I’m laying in bed unable to move. I would like to because I can’t resist any more my back ache from being too much time in the same position. My limbs don’t obey my brain. They are like sand bags attached to my body. I need help. But I don’t want to wake up Mom or anybody in the house. I try to resist. I’m anxious. Why can’t I move? This is a nightmare. I can see everything around me. I can feel everything, but I can’t move an inch. And this pain is killing me. I get anxious. I’m sweating.
– Somebody, help me!. Help, please!
– I need help!, please, help!
I hear noises. somebody is approaching. I can’t see who is coming because I can’t turn myself to face the door. I hear steps entering the room. Somebody touches my arm gently.
– I’m here.
She walks around the bed and stays in front of me. She looks a lot like mom. She looks tired and sleepy. I feel sorry for her and guilty.
– I’m sorry, but…
– Don’t be. I’ll help you.
She seems to know what I need although I don’t understand. She pushes my upper body and pulls the sheets to make me turn to the other side. That hurts. Then she arranges my legs and finally covers me and kisses me. When she finishes I feel relieved.
– Thank you. what time is it?
– Oh my God! Go to bed. You have to rest.
– No. YOU have to rest. Call me if you need me.
I don’t understand. My head is working as fast as ever. I know what’s coming after this if I’m not in a nightmare. I’ll have to wait for someone to come to me to wash me, to clean me. I’ll be so ashamed. I’ll need help to eat, to sit in the wheelchair, to go to bed, to read to…everything.
I’m now facing the door, and while I watch mom exiting the room, tears are filling my eyes. I cry silently. I don’t want her to know I’m crying. She is so brave in her situation. I need her courage, but I don’t have it. I’m alone again. Please, dear God help my mom, help me. I feel the pillow moist with my tears. I’m falling asleep. Please, dear God…
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