Why Him? Why Not Me?

Are we chosen, given, or gifted the lives we get?  Are they the accumulation of our actions? Are they tests or are they results? These are the questions that ponder abstemiously in my mind when I hear his wailing, his cries.

The human mind such treacherous place, an embodiment of a prison, if this mind feels the imprisonment there is nothing keeping you away from losing all sanity. Why him? Why not me? This question is burying my every thought. Why him? Why not me?  

I have been going to see a physical therapist for an issue I have, not one of much importance, I was just a bit concerned. I arrived at exactly 8:30 am and there was almost no one, I was assigned to the last room in the hallway. As I got settled I heard a voice both husky and incomprehensible. I predicted the calls were from an elderly man who was mentally ill and paralyzed. As I was waiting I could hear his grunting and I was growing anxious I decided to approach the room neighboring mine and I saw the edges of a bed I was hoping to get a closer look but I hesitated because when he first heard my foot steps his calls increased “Doctor? Doctor? Come doctor”. I quickly went back to my room and told my mother what I heard and we continued waiting and wondering when someone would reply to this patient. The centre opens at exactly 8 am so I wondered why he was here without a companion, but I just disregarded the thoughts and continued to wait for the doctor to come. The hours passed, the place was flooding with people with all sorts of physical issues from simple ones like mine to extreme cases and unfortunately there is only one doctor. 

As the time passed a lady sat near my mother and I, and as most Yemeni people are she was extremely friendly and chatty, she told us she was here with her mother who developed DVT and her complete left side is now paralyzed, we chatted for a while, and she told us a few stories of the people who come to this centre. One story led to the other then I asked about the man in the room near mine and at that moment my life changed forever. The man who was grunting in the room near by was in fact the only resident in this gloomy centre, the only patient who lives in this place. This man has been living in this room for six years; alone. He is almost in his mid thirties, a young man, the brother of the centre’s owner, who opened this centre to possibly help his brother. His journey with paralysis began by a year in India, the following year in Egypt, and for the past four years in this room. Held captive to the bed until someone shows mercy and lifts him or gives him a walk, or changes his diaper, or feeds him, gives him a shower, a hair cut, or even a mere good morning. It is in these times where I stop and ponder upon the fact life is far from perfect and everything is bound to disperse. 

Six years ago I was teenager and my biggest concern was how to become a size two and my greatest battle was that of accepting my body that I viewed as “big”. Six years ago he was in the start of his life as a successful doctor in his field, a father, and a husband enjoying his youth and the wonders of being a successful persona. One day he went on a road trip with his friends and next thing he knows he is in a car crash and everyone in the car is dead, everyone but him. He may have escaped death but he did not escape his destiny, he is now paralyzed from the waist down, as well as his right arm, and his mouth. Sometimes death seems warmer and sometimes having no mind is better than being enraptured by your thoughts; imprisoned by them. 

Today, I have the flu and I feel angry, helpless, and tired. I want to sleep but I cannot from the simple flu, from my nose that has often been referred to as a “small” nose, this small nose has me up and agitated while every other organ is fully functioning. Even the beautiful lighting in my cozy room is irritating me. It is in this moment I realize how ungrateful I am. He is there and I am here. He is in that dark room all alone and I am here with my sister next door and my mother nearby. I am here while he is there waiting for the sun to rise, for someone to open the door and perhaps be kind, perhaps make the time to treat him like a human, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. He is drowning in his sea of perhapses while I am given the choice to live my life. He had that taken away, his life is no longer his’.

His wife left him and left their two year old daughter and fled once he was paralyzed and it is in times like these where you understand who you love despite and not because, you should love despite the pain and agony and not because of the good times and laughs. He was left with a two year old and a body that is nothing but deadweight. His brother who opened this centre for him lives his life normally one the third floor with his family and his niece, while this man enjoys the solitude on the first floor through the rough and cold nights, and the disturbing summer heat, all alone. No one really wants you when you are sick, sometimes you do not even want yourself. 

What pains me is the fact that he is not mentally ill his brain is 100% functioning he remember his glorious past, he dwells in the reality of how helpless he is every minute of every day. He can’t speak properly nor can he write, he can not feed himself and he can not even be fed any solid food only foods that have been processed, foods like porridge which is horrid. He sleeps using an IV drip filled with sleeping medications because no one wants to hear his noise. Suddenly in a matter of seconds he transformed into a man who is nothing more than a burden. Someone everyone avoids, no one wants to give him a bath, or change his diaper, or feed him, or even spend time with him. Suddenly he is nobody. The doors of the centre close at sunset and his sanity begins to fade with the sunset. He is left awaiting the medications to kick in. 

They occasionally take him out on a wheel chair to get some sun in the morning and for that he is grateful. You can hear him in the room speaking in his indecipherable voice chanting: “I am left here in the mercy of a bed and chair”, “All I have left are the memories of a life I once lived”. It shatters my heart, the thought of suddenly losing everything, suddenly becoming an outcast, and suddenly becoming so vulnerable. 

Four years ago was the start of this aggression on Yemen I can only imagine how terrorized he was the night it all began. How helpless he must have felt wanting to find shelter from the bombing but having no way to escape, having no one to share your worries with. Yemen has been through some horrific bombings, bombings that I still shudder when I remember, I can not even fathom how much worst it must have been for him, not knowing what to expect or how to act. It is in moments like these where I can only sympathize. 

This man who I have never met and who I will never be able to look straight in the eyes will forever be my reminder of how nothing is forever and how everyday we live is a chance to do good, to be good, and to spread good. And now I know the answer to the question I never asked. It was never about why he is in pain but it was my reaction and how I was affected by him, the man I have never met.