We are sharing an excerpt from Chapter 64 and 65 of Tethered, written by Tracy Ann Ong. The book is an account of her journey to recovery and has amusing and heart-wrenching anecdotes.
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64
I once asked my mother if the standards now that I was handicapped were different. I felt I could do no wrong whereas before my clumsiness easily disappointed and irked my loved ones. She assured me that they weren’t different. They’re not, but they were. Well-meaning, my caregiver would swoop in with a towel to wipe off my sweat and place it underneath my shirt, like I was a ten-year-old in a playground, as I would chat with my therapists in a gym full of grown people. I would transfer to my commode half-naked, somehow it not occurring to her to close the blinds because who could care less? The standards are not different, but they were. We lost a lot more than our bodies.
65
It was like a Christmas gift waiting to be opened. The day had finally come when we were to return to Singapore for a follow-up check-up. I dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants for my trip. The shirt was lavender and the pants a pale pink, colours I would not have chosen for myself before the stroke. Heck, I would have relegated a lavender and pink colour combination to the bygone years of childhood, but being sick wiped out all notions of what was for a child and what was for an adult.
Being in a wheelchair at the airport was a little like being a nun in a habit. Everyone felt comfortable saying hi to me even if I didn’t know them. I received the stares, the looks, and the smiles as I was strolled in. People were extra nice and helpful to me. I half-wished everyone saw what I saw—how the world felt a few feet shorter. It was a new playing field I was not familiar with. What were the rules on this side of the world? I was sure it was not only honey and roses as in the airport. The world can be sweet and savage at the same time.
The wheelchair brought me to the mouth of the plane, whereupon I hobbled to my seat. It was not a special seat at the front of the plane. It was a seat like anybody else’s. I was the last one to board the plane. I felt all eyes on me. I felt every second fly by until I got to my seat. I plopped on my seat with satisfaction. I had always fancied that feeling of bringing a book with me up in the plane and reading it in the still of mid-air. As a lawyer, many times had I hopped on a plane, donning a power outfit and carrying a book in my purse, with hardly the time to actually read a page or two. I was living the life mid-air.
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As Tracy’s brain is reset, she finds, so is her life. Like a growing child, she learns the most basic things anew, and more insightfully, the second time around. She sees the world in a different dimension this time, as she is wheelchair-bound.
Get a copy to read her story of faith.
