Sabina will have to abandon her red wheelchair. The one she climbed on the day she cried so much because her first one got stolen. I cursed hard that day, and so did her mother. I would have kicked the face of the thief. It made Sabina cry. She doesn't like the red one so much, even though she acknowledges someone was very kind to get it.
I thought today about how excited I was when the stranger offered to get her a new wheelchair. But I also curse myself now. Maybe there would be no bed sores if there was no wheelchair.
I think of Sabina on her wheelchair, alone all day and she becomes a close-up photo inside my head, her face becoming paler with every new meeting. And I make a promise. There will be a bigger and better wheelchair when there are no more bed sores. Maybe there's a way they won't come back?
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