The extension that had to be made at the house needed to be like a small apartment: bedroom, living area, and bathroom. All spacious enough so the wheelchair could move about easily.
My residence was the living area throughout the duration of the renovation. I would stay in bed just staring at the ceiling all day. The most common thought that I had was; “why didn’t God just let me die instead of leaving me living like this?”, “I would kill myself if only I could.”
The first thing that I would do every morning when I opened my eyes and realized my condition was to cry aloud. One of the men that were working on the house asked my mother one day if we had a dog, because of the howling he would hear every morning.
When finally, it all was done they moved me over to my new room. At last; at least some kind of privacy.
Privacy and shame were two of the things that I completely lost at the moment that I got trapped inside my body. I need to have someone around twenty-four/seven. How can I have the luxury of shame when I depend on a stranger to feed me and wipe clean after bodily functions.
How can one maintain some self-respect or self-image when they cannot wipe themselves anymore?
Days went by slowly, and all I wished for was to die young.