a-labyrinth-of-stories

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

This place I occupy is inhabited by disabled people and their carers. Being semi-immobilized here is not such a big deal. People do not talk down to you. But becoming a disabled person in an able-bodied world is another matter. I fear the eyes of others, and what they will think when they see me. I dread my fantasies about what healthy and exciting lives they lead in their fit bodies. I will never be like them again; I will have to learn how to inhabit who I have become. But I do not wish to, there is a struggle in me, I do not want to give up my former self.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

Meanwhile I move around the hospital in my electric wheelchair. I can drive from my room to the day room, where people eat and watch TV; or I can go out into the garden room and chat with the volunteers. Then I can take a spin around the garden itself, if it is not too cold or raining. I do a loop, return to my room and listen to the radio. It is a small world I exist in, but I am used to it now, and I am nervous of leaving it.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

Memorial Service, from “fatherless woman” by june beisch

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

Nauset Beach, from “fatherless woman” by june beisch

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

I’m handled and turned and washed by strangers every night. It is no longer humiliating. I have no dignity left. What bothers me is being among strangers; the nurses know one another and often chat as they work. They are kind and professional, but they swap around a lot and I can’t get to know them.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

Mornings are the worst, if it could be said that there is indeed a worst in all this. …it is in the morning, when I wake up and begin to become conscious of myself, a bit like Gregor Samsa at the beginning of Kafka’s Metamorphosis, that I realize what has happened to me is real.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

You must make conversation, even when you don’t want to. Most of the people you meet in hospital are interested in your welfare, but still, you have to negotiate with them, which can be frustrating and enervating.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

You like to be near the centre of others’ attention but of course people in hospital are easily forgotten, with good reason, as there is only so much suffering that anyone can bear.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

It was consoling to learn that Jon has the same obsessive thoughts that I do. Why has this happened to me? Why was I picked out for this misfortune when others are skipping down the street and living good lives? What would I do if I could go back in time? And why didn’t I appreciate it more when I could use my hands and legs? It is boring. No wonder he wants to die.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

…by now I have mastered the art of doing nothing. I can sit in my wheelchair and stare at a blank wall for two hours at a time. Occasionally I fall asleep or entertain myself with stories from my past or writing ideas.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

The world was always a dangerous place. This ward of the hospital is full of people who have had accidents. There are none, so far as I know, with degenerative diseases like MS. So there is a lot of talk about human misfortune: haphazard, calamitous, and near-fatal mishaps. You would think, staying on this ward, that everyone in the world was a moment or so from being, for instance, run over by a car, or struck by lightning, which happened to a friend of a friend, a man who was killed by a bolt on the way t o his wedding.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

So an accident is just an accident. It is truly contingent. There is no meaning to it. You cannot think yourself around it.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

The other day, I was trying to become religious; I wanted to set up a relationship with God. God, I thought, would be a great person to hate for all this; he could take the blame; it would be his fault, and it would focus my anger. But I wasn’t convinced. I couldn’t hold the belief together. God wasn’t there. I couldn’t wish him into being.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

The constant nausea means I eat little. […] …there is nothing so delicious that I want to eat it. All food tastes the same: cardboardy and difficult to swallow. It stays in my mouth for too long.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

It’s not even a year since I became this turtle on its back, and I am not used to it. It is something I will never understand; it is part of me, and yet is beyond me.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

People worry therapy will somehow halt the creative process; they suggest that when talking through your issues, you will evacuate them, and have nothing to write about. This was never my fear[…]. …the analyst—in a good session—would say things that I could never have conceived myself. He would make surprising, generative connections.

shattered, hanif kureishi

[a-labyrinth-of-stories]

I woke up and started to cry. When you cry you must wipe away your tears, which is something I’m unable to do. So my eyes filled with bitter salty water and I got into a panic and thought I might lose my eyesight along with everything else. Finally, a kind nurse came into my room and downed me with a good dose of Lorazepam, then she touched me on my cheek and said, ‘It’s not so bad, at least you’re not in a coma.’

shattered, hanif kureishi