Barbara

Barbara is scared to death and scared to live. I met her this week and haven’t stopped thinking of her. She is 82 and a new paraplegic. The difference between Barbara and I is practically nothing. Except that she is older, thinner, wiser. I happen to have a few more years in the chair than she does. My aunt asked me to visit her, so on Sunday, Tadaki and I parked in the back parking lot at\ the IMC in the last row where there is a stall painted with encouragement to walk instead of parking in the front row. We were the first to park there, but others came as the 1:00 p.m. shift change started. We trotted through the patient drop off roundabout for the 10th time in a few months.

She had a few questions. I mostly talked about myself. People cried. I’ll stay in touch because I like her and her family and I want to know how her chair feels in a few more months. Literally and figuratively. She is strong. She will make the best of her days and her family will grow closer and people will sleep in her room at the rehab center. There will be a chair in the corner and sons and daughters will sit quietly listening to her breathe and sometimes they will sleep, and they will cry. She will have to push up an unreasonably long and steep ramp to show that she is strong enough to leave the rehab center. And she will because she is.