned over the bed’s edge.
It wasn’t present.
There was nothing in the area next to the bed.
“No, no, no.”
I sat up too fast, feeling a rush of lightheadedness. I was breathing more quickly as I scanned the room, thinking that if I looked hard enough, the chair may somehow show up.
I yelled out, louder this time, “Terry?” “Terry!”
Quiet.
A thick, oppressive quiet.
I paid attention.
No footsteps.
Nothing to move.
Then, though, I heard something faintly.
An oscillation.
His cell phone.
Somewhere along the corridor.
He was therefore at home.
This indicated that it wasn’t an accident.
A chill went through my chest.
Why would he accept it?
I didn’t move at first.
I did nothing but sit.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Thirty, perhaps.
The clock seemed to be dragging itself ahead in order to make me experience every moment of the horrible way that time stretched.
I thought I had buried that sense of powerlessness months ago, but it resurfaced.
the medical facility.
the waiting.
the knowledge that I was no longer able to move in the same manner.
I had battled so hard to overcome that.
And suddenly, here it was once more.
But it wasn’t fate this time.
It was my spouse.
Then came the rage.
Quick, hot, and sharp.
Was this a prank of some sort?
An examination?
Or worse, punishment?
My chest constricted.
No.
I had no intention of sitting there.
It was more difficult than I had anticipated to get out of bed.
It had been months since I had done it this way.
Gripping the mattress, I carefully swung my legs over and lowered myself. Even though the impact wasn’t too strong, it nevertheless made me gasp for air.
I just lay on the ground for a moment.
Inhaling.
Changing.
Recalling.
I then began to move.
My hands felt chilly on the hardwood floor.
My arms jolted with every draw forward.
It moved slowly.
excruciatingly slow.
In a matter of minutes, my shoulders burned and my muscles screamed from an exertion they were no longer accustomed to.
However, I continued.
Because right now… I required responses.
I heard it halfway down the corridor.
A voice.
The voice of a woman.
gentle.
Close.
from the garage.
My whole body froze.
Next—
Terry chuckled.
Low.
Take caution.
As if he was unwilling to be heard.
Something broke inside of me.
Not merely fear.
Not merely perplexity.
Something more profound.
darker.
Was there someone he was hiding?
Had he stolen my wheelchair to keep me in the dark?
The idea was so powerful that it didn’t even feel like a question.
It seemed to be true.
I went more quickly.
disregarding the suffering.
I ignored the trembling in my arms beneath me.
The corridor seemed to go on forever, as if it were extending only to prevent me from arriving.
However, I persisted.
I had to check.
My hands were trembling so much by the time I got to the garage door that I could hardly hold onto the handle.
I managed to pull myself up just enough.
I turned it.
and shoved.
The door parted.
And everything I believed to be true changed.
“Terry…”
It was almost violent how quickly he pivoted.
His face lost its color.
The woman next to him let out a gasp.
One thing became painfully evident at that very moment:
He didn’t think I would make it that far.
He hurried over to me and asked, “What are you doing here?”
I automatically withdrew.
“Don’t.”
I was trembling when I spoke.
Not feeble.
furious.
“What’s happening?”
“Please, darling, let me explain—”
“No,” I yelled. “Begin elucidating.”
I noticed it at that point.
My wheelchair.
It was on the desk.
dissected.
Absolutely.
Wheels off. The frame is visible. pieces arranged as if they were irreparably damaged.
My chest constricted.
That chair was more than just a piece of equipment.
It was my freedom.
My security.
How I live in the world.
And he had taken it apart.
The woman hurriedly said, “Hello,” and moved ahead. “My name is Dana. I really apologize; this wasn’t how it was meant to occur.
I gazed at her.
Then at Terry.
Then return to the chair.
I muttered, “I don’t understand.”
After that, everything was different.
Terry remarked, “I wanted to surprise you.”
not protective.
Not upset.
Just be honest.
He clarified everything.
The phone calls.
The preparation.
The weeks he’d spent preparing this.
Dana wasn’t “someone.”
She was an expert.
It wasn’t destroying the chair.
It was being swapped out.
He said, “I wanted you to wake up and see it ready.” “No hardship. Not a trace of the previous one.
And all of a sudden…
I kept thinking about that hour.
the anxiety.
the crawling.
the presumptions.
the suffering.
“I considered…” My voice cracked.
I was unable to complete the sentence.
I thus told him everything.
Every moment.
Every terrible notion.
I was still carrying all of my fears without even realizing it.
And he paid attention.
didn’t interfere.
failed to defend himself.
Just pay attention.
When I was finished, he whispered, “I’m sorry.” “I made a mistake with this.”
Not justifications.
Just the truth.
Then he said something that made me freeze.
“Baby… We are celebrating our anniversary.
I froze.
Fifteen years.
I had also forgotten.
My entire being changed.
Once more.
What I perceived as treachery
was affection.
Timed poorly.
Poorly done.
but genuine.
And when I eventually noticed the new chair—
sleek. strong. made specifically for me.
Next, the vehicle…
changed. Considerate. Several months of labor.
I realized something I hadn’t allowed myself to believe in a very long time.
In this, I wasn’t by myself.
Later, I felt lighter inside as we sat together and watched the sun set, his hand encircling mine.
Not resolved.
not recovered.
However, it is distinct.
Because I felt like I had lost everything that morning.
My autonomy.
My faith.
My union.
However, an hour later…
I discovered something I was unaware I was lacking.