Paraplegic (COMPLETED)

Chapter 21

Today, Desiree wants me to run through my "wheelchairs ed" class. It still feels weird calling it that. By now, I've mostly gotten the hang of maneuvering around in this new chair, but she insisted in that thick Czech accent of hers that I still run through the obstacle course a few times. I guess that's her way of trying to make things fun. It's kind of hard to have fun when the entirety of your playground consists of one chair and a pair of wheels.

Desiree leisurely pushes me through the curvy hallways of the rehab center.

"Where are we going?" I say.

"The place where you learn to drive, of course. Where else?" There's a tinge of mystery in her voice.

Before long, I realize that she's taking me to the parking lot. We move through the automatic doors of the entrance and then on outside. It's a sunny day, hardly a cloud to flaw the near perfect sky. I can feel my skin instantly warm, soaking up the sun's rays like the pale, shriveled up sponge that I am. It's a nice contrast to the Center's chilled climate.

This section of the parking lot is empty aside from a labyrinth pattern of miniature orange traffic cones, much like ones you would face during a real drivers test. Cardboard cutouts of human silhouettes are positioned throughout the maze of cones to add a certain level of difficulty.

I rotate my head, examining the layout of the obstacle course. "Um. You seriously want me to go through that?"

"It is part of your classes, no?" She almost looks hurt over my lack of enthusiasm to participate.

"Uh. Yeah, I guess so."

She clasps her hands together. "Wonderful!" Then motions me towards the starting line.

I lazily run through the obstacle course, taking my sweet time navigating in between the traffic cones, while making sure to avoid the cardboard cutouts. It's tight. There isn't a whole lot of room, maybe three to four inches of space between my wheels and the cones, but at this speed, it isn't difficult to avoid them.

I wonder how long I'll be stuck here. I can't imagine doing this routine three times a week for who knows how long. A person could grow old here at this place with nothing more to their name than the faint hope that they might one day get well enough to move away from here. And the only way that will happen for me is if I undergo surgery.

Surgery!

My stomach swells with uneasiness.

Why are you so worried about it, McKenzie? This could mean getting your legs back! But what if I don't get them back? What if something goes wrong during the surgery, which prevents me from achieving what little hope I have left? I can't handle living out the rest of my days confined to this chair. I just can't!

After finishing the obstacle course, I circle back around to the beginning. Desiree stoops down to my eye level. "Is everything alright?"

I must have some sort of dismal expression plastered on my face. Tears sting my eyes, but I somehow manage to override their determination to fall. "Yeah, I'm fine," I manage to mumble.

"Fine?" She tilts her head sideways. "In all my years of hearing the word 'fine', it never means fine. It goes: 'great', 'good', 'okay', 'bummed', 'terrible', 'kill me now', and then 'fine'." She uses her hands to illustrate the levels of emotions as she says them, moving down with each one.

I actually find her actions amusing, and to my surprise, I even laugh a little bit. "No, really; I'm okay. All things considered at least."

"Ah! So now we've moved on up to 'okay', have we? That's good." She gives me a blue-eyed wink. "Now. Run it again."