Paraplegic (COMPLETED)

Chapter 24

The next day physical therapy with Desiree seemed more agonizing than normal. Maybe it's because I know it won't do any good at this point; I'm a plegic for life after all.

When I told mother and father I didn't want to continue therapy, they weren't as keen on the idea. Mother especially wasn't going to allow it. I don't think she can come to terms with the truth. If it weren't for the fact that I have to live day in and day out in this chair, I too might be a bit reluctant to accept the truth. But the truth stares back at me with each tortuous moment that passes; laughing, mocking my very existence. These wheels have become my legs—replaced my legs.

Desiree has me lying on my back as she performs a series of leg exercises; extending my leg to and from my chest, alternating legs every few minutes. It's difficult to watch. Not being able to feel her touch is still incredibly strange. I figure it's only a matter of time before I'm told that therapy won't help someone as crippled as me. I'll be sent home with no other option than to reminisce on past times when I had my freedom. My body tenses up at such thoughts. Desiree must have noticed; she turns to look at me.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"Oh. No. It's just . . ." I pause. "This." Then move my hand in a circular motion at my wheelchair. "All of it. It's still so . . . surreal, I guess."

"You're young, McKenzie. You have time to get used to it. And you will. Before long, you won't need me anymore. You'll be able to live life all on your own, completing tasks with ease that you once struggled with. You'll see. Just take it one day at a time."

Her perspective is so positive, as if living life paralyzed isn't so bad, isn't that difficult. Obviously, she's never experienced it, because if she had, even for a single moment, she wouldn't be saying such things—she would be begging for relief, begging for a way to escape the unceasing feeling of captivity.

Someone moves just inside my immediate line of vision. I shift my eyes to see who it is. Calix is standing over me with his head tilted downward, his black hair falling in front of his dark glasses.

How does he always know where to find me?

"Back in the saddle, eh?" he says. "Knocked down, you get back up. Good on ya!"

"Yeah. Something like that." I don't feel like telling him that I didn't really have a choice. It's either I do this or I spend the rest of my life slowly decaying in bed like a banana peel.

"How has the morning been for you, Milady? Cheery I hope?" He adjusts his head slightly, no doubt using my voice to locate where he imagines my face to be.

"Well, I haven't beaten anyone with a folding chair yet, so . . . yeah."

The corners of his lips spread a little in amusement. "Then I'd say that it's a good day indeed."

The two metal support bars, the ones used for plegics who are on the brink of recovery from mobility impairment, catch my eye. A crazy idea storms my mind.

I need to use them!

Desiree notices me staring at them. "Those are support bars for—"

"I wanna try!" Her mouth is left open by my interruption. I know I'm nowhere near ready, but there's a strong urge to do it.

"Best wait a few more weeks, dear. Ya know, just until you get a little more strength in your upper limbs."

"No! I've had it. I'm tired of living like this. I'm tired of feeling like I can't do things. I won't allow myself to be a plegic forever. I won't!"